The King Who Was Never Supposed To Love Me

Elara Vale had always hated her birthday. Not because she disliked birthdays. She loved the cake, the candles, the ridiculous paper decorations Mrs. Vale insisted on hanging around the house. She even liked the small gifts Rowan brought her every year, despite the fact that he always pretended he had forgotten the date. What she hated was what happened after midnight. Every year, on the night of her birthday, Elara dreamed of the same place. A black castle beneath a red moon. A staircase covered in roses. And a man standing at the bottom, waiting for her. She had never seen his face clearly. But she always woke with the same strange feeling. As though she had left someone behind. Tonight, however, there was something different. Elara sat alone in front of the largest mirror in the house, brushing her dark hair while rain tapped against the bedroom window. Her eighteenth birthday was almost over. The clock on her bedside table read 11:57 p.m. Three minutes. She stared at her reflection. Dark hair fell over her shoulders. Her eyes looked tired. Nothing about her appearance seemed unusual. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her from the other side of the glass. She lowered the brush. "You're imagining things." The reflection smiled. Elara froze. She hadn't smiled. Her hand tightened around the brush. Slowly, she leaned closer to the mirror. Her reflection was perfectly still now. "Okay," she whispered. "That's creepy." Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the hills. The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then everything went dark. Elara stood abruptly. "Mrs. Vale?" No answer. She reached for her phone on the bedside table, but before her fingers touched it, the lights returned. The mirror had changed. A thin c***k ran from its upper corner to the center. Elara stared. She hadn't touched it. Another c***k appeared. Then another. A cold sensation crawled across her skin. "What's happening?" The mirror began to tremble. Elara stepped backward. The cracks multiplied until the entire surface was covered in jagged lines. For one impossible second, she saw something behind her reflection. A castle. Tall black towers. Silver banners moving in a wind she couldn't feel. Thousands of candles burning along a distant staircase. And at the bottom of those stairs stood the mysterious man from her dreams. This time, she could see his face. Dark hair. Sharp features. A black crown resting on his head. His expression was unreadable. But his eyes— Elara's breath caught. She knew those eyes. She had seen them every night for years. The man lifted his head. His gaze seemed to pass directly through the mirror and settle on her. "Elara." She stumbled backward. The mirror exploded. Glass flew across the room. Elara screamed and covered her head. Silence followed. For several seconds, she remained frozen. Then she slowly lowered her arms. The room was filled with glittering shards. Her mirror was gone. Her bedroom window rattled violently. A shadow moved outside. Elara grabbed the nearest object she could find—a heavy lamp—and held it in front of herself. "Who's there?" Nothing. She moved toward the window. The rain had stopped. Beyond the glass lay the familiar backyard, the old oak tree, and the iron fence separating their property from the forest. Everything looked normal. Then she noticed the figure standing beneath the tree. A man. Tall. Completely motionless. Elara's heart pounded. He wore a long black coat that moved slightly in the wind. His face was hidden by the darkness, but something about his presence made the room feel colder. She stepped away from the window. The man looked up. Even from that distance, she knew. Those eyes. The man from her dreams. The clock changed. 12:00. Every clock in the house began ringing at once. Elara covered her ears. The sound was deafening. Then, suddenly, every clock stopped. Silence. A voice whispered behind her. "You're finally awake." Elara spun around. No one stood there. Her bedroom door was closed. She rushed toward it and pulled it open. "Mrs. Vale!" She ran into the hallway. The house was dark. "Mrs. Vale!" Still nothing. She hurried downstairs. The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty. Her guardian's bedroom door stood open. The bed was neatly made. No sign of her. Fear tightened around Elara's chest. She grabbed her phone and called. One ring. Two. Three. Straight to voicemail. "Come on," Elara muttered. A sound came from outside. A low, distant howl. She stopped. Another answered from deeper inside the forest. Then another. Elara had lived in Blackthorn her entire life. She knew the forest. She knew the wolves. And she knew that no ordinary animal made that sound. The front door creaked. Elara turned. The lock slowly rotated. Someone was unlocking it from the outside. She backed away. The door opened. Rowan stepped inside. His dark hair was soaked from the rain, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as though he had been running. "Elara." She almost cried with relief. "Rowan!" She hurried toward him. He caught her shoulders. "Are you hurt?" "What? No. Where were you? Where is Mrs. Vale?" His expression changed. "What happened to the mirror?" Elara looked toward the stairs. "You saw that?" "I saw the light." "Where's Mrs. Vale?" Rowan didn't answer. "Rowan." He looked away. "She's gone." Elara stared at him. "What do you mean, gone?" "I don't know." "Then find her!" "I've been trying." His voice cracked. Elara stepped closer. "Trying to do what?" Rowan reached into his jacket and pulled out a small silver object. It looked like a pendant. At its center was a strange symbol—a crown surrounded by thorns. Elara recognized it immediately. She had seen it in her dreams. "What is that?" Rowan closed his hand around it. "Something I should have given you years ago." Before Elara could ask another question, the entire house shook. A deep rumble rolled through the walls. The windows rattled. Rowan's face went pale. "What?" He looked toward the front door. "They found you." "Who?" He grabbed her hand. "We have to leave." "Rowan, you're scaring me." "You should be scared." Something struck the front door. Once. Twice. The third impact sent the door flying from its hinges. Elara screamed. Three figures stood outside. They were dressed in black. Their faces were hidden beneath dark hoods. But their eyes glowed faintly silver. One of them stepped forward. "Where is the Queen?" Elara stopped breathing. Rowan moved in front of her. "She's not your queen." The figure tilted its head. "Then why does her blood call to the throne?" Elara stared at Rowan. "What's he talking about?" Rowan said nothing. The figure raised one hand. A wave of cold swept through the house. The candles in the living room extinguished. Elara felt something burn beneath her skin. She grabbed her wrist. A mark was appearing there. A black crown surrounded by thorns. The hooded stranger whispered, "After eighteen years." His companions lowered their heads. "The lost queen has awakened." Elara's legs weakened. "I don't understand." Then the forest erupted. Hundreds of black birds burst from the trees, filling the sky. Something enormous moved between the branches. The hooded figures suddenly stepped backward. Fear appeared in their eyes. Rowan looked toward the forest. "No." A figure emerged from the darkness. He walked slowly across the wet grass. Black coat. Black boots. Black hair. A silver crown rested against his head. Every creature in the forest seemed to fall silent in his presence. Elara recognized him instantly. The man from her dreams. The stranger from the mirror. The king beneath the red moon. He stopped several feet from the house. His eyes found hers. For a moment, nobody moved. Then his gaze dropped to the mark on her wrist. Something changed in his expression. Not surprise. Not anger. Recognition. Pain. He whispered a single word. "Elara." Her heart hammered. "Who are you?" The stranger looked at her as though the question wounded him. Behind him, the hooded figures immediately dropped to their knees. "Your Majesty." Elara stared. The stranger didn't acknowledge them. His attention remained fixed on her. "You don't remember me." It wasn't a question. Elara shook her head. "No." He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the coldness had returned. "My name is Cassian Draven." Thunder rolled above them. "I am the King of the Nightborn." Elara's mouth went dry. "And you," he continued, "are the queen who disappeared eighteen years ago." The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. "No." Cassian took one step forward. "You were hidden from me." Another step. "Your memories were taken." Elara shook her head. "That's impossible." Cassian's gaze hardened. "Is it?" He looked toward the shattered mirror inside the house. Then back at her. "The prophecy said the mirrors would break when you awakened." Elara's blood ran cold. "What prophecy?" Cassian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the crown-shaped mark glowing on her wrist. Then he said quietly, "The one that predicts you will either save my kingdom..." His eyes met hers. "...or destroy it." The wind returned. The birds scattered into the night. And somewhere far beyond Blackthorn, a bell began to toll. Once. Twice. Three times. Elara didn't know what frightened her most. The strangers. The impossible mark. The disappearance of the woman who raised her. Or the king standing outside her home, looking at her as though he had spent eighteen years searching for someone who had never known she was missing. She took a step backward. Cassian didn't follow. Instead, he lowered his voice. "Run if you want, Elara." His expression was unreadable. "But when the memories return..." He paused. "You'll understand why I came for you." Then the darkness swallowed him. And Elara knew, with terrifying certainty, that her life had ended at midnight. Whatever came next belonged to a world she had never known existed. A world where kings wore crowns made of shadows. Where mirrors remembered the past. And where she was apparently the queen everyone had been waiting for.