Bound By The Dark Prince.

--- CHAPTER ONE — THE CURSED MORNING The sound of birds chirping pierced my dreams, dragging me out of sleep like a blade slicing through velvet. Groaning, I pulled the thick quilt over my head, wishing the world would leave me alone. Another day. Another headache waiting to happen. A voice echoed inside my mind—smooth, teasing, impossibly bright. “Morning, Syl!” I froze. It wasn’t coming from the hallway. It wasn’t coming from my room. It was coming from inside me. Ria. The dragon. I could feel her presence, coiling in my chest, playful and relentless, teasing at the edges of my thoughts. Her amusement was almost audible, a melody only I could hear. I hated that she could sneak in so silently, yet she always did. “When did you even—” I started, only for her to interrupt with a chuckle that made my hair stand on end. “I’ve been here since you were dreaming about oversleeping. You sleep like a log, Syl. A very stubborn, ungraceful log.” I groaned again, letting the quilt fall off my face. “Grandpa made me train all day yesterday in human form. I’m exhausted,” I muttered, more to myself than to her. Ria’s laugh vibrated inside me, warm and iridescent, curling around my ribs. “Oh, I know,” she said softly, her voice now almost maternal. “But you’ll need your strength today. Something is stirring.” I ignored her warning, rolling onto my side and staring at the ceiling. Her presence was comforting and maddening at the same time. She could have lived outside, flown free under the sun. Instead, she was trapped here, in my mind, arguing with me every morning like some impossible roommate. Minutes passed. Or hours—I didn’t care to count. Eventually, I dragged myself out of bed, muscles stiff and protesting. The cold air hit my skin when I stepped out of the bathroom, making me shiver, and Ria’s laughter flickered like fire along my spine. Opening my wardrobe, I let my eyes scan the choices. Skirts? Gowns? Dresses meant for people who cared about appearances? Not in my world. Not for me. Finally, my gaze settled on an ash half-cut top, a black hoodie, and baggy black pants. Perfect. My clothes were armor, my shield against a world that wanted to drag me into its pretense. I slipped into them, pulling the hoodie over my shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of my defenses settle around me. Downstairs, the scene awaited. Thaliora and Marenza were already at the dining table, perfectly poised, perfectly fake, devouring breakfast with smiles that reeked of manipulation. And my father—loud, commanding, terrifying in his presence—sat at the head, radiating authority. The sight of them so early in the morning hit me like a warning bell. Bad luck has arrived.