The Moon Chose His Enemy

Lyra Vale stood at the edge of the forest, staring at the crimson sky while the wind whispered through the ancient trees. She had seen the moon thousands of times before. But never like this. Its silver light had turned the color of fresh roses, painting the forest in a terrifying red glow. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. Then another answered. And then every creature in the forest went silent. Lyra tightened her grip on the small lantern in her hand. "Wonderful," she muttered. "Just wonderful. The one night I decide to take a walk, the sky decides to look like the end of the world." She turned toward the village. That was when she heard her name. "Lyra." The voice came from behind her. She spun around. Nobody. "Very funny," she called, although her voice trembled slightly. "If this is one of your stupid tricks, Mira, I swear—" "Lyra Vale." This time, the voice came from above. She looked up. A black raven sat on a branch, its eyes glowing an unnatural shade of violet. Before Lyra could move, the bird opened its beak. "Run." The lantern slipped from her fingers. A deafening roar shook the forest. Something enormous moved between the trees. Lyra ran. Branches scratched her arms as she raced through the undergrowth. Behind her, the earth trembled with every approaching step. She didn't dare look back. Then the ground disappeared beneath her feet. She fell hard against the forest floor, pain shooting through her palms. When she lifted her head, she found herself staring at a pair of black boots. Slowly, her gaze traveled upward. A man stood before her, dressed in a long black coat embroidered with silver symbols. His hair was as dark as the midnight sky, and his eyes— His eyes were the color of a winter storm. He looked at her as if he had been searching for her his entire life. "Finally," he said. Lyra scrambled backward. "Who are you?" The stranger crouched in front of her. His expression was cold, almost bored. "Someone who has been ordered to kill you." Her heart stopped. "I'm sorry, what?" He reached for her wrist. The moment his fingers touched her skin, the crescent-shaped birthmark beneath her sleeve began to glow. Silver light exploded between them. The man jerked backward. For the first time, his expression changed. Fear. Impossible, terrifying fear. He stared at the glowing mark as if it were a ghost from a thousand-year-old nightmare. "No," he whispered. Lyra clutched her wrist. "What is happening to me?" He didn't answer. Instead, he drew a silver dagger from his belt and held it against her throat. "Tell me who gave you that mark." "I don't know what you're talking about!" "Who are your parents?" "I don't know!" The last words escaped her before she could stop them. Something flickered in his eyes. For a moment, the blade lowered. Then a voice echoed through the forest, deep and ancient. THE MOONBORN HAS RETURNED. The stranger went completely still. The voice came again. THE CURSE SHALL BREAK. THE KINGDOM SHALL FALL. THE PRINCE SHALL LOVE THE GIRL HE WAS BORN TO DESTROY. Silence swallowed the forest. Lyra stared at him. "Prince?" He closed his eyes briefly, as though fighting a war inside his own mind. When he opened them, the fear had disappeared. In its place was something much worse. Hatred. "Take her to the castle," he ordered the shadows gathering between the trees. Lyra tried to stand, but invisible hands seized her arms. "Let me go!" The prince stepped closer. "My name is Kael Draven," he said. "And you, little Moonborn, have just become the most dangerous prisoner in my kingdom." "I haven't done anything!" His gaze dropped to her glowing wrist. "Not yet." He turned away. As the shadows dragged Lyra toward the waiting carriage, she caught one final glimpse of the blood-red moon. For a heartbeat, she could have sworn it had a face. And it was smiling.