Chapter 1
1245 Words
Twenty-Two Years Later
The clash of steel rang through the air, a sharp symphony of power and precision. Xyra lunged, her blade slicing toward her opponent’s side, only to be met with an effortless parry. She smirks, cleaning her left hand on her black leather pants.
Kaelor Veyrnox smirked. “You’re hesitating again.”
Xyra’s jaw tightened as she pushed back, her feet digging into the packed earth of the training grounds. “I’m calculating.General, I’m calculating.”
He pivoted smoothly, knocking her sword aside before stepping into her space, his presence overwhelming. “Call it what you will, princess. But in battle, hesitation gets you killed.”
A flicker of irritation burned on her ribs. Kaelor was always like this, demanding, relentless, always testing her. He had been her betrothed since she was a child, a match arranged for political strength rather than love. And yet, he acted as though she already belonged to him.
She twisted out of his reach and came at him again, this time feinting left before striking right. For a moment, satisfaction surged as her blade nicked the edge of his gauntlet, but Kaelor’s grin only widened.
“Better,” he murmured, catching her wrist in a brutal grip before she could retreat. His fingers pressed against her pulse, steady and unyielding. “But not enough.”
Xyra met his gaze, those piercing amber eyes dark with something unreadable. “Let go.”
Kaelor’s thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, his grip tightening before he released her. “You need to be sharper, faster. You’ll be queen one day. You can't afford to be weak.”
“I’m not weak,” she snapped, stepping back and shaking off the lingering heat of his touch.
A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. “Then prove it.”
Before she could respond, a sharp bell tolled through the training grounds, echoing across the towering spires of Nyxholm. Every warrior froze, heads turning toward the citadel’s highest tower.
summons. Kaelor exhaled, his gaze shifting toward the castle with a taut of something unreadable. “The High Council is convening.”
Xyra sheathed her blade, tension curling through her muscles. “I wasn’t expecting another gathering so soon.”
Kaelor gave her a pointed look. “Neither was I. But something tells me this isn’t a mere formality.”
Without another word, they strode toward the grand hall, side by side yet worlds apart.
.
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•The High Council of Nyxholm•
The chamber was a cathedral of power, its obsidian walls carved with the stories of Vaeloria’s wars, its high windows streaked with moonlight. Lords, generals, and emissaries lined the great table, their expressions grave.
At the head of the assembly, King Veydris, Xyra’s father, sat draped in his ceremonial robes of midnight and silver. His gaze was sharp as a blade, cutting across the gathered rulers before settling on her.
“Princess Xyra. General Veyrnox.” His voice carried the scornfulness of a thousand battles. “You arrive at a turning point in our history.”
Xyra’s heart pounded, but she kept her posture regal, her expression unreadable. She could feel Kaelor’s presence beside her, a steady force of heat and shadow. The air in the hall was thick with tension, the scent of old parchment and burning sage curling through the space. Xyra knew why.
They were here for war. Or an end to it. An elder councilor stepped forward, his gnarled hands clasping a scroll. “A treaty has been proposed. One that could end the bloodshed between Vaeloria and Draganthar.”
Murmurs rippled through the hall. The Dragantharian were their oldest enemies, a kingdom of warriors with scales in their blood and fire in their veins.
Kaelor’s jaw tightened. “A treaty?” His voice was smooth, but beneath it lay the sharp edge of suspicion. “After centuries of war, Draganthar seeks peace?”
“They seek survival,” King Veydris corrected. His gaze flicked to Xyra. “As do we.”
Xyra frowned. “What are the terms?”
The elder unrolled the scroll, his voice steady. “A sacred pact, sealed in blood and binding through generations. The Moonfire Pact.”
Silence thickened like a storm.
“The heir of Vaeloria must wed the heir of Draganthar,” the elder declared. “To unite our kingdoms under one rule, one lineage.”
Xyra’s breath caught. Kaelor stiffened beside her. “What?” His voice was low, dangerous.
King Veydris didn’t flinch. “It is the only way.”
Xyra’s world shifted beneath her feet. She had been promised to Kaelor since childhood, a bond forged in duty, not desire. Now, in a single breath, that future had been ripped away.
She forced herself to stand tall. “Who is Draganthar’s heir?”
The doors to the chamber groaned open. And a man stepped forward. A figure entered, his presence swallowing the room. He was tall—broad-shouldered, with a warrior’s build. Black hair streaked with crimson fell to his shoulders. His face was sharp, chiseled like the stone of his kingdom, and his golden eyes burned like molten fire. Black scales traced his arms, glinting under the torchlight, the mark of dragonborn blood.
Crown Prince Vaeren Drakarion.
He was a name whispered in fear and awe. A warrior whose legend was written in the ashes of the battlefields he had conquered. And now, he stood before them all, a living embodiment of Draganthar’s might.
Kaelor moved before she could, his stance brimming with barely restrained fury. “This is a mistake,” he said, his emerald eyes burning into the council. “Xyra is mine. She’s mine, my king, she’s she was betrothed to me, remember? Why…why…what is going on?”
Xyra flinched at the possessiveness in his voice.
King Veydris leveled him with a cold stare. “She is Vaeloria’s. Yes, she was betrothed to you before she was born because of the alliance of your father who was my friend, but now, I didn’t know the prophecy will keep hold. I didn’t know that a son was born from the pact of fire that was said in the prophecy but…but here…I was shocked myself when the scroll was sent. And now, he’s here by himself. Even your father would have wanted the same thing that we once craved for. Peace.”
Crown prince Vaeren stood there like the warlord carved from legend. His victories were etched into the bones of his enemies. And now, he stood before them.
Kaelor stepped forward, tension radiating off him like heat. “This is betrayal.”
“This is survival,” the king corrected.
The tension in the room was suffocating. Xyra forced herself to meet Vaeren’s gaze, searching for any sign of weakness, of hesitation. But there was none. He stepped closer, just enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. His gaze burned through her, his voice a smooth, measured challenge. His eyes…his eyes caved like a moon and it was as if dead but a pure gold but in the terms of fire, his lips, small pump pink, his skin not too dark but a shiny faint fade of an ivory color.
“Do you oppose this, Princess?” His voice was deep, smooth, with a challenge woven into every syllable.
The chamber held its breath. Every gaze fell upon her. Xyra’s heart thundered. Her fate hung in the balance.
- Writer
