Prologue
. A word from the author.
Many of you voted yes when I asked if you wanted a dark romance with a dragon. I took some time to think and quickly came up with this story idea.
I’m still working on my other projects, so please be patient with me. In the meantime, I’d love to hear from you — what do you think of the beginning? Does it make you want to keep reading? Your thoughts mean a lot, and I can’t wait to see what you think about Liora, Lunara, and the Hiding Moon.
The people of Moonshade spoke of the Hiding Moon in hushed voices, as though saying its name too loudly might summon fate itself. When the sky darkened and the moon veiled its light, the Dragon marked a girl. She would one day be taken, and in her sacrifice the village would flourish.
The chosen did not return.
The villagers said she was carried into the heavens, her body becoming flame, her soul reborn as a star. A bride of the Dragon, shining in his eternal harem above. Each bright star in the northern sky was a girl once, her death sealing a pact older than memory.
Children pointed at the stars with wide eyes, whispering names into the night sky as though they could pick out which star had once been Aurora, or Minerva, brides of the Dragon from ages long past. Lovers pressed foreheads together beneath those constellations, swearing devotion in the glow of the Dragon’s brides. And the elders told stories by the fire of the girls who had gone before, weaving their beauty into the heavens themselves.
Some swore that on the nights of the Hiding Moon they could hear the beating of wings above the mountains, heavy as thunder, rattling doors on their hinges. Others claimed the Dragon’s shadow passed over the valley, a vast shape blotting out the stars before he descended to claim his bride. And in the mornings that followed, mothers wept and fathers stood taller, for their daughter had been chosen, and their fields would be blessed with abundance.
To the villagers, it was a blessing. The sacrifice of one meant plenty for all. Families who bore such daughters walked with pride, envied for generations. And the girls themselves were always beautiful—blond, radiant, favoured by the gods. From their first breath, their parents clothed them in silk, set garlands in their hair, and paraded them at festivals. For one day, the Dragon would come, and beauty made the parting sweeter.
But one strange night, the heavens faltered. The Hiding Moon rose, shrouded and ominous, and two girls were born at the same hour, beneath the same shadow. Twins.
It was an omen. Some whispered that the Dragon himself had erred. Others that fate had split itself, unable to decide. But none dared speak the thought aloud for long, lest the Dragon hear.
The firstborn was Lunara. She radiated light even as an infant, golden hair glinting like threads of sun, eyes as blue as the sea, and a body fuller than most girls her age. A faint crescent birthmark graced her wrist, catching moonlight like a secret promise. When she smiled or laughed, the village laughed with her, and wherever she went, warmth followed. To the villagers, she was a promise fulfilled.
Her twin, Liora, was shadowed in comparison. Black hair fell straight and plain, framing eyes of ordinary brown. Her body was slender and tall, lacking the curves where Lunara bloomed. A pale crescent mark curved along her hipbone, hidden beneath her clothes. Liora’s soft voice was often drowned by the chatter of others, her gaze drifting to the ground. The villagers whispered she was a mistake, a shadow under the Hiding Moon, and if the Dragon were to choose her, the pact would fail—the harvest would falter, the fields turn barren.
From her first breath, Liora was branded not as a blessing, but as a curse.
Children jeered when she passed. Teenagers laughed cruelly, murmuring that her dark hair and plain brown eyes could never match her sister’s golden beauty. Her parents’ hands were cold and impatient when she stumbled.
Only her grandmother, Flora, took her into her arms, whispering my light and holding her close. It was with her grandmother that Liora lived, learning the quiet ways of the hills and the markets, finding small comforts in a world that refused her kindness.
As the years passed, the contrast between the twins sharpened. One adored, one forgotten.
Lunara shone. She was paraded through festivals, crowned with flowers, her golden hair and blue eyes glinting in every torchlight. The people murmured that she was surely destined for the Dragon’s embrace.
Liora worked in silence. She carried eggs to market, bound herbs in twine, her hands roughened by soil and ash. Few spoke her name aloud, as though even kindness might tempt fate.
Both were marked. Both were bound to the Hiding Moon.
And though the villagers laughed and guessed at the Dragon’s desire, they forgot one truth whispered only in the oldest tales. The Dragon does not choose with mortal eyes.
He had marked two brides, and the stars above burned brighter in anticipation. The Hiding Moon would rise again, and when it did, one twin would be carried into flame, and the other into shadow. If the Dragon chose wrongly, Moonshade itself would wither, the land cursed, and the girl feared by all would become the instrument of ruin.
Picture created by AI:
K
