BOUND BY FATE

The capital was ablaze with celebration. Fireworks lit the sky, music spilled through the palace gates, and inside, the grandest ball of the century was underway. Tonight marked the King’s birthday—an occasion so important that every noble, merchant, and dignitary in the realm had gathered.

Rumors whispered that before the night ended, the King would name his successor, the one who would inherit the throne. The stakes were higher than ever, and every jewel-draped guest was desperate to be remembered.

But their jewels were nothing compared to the treasures on display.

In the center of the gilded ballroom, beneath shimmering chandeliers, a collection of artifacts dazzled the crowd: the feather of a fallen angel, the chain once forged for the last dragon, a unicorn’s horn polished until it gleamed like moonlight. Guests gasped and murmured, their voices dripping with awe.

Yet all eyes inevitably fell to the centerpiece. The Crimoe.

A gem as red as fresh blood, embedded in a golden handle, caged behind glass reinforced with layers of magic. Royal mages stood like statues around it, their eyes sharp, their spells humming faintly in the air. Legends claimed the Crimoe had the power to alter fate itself. Others whispered it was cursed, sealed away for centuries by those too afraid of its true potential.

Above, hidden in the shadows of a high balcony, crimson eyes narrowed.

“It’s finally time, Zarok,” Isabel thought with a smirk. “Let’s see how you smile when this little trinket vanishes from under your nose.”

The crowd swirled in gowns of silk and velvet, jewels glittering like stars. Isabel glided among them in her own disguise—a black gown edged in crimson lace, a brown wig concealing her hair, and a delicate cat-shaped mask hiding her face. She blended seamlessly, as though she belonged. To anyone watching, she was just another guest.

“Funny,” she murmured under her breath as she slipped through the crowd. “Normally they wouldn’t even let the likes of me breathe the same air. Now look at them—stuffing themselves like pigs, tripping over each other for the King’s favor.”

The nobles were too busy clinking glasses and whispering about succession to notice the phantom in their midst. Step by step, Isabel slipped away from the laughter, down a corridor lined with guards and magic wards, toward the chamber where the artifacts glimmered.

Her gaze locked on the Crimoe.

And tonight, whether the King crowned his heir or not—Isabel would crown herself with the prize that could shake the kingdom to its core.

Isabel finally spotted what she was looking for. But with guards stationed at every corner and the royal mages’ eyes sweeping the hall, she knew she had to wait. Patience was part of the game.

She drifted casually to the edge of the ballroom, slipping into the shadows near a marble pillar. From there, she could watch the hall without drawing attention.

That’s when the hushed voices of two nobles reached her ears.

Noble 1: “Do you think Princess Sofia will be chosen as the next queen alongside Prince Magnus?”

Noble 2: “Nonsense. She just turned eighteen. What could she possibly know of ruling? The prince, on the other hand—he’s already proven himself. Even at a young age, he led armies to victory. His caliber far outshines hers.”

Noble 1: “Perhaps. But don’t forget—he’s the son of a commoner. If he becomes king, won’t other kingdoms look down on us?”

Noble 2: “Hush, you fool! If anyone hears you, we’ll both be thrown out.”

From her corner, Isabel smirked. For men so desperate not to be overheard, you’re awfully loud, she thought, eyes flicking back toward the glittering display of treasures. Isabel let out a soft laugh, passing the time until she spotted Zarok. For a moment, she froze, a faint smile curving her lips. “Finally, you arrive,” she murmured under her breath.

She sauntered toward him, each step slow and deliberate. As she drew near, she flipped her hair back, exposing her shoulder and the curve of her chest. Casually, she lifted a wine glass from a passing tray—and, with perfect timing, let it slip from her fingers, spilling red wine over Zarok.

“Oh my dear God! What have I done? I apologize!” she exclaimed, bending slightly as if to clean the mess, making her movements impossible to ignore.

Zarok’s initial scowl faltered. The sight of the young, beautiful woman before him—and the mischief in her eyes—made his irritation melt into a smile, and his tone shifted unexpectedly. Zarok smirked. “No worries, dear. Accidents happen.”

Isabel’s lips curved into a playful smile as she tilted slightly, letting her poise do the work. “Oh, you’re such a kind man. Silly me, ruining your clothes… is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Zarok’s gaze lingered, drawn by her confidence and charm. “If you truly wish to repay me,” he said, his tone softening, “perhaps a drink?”

Isabel kept her smile, subtle and teasing, leaning just enough to maintain his attention without giving away any of her plans. Her eyes flicked toward the Crimoe across the room—the distraction she created was perfect. The Crimoe, its deep red glow beckoning her. A slow smile curved her lips. “Let’s see what you have in store for me, little gem.”

And with that, she stepped deeper into the hall, unaware that someone else—watching from the shadows—was waiting for the same prize.