Chapter 1- The New Flame
Lyria’s POV
The grand palace of Eldoria was overwhelming. Every hall glittered with golden chandeliers, tapestries, and marble floors that seemed to stretch endlessly. I had only arrived from Russia yesterday, still adjusting to the strange language, the heavy silks, and the weight of invisible eyes following my every step.
I tried to keep my head low as I carried a tray of tea through the corridors, but then I saw him.
The Crown Prince, Kael, standing by the balcony, moonlight painting his sharp features in silver. He was everything the stories promised: cold, untouchable, and dangerous. His eyes, a stormy gray, scanned the hall—and when they landed on me, my heart skipped a beat.
He didn’t speak immediately. He just watched, intense and unnerving. My fingers shook slightly, spilling a drop of tea onto the floor. I bent to wipe it, embarrassed, but he stepped closer, silent, commanding.
“You are new,” he said finally, voice low, a dangerous velvet. “Russian, if I am not mistaken?”
“Yes… Your Highness,” I whispered, my words trembling.
Kael’s eyes didn’t leave mine. He tilted his head slightly, as if testing me, weighing me, measuring some invisible line I didn’t understand. “Be careful here,” he murmured. “Not everyone survives the palace’s attention.”
I swallowed, my pulse racing. Something in his tone—protective yet possessive—made my stomach flutter. “I’ll… do my best,” I murmured.
He stepped closer still, so near that I could feel the heat from his body. “I expect more than that,” he said softly, lips just grazing my ear. “I expect you to notice me… as I notice you.”
A shiver ran down my spine. His presence was intoxicating, impossible to ignore. And yet… I had only just arrived. How could this be happening?
Kael’s POV
She was a new spark in a world of polished gold and deceit. Lyria, delicate yet defiant, moved through the palace like she belonged despite her lowly status. Her Russian accent, the way her hands trembled slightly when nervous, the flush on her cheeks—it called to me, ignited something I hadn’t felt in years.
She did not yet know who I was capable of being. The curse, the cold exterior, the danger—it was all real. And yet, I wanted her to see the truth: the obsession, the possessiveness, the desire I felt for her.
When I leaned close, letting my lips brush her ear, I could feel her pulse quicken. I wanted to claim her—not in front of the court, not yet—but in secret, in stolen moments where the world could not judge.
“You intrigue me,” I whispered, fingers brushing hers as she wiped the tea spill. “Be careful, Lyria. You may not survive… or you may never want to leave my side.”
Her gasp was soft, but it echoed like music. I traced a finger along the back of her hand, lingering. Possessive. Gentle. A mixture only I could manage: power and tenderness in one.
She looked at me, wide-eyed, beautiful, new—and I knew, even now, I would not let her go. Not ever.
