The Prince Who Stole My Name
On the night the moon turned black, Princess Elianor woke with a stranger’s name on her tongue.
“Kael,” she whispered.
The word burned.
Outside the palace, the kingdom celebrated her coronation. Bells rang from the towers. Gold fire filled the sky. Every noble in the realm waited to kneel before the girl who had survived the Glass War.
Inside her chamber, a man stood behind the curtains.
He wore no crown, but the shadows bowed to him.
“You are late,” he said.
Elianor reached for the dagger beneath her pillow. “You are trespassing.”
“You invited me.”
“I have never seen you before.”
“Not with this face.”
He stepped into the moonlight.
He was beautiful in the way a blade was beautiful: precise, bright, made to be held by someone who did not fear blood.
A silver mark circled his throat.
Elianor knew the symbol. Every child in the kingdom did. It belonged to the Nameless Court, the exiled dynasty blamed for the war.
“You are one of them,” she said.
“I am the last one.”
The palace doors boomed below.
Someone was coming.
Elianor lifted the dagger. “Why are you here?”
“To collect what your father stole.”
“My father is dead.”
“Then his debt belongs to you.”
The door to her chamber shook.
Kael crossed the room without making a sound. He caught Elianor’s wrist and pressed his mouth to the black moon-shaped scar beneath her palm.
Heat rushed through her body.
For one impossible second, she saw his memories: a burning throne, a child hiding beneath a dead queen’s cloak, and Elianor herself standing beside him with blood on her hands.
She tore away.
“What did you do?”
“Reminded you.”
“I have never met you.”
“You have loved me in seven lifetimes.”
The chamber door splintered.
Royal guards poured in.
Kael drew a sword made of darkness. Elianor expected violence. Instead, he dropped to one knee before her.
“Say my name,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because if you say it, they will see me as yours.”
The guards raised their weapons.
The captain shouted, “Step away from the princess!”
Elianor looked at Kael’s upturned face.
He was dangerous. He was impossible. He had entered her room on the night she was supposed to become queen and asked her to claim him before witnesses.
She should have ordered his execution.
Instead she placed one hand beneath his chin.
“Kael,” she said.
Every candle in the palace went out.
The guards fell to their knees.
A voice spoke through the walls.
THE CROWN HAS CHOSEN ITS KING.
Kael smiled against her fingers.
Then the royal mirror cracked.
In its reflection, Elianor saw the truth: she was not wearing a princess’s face.
She was wearing Kael’s.
