Chapter 1
High Lord Stefan wasn’t certain if this was a nightmare cloaked in a dream. He woke up to the ringing of the bells in the tower.
Ding, dong, ding!
Ding, dong, ding!
He grasped the linen sheets of his four-poster bed as he panted. His dress shirt was wet; it stuck to his chest. High Lord Stefan wiped a hand over the hairs tumbling down his forehead, wondering about the nightmare he had. It was disconcerting. Pulling his legs off the sheets, the High Lord went about his chamber and walked toward the door. There stood an old man of ripen age, white-haired, clothed in the ceremonial colors of the High Lord’s castle: purple and gold.
“Erik!”
The old man bowed before him. “Forgive me, master, but perhaps you might be interested in something rather important.”
“Is it now?” High Lord Stefan raised a brow at Erik’s reply. “Did another villager lost their way again?
“Yes milord,” Erik replied. “But she was strange. Perhaps, you might consider her?”
“Witches’ sakes, Erik! I am not too daft to consider–” The High Lord’s eyes widened at the realization. “It was a female this time?”
When he saw Erik nod, High Lord Stefan waved him away. The old butler tread lightly and walked out of the High Lord’s chamber. He, High Lord Stefan, was not an ordinary man. He had learned for a long time how rumors were spun. He was known as the legendary phantom who graced Bellevedere with nonsensical horror stories and why no one should take a step inside the Mudwick castle. His face obscured with the same shadows slithering through the walls of his home, the High Lord was a difficult man to be crossed with.
But he needed a female mortal to complete the ritual. The curse was close to fruition. He dreamed of answers right away, and so, he rose up from his bed. Feeling for the wetness of his dress shirt, High Lord Stefan pulled it off of his bulging muscles up, up to his shoulders while he shook his shouldered-length hair.
On the far side of his chamber was an oval-shaped mirror. He told Erik to bring it to the dungeons once, but never once did the poor butler listened to him. The mirror stood idly in the corner, just waiting for him to pull up the cloth covering it.
To see. To conquer. To marry.
The latter left a bitter taste to his mouth. High Lord Stefan closed his eyes as he unwrapped the mirror. Little by little, his reflection turned to a man of steely-eyes. He had sapphire ones and they were his only piece of charm. The rest was horrible.
High Lord Stefan touched his face, feeling the bumps and ridges of every wound he obtained during the war. They were horrid and something even the females would not find pleasant in a man, more so, in a man of nobility.
Despite the limitations prodding him to doubt, the High Lord hastily reached for another dress shirt. This time, it smelled of cotton wool and roses–a familiar scent he had always admired. Then, he stormed out of his chambers to see the female Erik told him about.
It was time to meet his future wife.
