Chapter 1

The wind howled across the barren landscape, carrying with it the scent of blood and fire. Princess Seraphina of Verran stood at the edge of the cliff, her cloak billowing around her like the wings of a dark angel. Below, the battlefield stretched out in a gruesome tableau—bodies of

Draven soldiers lay scattered like broken dolls, their blood seeping into the cracked earth. Her eyes, cold and unforgiving, scanned the carnage with a calculated detachment. This was her work, and she took no pleasure in it—only grim satisfaction.

"Burn them," she commanded, her voice cutting through the din of the aftermath.

One of her lieutenants, a grizzled veteran with a scar that ran from his brow to his jaw, hesitated. "But Your Highness, some of them might still be alive. We could—"

"Burn them," she repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We don't take prisoners. Not from Draven."

The lieutenant nodded, casting a wary glance at the princess before barking orders to the men. They moved quickly, gathering the bodies into piles and dousing them with oil. The flames roared to life, consuming the dead with a hunger that matched Seraphina's own for vengeance. The scent of charred flesh filled the air, mingling with the acrid smoke that stung her eyes.

She turned away from the pyres, her mind already moving to the next step. This was just one skirmish in a war that had spanned generations. But it was a victory, and victories—no matter how small—were the building blocks of conquest.

Seraphina walked through the remains of the battlefield, her boots squelching in the mud and blood. She paused beside the body of a Draven soldier, his face half-melted by the fire, and crouched down. His armor bore the insignia of a high-ranking officer—perhaps one of Kael's favored men. She reached out, plucking a medallion from his neck and inspecting it. The symbol of Draven was etched into the silver: a serpent coiled around a sword.

A sneer curled her lips. Draven. They were all the same—vile, deceitful bastards who thought they had a right to rule. They were the ones who had started this war, who had betrayed Verran all those years ago. And they were the ones who would pay the price.

Her fingers tightened around the medallion until the edges bit into her skin. She would send this back to them, a reminder that Verran had not forgotten, that they would never forgive.

Her thoughts turned to Kael, the

Prince of Draven, the man who would one day wear the crown of a kingdom she had sworn to destroy. She had never met him, but his reputation was enough. A cold-blooded killer, ruthless in his pursuit of power. He was her mirror image in many ways—a thought that made her sick to her stomach.

Seraphina stood, tossing the medallion to one of her soldiers. "Send this back to Draven. Let them know it's a token of our... appreciation."

The soldier nodded and hurried off, leaving Seraphina alone with her thoughts. She felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders. There was no room for weakness, no time for hesitation. She was the heir to Verran, the future queen. And she would do whatever it took to protect her people—even if it meant becoming a monster.

A rustle behind her drew her attention. She spun, drawing her sword in one fluid motion. The blade gleamed in the fading light, sharp and deadly. Her heart pounded, adrenaline flooding her veins as she scanned the area for the source of the noise.

"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice a low growl.

A figure emerged from the shadows—a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with the unmistakable bearing of a warrior. His face was obscured by a hood, but the glint of steel in his hand was unmistakable. Seraphina's grip tightened on her sword, her body tensing for a fight.

"You're trespassing," she said, her tone icy. "Identify yourself or die."

The man chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Is that how you greet all your guests, Princess?"

The word dripped with mockery, and Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "This is Verran territory. You're the trespasser."

"Am I?" He stepped closer, his movements smooth and confident. "Funny, I thought this was just another wasteland, claimed by whoever's strong enough to hold it."

"Then you should know better than to challenge me," Seraphina shot back, raising her sword. "Now, show your face."

With a slow, deliberate motion, the man pushed back his hood. Seraphina's breath caught in her throat as she recognized the sharp features, the piercing blue eyes that had haunted her nightmares. Prince Kael of Draven.

"Surprised?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

Seraphina's mind raced. What was he doing here? How had he slipped past her scouts? And more importantly, how could she kill him without setting off a full-scale war?

"I could kill you right now," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside her.

Kael's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it—only cold calculation. "You could try. But then you'd be throwing away the only chance your kingdom has of survival."

Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the subtle shifts in his expression, the hard set of his jaw. "There's something coming, Princess. Something worse than this petty war between our people. If you want to save Verran, you're going to need my help."

She stared at him, searching for any hint of deception, but all she found was grim determination. It didn't matter. She couldn't trust him, not after everything Draven had done. But she couldn't dismiss his words either. There was something in his eyes, something that made her blood run cold.

"What do you know?" she demanded, lowering her sword slightly but not letting down her guard.

Kael didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked out over the burning bodies of his fallen men, his expression unreadable. "We're both being played, Seraphina. There's a darkness coming that neither of our kingdoms can face alone. You can kill me if you want, but it won't change anything. The Shadowborn are rising."

The name sent a chill down Seraphina's spine. The Shadowborn—ancient creatures of darkness, thought to be nothing more than myth. But if they were real... She swallowed hard, trying to push down the surge of fear. "Why should I believe you?"

Kael turned to face her, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. "Because you have no other choice."

Seraphina's grip on her sword tightened, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He was right, damn him. She hated him, despised everything he stood for, but she couldn't afford to ignore the threat. Not if it meant the survival of her people.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "But if you betray me, I'll gut you myself."

Kael's smile returned, cold and dangerous. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

As they stood there, surrounded by the flames of the dead and the ashes of their hatred, Seraphina couldn't shake the feeling that she had just made a deal with the devil. And she had a sinking suspicion that before this was over, she would come to regret it.

But for now, there was no turning back. The darkness was coming, and she would need every weapon at her disposal—including the man she had sworn to destroy.