The heavy carriage wheels clattered against the cobblestones as Ayla's heart pounded in her chest. Outside, the sky was a swirling canvas of dark clouds, mirroring the storm of emotions inside her. The letter had been clear: she was to marry Prince Kaelen, the man whispered about in fearful tales-the Devil's son.
Her fingers trembled as she clutched the worn fabric of her cloak tighter around her shoulders. This is for my family, she reminded herself, though the weight of the unknown pressed down like a suffocating fog. The stench of damp earth and burnt pine from the carriage lanterns filled her nostrils, a grim contrast to the lavender-scented handkerchief her mother had tucked into her palm. "For courage," her mother had said. Now, it felt like a relic from another life.
As the carriage came to a halt before the towering gates of the palace, a chill ran down her spine. The iron gates groaned open, revealing the sprawling, shadowed courtyard beyond. Flickering torches cast long, dancing shadows on the cold stone walls, and the air was thick with silence.
"My lady," the coachman murmured, avoiding her gaze as he opened the carriage door.
Ayla stepped out, her boots echoing softly. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the palace itself was swallowing her whole. The wind howled through the skeletal trees lining the path, their branches clawing at the sky.
Suddenly, the massive doors ahead swung open, revealing a tall figure standing in the dim light.
Prince Kaelen.
He stood like a statue carved from night itself, his black cloak pooling around him. His face was angular, severe, and hauntingly beautiful-a contradiction that left her breathless. But it was his eyes that froze her: twin pools of obsidian, cold and unreadable.
"Welcome," he said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet over steel.
Ayla's throat tightened. She forced herself to curtsy, her knees trembling. "Your Highness."
He said nothing, his gaze piercing through her. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder.
Then, a blood-curdling scream shattered the stillness.
Ayla's breath caught. The sound echoed through the halls, raw and primal, before dying abruptly.
Kaelen's expression darkened. Without a word, he turned and strode down the corridor, his cloak billowing behind him.
"Wait!" Ayla called, her voice trembling. She hesitated-every instinct screamed at her to flee-but she gathered her skirts and followed.
The palace corridors were a labyrinth of shadows. Torchlight flickered weakly, casting grotesque shapes on the walls. Ayla's pulse roared in her ears as she struggled to keep pace with Kaelen's long strides.
"What was that?" she demanded, her voice echoing too loudly in the emptiness.
He didn't glance back. "You should return to your chambers."
"Tell me what's happening!"
He stopped abruptly, and she nearly collided with him. When he turned, his eyes glinted with something unreadable-anger? Fear? "Curiosity is a dangerous companion here," he said coldly.
Another scream rang out, closer this time.
Ayla's resolve hardened. "I'm not leaving."
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his gaze-surprise, perhaps. Then he turned and strode forward.
They reached a narrow stairwell, its stone steps worn smooth by time. The air grew colder, the walls damp with condensation. At the bottom, a heavy door stood ajar.
Kaelen pushed it open.
The room beyond was dim, lit by a single candle. A servant girl lay crumpled on the floor, her face ashen. Blood seeped from a gash on her arm, staining her gray dress.
"Mara?" Kaelen knelt beside her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
The girl whimpered, her eyes wide with terror. "H-he… he was here… the Shadow Watcher…"
Ayla's blood turned to ice. Shadow Watcher. The name alone felt like a curse.
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "What did he want?"
"A warning," Mara whispered. "He said… 'The bride will burn with the rest.'"
Ayla's hand flew to her mouth.
Kaelen stood abruptly, his face a mask of fury. "Guards!"
Boots pounded in the distance, but Ayla barely heard them. Her eyes locked on the wall behind Mara-a symbol carved into the stone, still dripping with fresh blood.
A serpent coiled around a dagger.
Later, in her chambers, Ayla paced the floor. The encounter replayed in her mind: Kaelen's tension, the servant's terror, the chilling symbol.
A knock startled her.
Lady Miren slipped inside, her auburn curls disheveled and her cheeks flushed. "Are you hurt?"
Ayla shook her head. "What do you know about the Shadow Watcher?"
Miren paled. "Nothing good. They say he's a ghost-a vengeful spirit who serves the Devil. He appears before tragedies." She lowered her voice. "They say he's the reason the prince's first bride died."
Ayla's stomach dropped. "First bride?"
"Five years ago. She vanished on her wedding night. They found her veil… covered in blood."
The candle on the desk sputtered, casting jagged shadows.
"Why wasn't I told?" Ayla whispered.
Miren hesitated. "Because you're not supposed to survive either."
That night, Ayla lay awake, the serpent-and-dagger symbol burning behind her eyelids. The palace creaked and groaned like a living beast.
Just as exhaustion began to pull her under, a sound jolted her upright-a faint scratch at her door.
Her breath hitched. "Who's there?"
No answer.
She crept forward, her hand trembling as she reached for the handle.
The door flew open.
A figure loomed in the darkness, taller than any man, its form shifting like smoke. Red eyes glowed beneath a tattered hood.
"You were warned," it hissed.
Ayla stumbled back, but the creature lunged-