Seraphina barely slept.
The face of the demon—Kael—haunted her dreams like smoke in the wind. When she awoke, the sun was high and the palace stirred with its usual rhythm: advisors murmuring in polished halls, servants bustling through rose-scented corridors, and the constant low hum of expectation that came with being heir to the throne of Soavy.
But she was changed now. Something within her had shifted.
She dressed with quiet urgency, avoiding the questioning eyes of her handmaids. Her silver circlet sat untouched on the dressing table. Royal duty could wait—her heart demanded answers.
In the archives beneath the palace, deep below where only the oldest scrolls and forbidden texts were kept, Seraphina lit a small lantern and searched. She had heard tales as a child—hushed whispers of demons who crossed the Veil, who walked among mortals under shadow—but nothing that explained why one would seek her.
After hours of dusty silence, her eyes locked on a crumbling volume: The Veilborn Pact.
She turned the pages with trembling fingers. One passage, scrawled in ancient ink, sent a chill through her.
"When the light of the crowned angel meets the fire of a Veilborn, a bond shall awaken that defies fate. The union is cursed. The union is sacred. It may bring ruin… or salvation."
Seraphina drew in a sharp breath.
A sound behind her—soft, like wind, but warmer.
She turned.
Kael stood in the shadows, watching her with those fire-lit eyes.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"I couldn't stay away," he said, stepping forward. "The bond has already begun"