Bethanal drifted in and out of consciousness, her lashes trembling as though they were caught between two worlds. The faint ringing in her ears slowly faded, replaced by the familiar hush of silk curtains brushing against the tall windows of her chamber. Her body felt heavy, as if sleep still clung to her bones, refusing to let go.
She inhaled deeply.
The air smelled of lavender and polished wood—comforting, known—yet something about it felt wrong. Not dangerous. Just… unsettled.
Bethanal opened her eyes.
For several seconds, she remained still, staring at the carved ceiling above her bed. Golden vines and ancient symbols stretched across the stone, designs she had known since childhood. Usually, they grounded her. Today, they felt distant, like a memory borrowed from someone else's life.
Her head throbbed gently.
"What… happened?" she whispered to herself.
She searched her mind for the moments before she fell asleep, but her thoughts slipped away each time she tried to grasp them. There was a blur—warmth, a voice she couldn't quite remember, and a strange sense of being watched. Not threateningly. Almost protectively.
Bethanal pushed herself upright, the room swaying slightly as she did. She pressed a hand against her temple and waited until the dizziness passed.
That was when the knock came.
"Princess Bethanal," a familiar voice called softly.
The door creaked open before she could answer.
Bethanal stood up instantly, her heart skipping. She moved closer to the door, eyes narrowing as she watched Lyrita step into the room.
Confusion washed over her.
Lyrita was already inside.
Bethanal's gaze darted to the door, then back to the maid. "How did you do that?" she asked, her voice sharp with curiosity.
Lyrita blinked. "Do what, my lady?"
"Open the door," Bethanal said, pointing directly at it. "I closed it."
Lyrita turned and looked at the door, then back at Bethanal. "The door was closed, my lady."
Bethanal's breath caught. "But I closed it. How—?"
Lyrita studied her face, concern slowly replacing confusion. "My lady," she said gently, "you must be very stressed."
Bethanal frowned. "I'm not imagining things."
"I know," Lyrita replied carefully. "But please, forget about the door for now. His Majesty wishes for you to be ready."
Bethanal's shoulders stiffened. "I'm not going anywhere."
Lyrita sighed softly, approaching her with the patience only years of service could teach. "I know you're angry, Princess. Anyone would be. But you must leave this room."
Bethanal turned away. "Why?"
"A great many princes and kings have arrived," Lyrita said. "From distant lands. Some traveled for weeks."
"That makes no difference to me," Bethanal replied coldly. "I'm not up for that."
Lyrita hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Please… just go. If not for them, then for the kingdom."
The words struck deeper than Bethanal expected.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Bethanal exhaled sharply. "Okay. Get me my dress."
Lyrita's face lit up with relief. "Yes, my lady."
Bethanal sighed as she returned to the vanity. Her reflection stared back at her—calm on the surface, but with storm clouds behind her eyes.
---
Lyrita moved swiftly, practiced hands arranging layers of fabric, fastening delicate clasps, and brushing Bethanal's dark hair until it shimmered. As she worked, she talked—about the guests, the court, the whispers echoing through the palace halls.
"There is a prince from the Eastern Isles," Lyrita said. "Very polite, but quiet. And a king from the Southern Sands—loud laughter, but sharp eyes."
Bethanal barely listened.
Her thoughts wandered, drifting back to the strange dream she couldn't remember fully. Only fragments remained—darkness, silver light, and a presence that felt both familiar and impossible.
Then Lyrita said something that made Bethanal freeze.
"There is one guest, my lady," Lyrita continued, her voice lowering. "No one knows exactly where he comes from. He arrived alone, cloaked in black. The guards said his eyes were… unsettling. Not cruel. Just deep. As though he's seen things beyond this world."
Bethanal's breath hitched.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity.
Lyrita noticed the change immediately. "My lady?"
Bethanal turned slowly, her gaze locking onto Lyrita's eyes. "Describe him again."
Lyrita hesitated, then nodded. "Tall. Dark hair. His presence makes the air feel heavy, but not in a threatening way. More like… the silence before rain."
Bethanal's heart pounded.
That was him.
The one from her dreams.
The one who stood at the edge of her memories, watching her with eyes that glowed faintly in the dark.
After a moment, Bethanal looked away. "Enough," she said quietly. "Focus on the dressing."
Lyrita obeyed, though confusion lingered in her expression.
When they were finished, Bethanal stood, regal and composed. Gold and deep blue fabric flowed around her, embroidered with symbols of the royal house. She looked every inch the princess she was born to be.
Yet inside, something was unraveling.
---
The palace corridors were alive with sound as Bethanal made her way toward the grand hall. Soft music echoed through stone arches, accompanied by the murmur of noble voices. Torches flickered, casting dancing shadows along the walls.
Bethanal walked with measured steps, her posture perfect.
Then she felt it.
A sudden chill swept through the corridor.
The air thickened, pressing against her chest.
Her steps slowed.
Ahead, near the far archway, something moved.
At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. A shadow stretching too far. But then it shifted—unnaturally—pulling itself free from the wall.
It wasn't human.
Its form was dark, undefined, as though made of smoke and night. No face. No eyes. Yet she could feel its attention fixed on her.
Bethanal gasped.
The world tilted.
Her vision blurred, the corridor spinning as fear surged through her veins. She tried to step back, to scream, but her body betrayed her.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
---
"Princess!"
Voices echoed as Bethanal fell.
Strong arms caught her before she hit the floor.
The shadow vanished.
Bethanal drifted in darkness, but this time it wasn't empty. She stood in a vast, starless space, the ground beneath her glowing faintly with silver lines.
"You saw it," a voice said.
She turned.
The man from her dreams stood before her, no longer distant. His eyes were calm, ancient. Familiar.
"What is happening to me?" Bethanal asked.
"Your awakening has begun," he replied. "And the palace is no longer safe."
Before she could respond, light exploded around her.
---
Bethanal woke with a sharp inhale.
She was lying on a velvet couch in a private chamber, surrounded by worried faces.
Lyrita clutched her hand. "My lady! Thank the heavens."
Bethanal sat up slowly, her heart racing. "The shadow," she whispered. "It was real."
Across the room, a tall figure stepped forward from the light.
Black cloak. Deep eyes.
Their gazes met.
And Bethanal knew—without doubt—that her life had just crossed a line from which there was no return.
[End of Chapter]