Elara's POV
I'm going to die today.
The thought hammers through my skull as I stand in the Sacred Plaza with ninety-nine other girls, all wearing white ceremonial robes, all virgins, all terrified. The sun beats down on us like a punishment. My hands won't stop shaking.
Stand tall, the girl beside me whispers. Maybe he won't pick you.
But I know better. I've seen the way High Priest Valdris looked at me during temple services. The way his cold eyes lingered too long. The way Stepmother Seraphine smiled whenever his gaze found me.
This was planned. I just don't know why yet.
The crowd surrounding the plaza murmurs—thousands of citizens gathered to watch the Choosing. Somewhere in that sea of faces, my family stands. Father, who hasn't looked me in the eye for three days. Seraphine, who told me this morning to accept the honor with grace. And Miri, my baby sister, who cried herself sick last night begging me to run away.
I can't run. Running means the Temple executes your entire family. Slow. Public. Painful.
So I stand here, knees locked to keep from collapsing, and wait for my name.
High Priest Valdris emerges from the temple, his scarlet robes trailing behind him like blood. He's ancient, maybe sixty, with a face like carved stone and eyes that see through you. The crowd falls silent. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.
Children of Solarius, Valdris's voice booms across the plaza, the Blood Moon rises in seven days. Our sun god demands his Bride, a pure sacrifice to protect our kingdom from the Shadowplague.
My stomach turns. The Shadowplague. The disease that rots you from the inside, turning skin black, driving people mad before killing them. The Temple says only virgin sacrifices keep it away. Every three months, a new Bride. Every three months, a girl walks into the temple and never comes out.
They say divine fire consumes the Bride instantly. Painless. Holy.
They say her soul joins Solarius in eternal glory.
They say a lot of things.
The sun god has shown me His chosen, Valdris continues, unrolling a golden scroll. The next Bride of Solarius, blessed among women, is
My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
Please not me. Please not me. Please
Elara Ashenveil.
The world tilts.
My name echoes across the plaza like a death sentence. For one impossible moment, everything stops. No sound. No movement. Just my name hanging in the air, sealing my fate.
Then the crowd erupts in cheers.
I can't breathe. Can't think. My knees buckle, but I force myself to stand. This can't be real. This can't
ELARA! My father's voice cuts through the noise. I find him in the crowd—and he's smiling. Genuinely smiling. Our daughter! Chosen! What an honor!
No. No, that's wrong. He should be devastated. He should be screaming. He should be
Seraphine stands beside him, clapping slowly, her smile sharp as glass. Our eyes meet across the plaza. There's no sadness in her face. No grief.
Only cold satisfaction.
She wanted this.
The realization hits like a fist to the gut. Seraphine planned this. Somehow. Some way. She made sure I'd be chosen.
But why?
NO!
The scream rips through the celebration. I spin toward the sound.
Miri breaks through the crowd, her little face streaked with tears, running toward me. NO! YOU CAN'T TAKE HER! SHE'S MY SISTER!
Temple guards intercept her before she reaches the plaza. She fights them, small fists beating uselessly against their armor, sobbing my name over and over.
Miri! I lurch forward, but hands grab my arms—more guards appearing from nowhere, their grip iron-hard.
The Bride must come willingly, Valdris says smoothly, or her family suffers the consequences of her refusal.
The threat is clear. Fight, and they kill Miri. Father. Even Seraphine, though right now I'd gladly watch her burn.
I stop struggling.
Good girl. Valdris's smile doesn't reach his eyes. Your family should be proud. You'll save thousands of lives.
The guards drag me forward, toward the temple steps. I try to turn back, try to see Miri one more time, but they force me to face forward. Away from my sister's screams. Away from my father's betrayal. Away from Seraphine's cold, satisfied smile.
The crowd parts as we climb the temple steps. People reach out to touch my robe, as if I'm already holy. Already dead. Their blessings sound like funeral rites.
At the top of the steps, Valdris waits. He takes my hand in his, his skin is cold, papery, wrongand leans close.
Seven days, child. Pray. Prepare. Make peace.
Then Seraphine's voice cuts through the noise, close enough that I jerk around. She must have followed us up the steps. She stands three feet away, close enough that only I can hear when she leans in and whispers:
You should have been less perfect.
Ice floods my veins. What?
Her smile widens, and for just a second, I see pure hatred in her eyes. Did you really think your beauty wouldn't threaten me? That I'd let you steal the inheritance from my children?
Understanding crashes over me like freezing water.
She didn't just want this. She arranged it. Paid someone. Bribed someone. Made sure my name would be called.
She's murdering me for inheritance. For status. For money.
You I start, but the guards pull me away, into the temple, away from the sunlight.
The last thing I hear before the doors slam shut is Miri screaming my name.
And Seraphine's quiet, triumphant laugh.