The first thing Aurelia Dawn noticed was the cold. Not the biting chill of winter in her old world, but a damp oppressive cold that clung to her skin and seeped into her bones. She shivered, eyes fluttering open to a room she didn't recognize—a room of dark oak panels and velvet curtains, lit by flickering candles that smelled faintly of incense.
Her hands clutched at herself instinctively. Panic surged. This isn't my apartment. This isn't… anywhere I know. She tried to recall what had happened. One moment, she had been reading in her tiny apartment back home, tea in hand, a soft rain tapping against the window… and then? Nothing. Blackness.
And here she was now, lying in a bed not her own and dressed in heavy foreign silks.
Aurelia's heartbeat thundered in her ears. "Where… am I?" she whispered, shaking.
A knock at the door made her jump. Before she could respond, the door opened and framed a tall woman in a crisp maid's uniform. Her expression was polite, almost too polite, but her eyes flickered with something darker-fear, perhaps, or anticipation.
"Your Highness… the king requests your presence," the maid said, inclining her head. "Immediately."
Aurelia froze. "The. king?" The word felt strange in her mouth, familiar in its feeling, yet somehow distant, like something from a dream. Her head reeled as she tried to comprehend the impossibility of it all. This had to be some sort of hallucination. Or perhaps a dream. yes, this is a very vivid dream.
But when she stood from the bed, her legs trembling in the unfamiliar shoes of silk, the room spun. Her reflection in the ornate mirror opposite her caught her off guard. She wasn't herself-or at least, not her old self. Once chestnut brown, her hair was now a deep black, elegantly pinned atop her head. Her skin was paler; her face sharper, as if someone had sculpted it to fit some noble standard she had only read about in historical novels.
A chill went down her spine. Oh no. Oh no… this can't be happening.
The maid led her into a long, thin corridor, bathed in little light. Various tapestries of battles, dragons, and kings sat along the walls. Every step Aurelia took echoed.
"Your Highness…" said the maid softly. "Do you understand… what has happened to you?"
Aurelia shook her head, her stomach twisting. "No. I… I don't even know where I am. Why am I… here?"
The maid's lips pressed into a thin line. "You are in the Empire of Blackthorn. You… have been chosen as the king's bride."
The words struck Aurelia like a blow. Bride? Me? But… I don't even know this king!
"Chosen…?" she stammered, her voice rising in panic. "I don't understand! I—"
The maid's soft hand fell on her shoulder. "Your Highness, I am sorry, but it is not your choice. The king… has not allowed anyone to refuse this union in decades. You must go to him now, or…" A flick of her gaze went toward the ornate double doors ahead, and the implication was clear: refusal was not an option.
Aurelia's legs felt like lead as she approached the doors. Every step felt heavy with the reality of inevitability, the knowledge that weighed upon her that her life, as she had known it, was gone. She pushed open the doors and met a sight that stole the air from her lungs.
The throne room was immense, almost echoing with the quiet tread of guards and hushed murmurs of servants. And there, atop a throne carved from black obsidian, sat the king. Or rather, the man the world called a king-and a monster.
He was tall, broader than she'd imagined, his presence demanding attention without a word. Black hair fell over his sharp, angular face, casting eyes said to pierce souls into shadowy obscurity. Yet Aurelia felt, inexplicably, they were already looking at her, not as a stranger but something fated.
The court was hushed in a silence as she entered the room, every pair of eyes on her. The king did not stand. He did not even shift his weight. His eyes, cold and calculating, settled on hers, holding her steady, as if testing the surety of her purpose.
Finally, he spoke in that low, measured voice that seemed to rumble through her chest.
"You are late."
"I… I'm sorry," Aurelia stuttered, not hearing them but bowing with the deepest angle her stiff gown would allow. Her head was screaming, Late? For what? What do I even owe this man?
The king's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Do not mistake your fear for respect. You are not my guest. You are my bride. And I do not tolerate disobedience."
Aurelia's stomach sank. "B…Bride? But… I—"
"Silence." His eyes flashed, keen and dangerous. "You have one chance to speak sense before this. arrangement becomes a matter of life and death.
A chill coursed down her body, from a different coldness than what sat in the room, one that wrapped itself around her very soul. She knew then, instinctively, the stories were true: the king was cursed. That anyone who dared to love him… died.
Her heart hammered, yet against all instinct, she straightened. She would not cry, not yet. Not when she had no idea how this curse worked, or why she had been chosen. Somehow deep inside, a flicker of courage ignited.
"I… I don't know why I am here," she said, her voice firmer than she expected. "But I… I am not afraid of you."
The king's eyes came a little closer together, and for the first time, something flickered across his face-maybe a spark of curiosity, or even amusement.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Perhaps you are… different from the others."
Aurelia swallowed hard, feeling the thrill and the terror of her situation. The life she knew was gone, transmogrified into something she could barely understand.