Rain had been falling across the entire Kingdom of Aveloria since morning. Yet no sound of rain could drown out the people's whispers.
“Is it true?”
“I heard it from the palace servants.”
“They say King Adrian can’t even live a normal married life.”
“Then how will he have an heir?”
The whispers spread from the markets to the taverns, from the taverns to the nobles’ homes, until they finally reached every corner of the kingdom.
No one dared say it too loudly. Not because they didn’t want to talk about it, but because they feared the palace’s listening ears.
High on Aveloria’s highest hill, Vareon Castle stood shrouded in mist. Its black towers rose through the gray sky, while the royal emblem—a dragon clutching a crown—flapped in the wind.
In the highest room in the castle, a man stood before the window. King Adrian Veyr.
He was only twenty-nine, yet his gaze made nobles far older than him lower their heads.
His black hair was slightly damp from the rain. A black royal cloak hung from his shoulders, decorated with gold embroidery in the shape of a dragon.
In his hand was a letter—a letter he had been crumpling for several minutes.
“From the Kingdom of Eldoria,” an old man behind him said. “They’ve called off the arranged match.”
Adrian did not answer.
“The Kingdom of Valmere as well.”
Still, silence.
“And House Archen has asked that their daughter no longer be considered as a potential queen.”
Adrian’s fingers slowly tightened. “Enough.” One word.
The old man fell silent at once.
Adrian stared at his own reflection in the windowpane. It had been three years since the curse appeared.
Three years since the night his body had suddenly lost something no healer could explain.
Three years since the royal sorcerer had spoken the words that would become Aveloria’s darkest secret.
“Your Majesty has been cursed.” The curse did more than make him ill.
It made him unable to live a normal married life.
And for a king, that meant one thing. No heir. No clear future for the throne.
So the news became a weapon. His enemies spread it.
The nobles used it to question his fitness to rule. The people turned it into whispers.
And the women who had once competed for the king’s attention now refused even to stand too close to him.
Adrian set the letter on the table.
“How many kingdoms have heard?”
“All of them.”
The answer made the room feel even colder. Adrian let out a short laugh. Not because it was funny.
“That fast.”
“Your Majesty…”
“I know.”
The old man lowered his head. “However, there is still one way.”
Adrian turned toward him. “What?”
“The old pact.”
Adrian’s expression changed. “Don’t.”
“But—”
“I said don’t.”
The old man drew a breath.
“That legend may be more than just a legend.”
Adrian fell silent.
On the table lay an old book. Its cover was black, marked with a gold circular symbol that had nearly faded away.
The book had been kept in the kingdom’s secret chamber for hundreds of years. On its final page was a prophecy.
When the cursed king loses hope, the blood that once betrayed the crown will return. She will come without knowing who she is. She will stand before the king. And through her presence alone, the curse will begin to crack.
Adrian had read the prophecy hundreds of times. He had never believed it. Until this morning.
The door suddenly flew open. A soldier rushed inside.
“Your Majesty.”
Adrian turned.
“There’s a woman at the gate.”
“Tell her to leave.”
“She refuses.”
“Then force her.”
The soldier hesitated.
“The problem is…”
“What?”
“She brought this.” The soldier raised a pendant.
At once, the color drained from Adrian’s face. The pendant was shaped like a black rose—the symbol long believed to have gone extinct.
The symbol of House Vale. The family accused of betraying the crown a hundred years ago. The family whose every member was supposed to be dead.
Adrian stepped closer.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Elara Vale.”
Adrian’s heart stopped for a moment. That name. A name he had seen only in historical records.
The family name that, according to legend, had caused the first curse to afflict the Veyr bloodline.
Adrian stared at the pendant. Then he said in a low voice,
“Bring her here.”
“Are you sure, Your Majesty?”
Adrian lifted his face. His gaze was cold.
“If she really is descended from the Vales…” He closed his hand around the pendant. “…I want to know why she came to my castle.”
Outside, thunder roared. And far below the castle, an ancient bell that had never rung in a hundred years suddenly tolled.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
In the palace courtyard, a woman stood in the rain. Her long hair was soaked and plastered to her face.
She didn’t know why everyone was staring at her as though she were a ghost.
She also didn’t know why, ever since entering Aveloria, a voice had continued whispering inside her head.
Come home.
Elara looked up at the castle on the hill. For some reason, the place felt deeply familiar. As though she had been there before.
Not once, but countless times. In dreams. In a life she couldn’t even remember.
Then the castle doors opened. A man stepped outside. His black cloak billowed in the wind. Every soldier immediately dropped to one knee.
Elara did not. Her eyes met the king’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.
Adrian gazed at the woman before him. He didn’t know who Elara was. Yet something inside him recognized her.
Something even three years of the curse had been unable to extinguish.
A golden light appeared around Elara’s wrist. The same symbol engraved in the prophecy book. Adrian froze.
Elara stared at her own hand in confusion.
“What’s happening to me?”
No one answered. Adrian only stared at her. For the first time in three years, the pain in his chest vanished.
And for the first time as well, the curse that had bound him all this time… cracked.