Chapter 3: A Heart That Should Not Feel

Sleep did not come to Prince Kael that night.

He stood by the open balcony of his chambers, his silver eyes scanning the dark horizon. The stars above Elarion glowed faintly, as if whispering secrets only the gods could hear. The cold night air brushed against his skin, yet he felt a warmth deep in his chest—a foreign sensation he did not recognize.

It unsettled him.

For as long as he could remember, Kael had felt nothing. Not love, not longing, not even the bitter ache of loneliness. He had accepted that his heart was an empty vessel, incapable of holding affection.

Yet now… something had shifted.

A flicker of something unfamiliar—soft, yet insistent—curled in his chest. It was neither pain nor pleasure, but something in between, something dangerous.

He clenched his jaw.

This was wrong.

He knew this was wrong.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.

“Enter,” he commanded, his voice sharper than intended.

The door swung open, revealing his closest advisor, Lord Edrin. Dressed in deep crimson robes, the older man’s sharp eyes flickered with concern as he stepped inside. “Your Highness, forgive the late hour, but there is something you should know.”

Kael turned from the balcony, his expression unreadable. “Speak.”

Edrin hesitated. “The palace seers… they have sensed a disturbance in fate. Something unnatural has occurred.”

Kael’s fingers curled into a fist. He had suspected as much. “And?”

“The stars have shifted, my prince.” Edrin’s voice was grave. “Your destiny has changed.”

Kael’s breath stilled.

A slow, creeping dread unfurled within him. His fate had been sealed since birth—bound by an unbreakable curse. How could it suddenly change?

“How?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge of unease beneath it.

Edrin met his gaze. “We do not yet know. But the High Seer believes that someone has tampered with the celestial threads.”

Kael’s fingers twitched. The celestial threads.

The loom.

His heart pounded, and for the first time in his life, he felt fear.

Something—or someone—had altered his fate.

And he needed to find out who.

In the Servants’ Quarters…

Lyria had not slept.

The Guardian’s words echoed in her mind, each syllable pressing down on her like a heavy stone.

“You have woven a pattern that was never meant to be.”

She sat at the edge of her cot, staring at her hands. Hands that had stitched countless gowns, embroidered the most intricate patterns… and now, hands that had defied fate itself.

She had always believed destiny was unchangeable. That the gods wove the threads of fate with unerring precision. But now, she had proof that it could be altered. That she, a mere seamstress, had the power to unravel and reshape it.

But at what cost?

A soft knock at her door startled her. She jumped to her feet, fear spiking in her chest. The Guardian had warned her that there would be consequences. Had they come for her already?

Taking a deep breath, she hesitantly opened the door.

It was not the Guardian.

It was Lyric, one of the younger apprentice tailors. His brown eyes were filled with excitement, oblivious to the turmoil inside her.

“Lyria, you won’t believe it,” he whispered, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

She swallowed hard. “What is it?”

“The palace is in an uproar.” Lyric’s voice was hushed, but his words carried an unmistakable thrill. “The seers say the stars have shifted. That someone has changed the course of destiny.”

Lyria’s heart stuttered.

Her worst fear had been confirmed.

Lyric leaned closer. “And there’s more. Prince Kael… something is happening to him.”

Lyria gripped the edge of her desk to steady herself. “What do you mean?”

Lyric lowered his voice further. “He’s… feeling.”

Her breath caught.

The prince who was cursed to never love. The prince whose heart had been untouched by warmth or tenderness.

She had changed him.

She had done something that even the gods had deemed impossible.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She had to fix this. She had to—

A sharp gust of wind swept through the room, though the windows were closed. The candle flames flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

And then, as if summoned by fate itself, a deep, unfamiliar voice echoed through the chamber.

“You.”

Lyria froze.

A figure stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, dressed in dark robes embroidered with silver thread. His silver eyes burned into hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Prince Kael.

She had never been this close to him before. She had only seen him from afar—an untouchable figure of power and cold perfection. But now, standing in the small space of her quarters, he seemed… different.

There was something raw in his gaze, something almost vulnerable beneath the sharp edges of his expression.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Kael stepped forward, his movements controlled but purposeful. “You did something.”

Lyria’s throat went dry. She should deny it. She should run.

But she couldn’t.

Because as much as she wanted to lie, she could feel it too—the invisible thread that now bound them together. A thread that had not existed before she touched the loom.

Kael’s gaze darkened. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

Lyria swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

But the truth was… she had a terrible feeling that she was about to find out.

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