Chapter 3: The Stranger in Black

The sun had barely crested the hills when Lyra slipped out of the inn with the letter tucked into her cloak. She didn’t know where she was going—only that she needed to move, to think, to breathe.

The village was already stirring. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the smell of fresh bread drifted through the air. Familiar faces offered gentle smiles as she passed, but Lyra barely noticed. Every step felt heavier than the last. Her thoughts were tangled, weighed down by the dream, the curse, the cryptic message, and the feeling that something—someone—was watching her.

She walked toward the edge of the forest, where the trees grew thick and wild. It was the only place left where she could feel even slightly in control. As she crossed the worn path leading into the woods, her fingers brushed the letter in her pocket for the hundredth time.

“The crown calls to its queen.”

Those words haunted her. What did they mean? Was it literal? Symbolic? A warning—or an invitation?

A branch snapped behind her.

Lyra froze.

She turned slowly. Nothing.

Just the rustling of leaves. The gentle swaying of branches.

She took a breath—and then a shadow stepped from behind a tree.

Tall. Cloaked in black. Face half-shrouded by a hood.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

He said nothing. Just stood there, watching her.

“Who are you?” she demanded, taking a step back. “What do you want?”

No answer.

His presence was unsettling. Not just because he had appeared without sound—but because she felt something from him. A pressure, like gravity bending toward him. Magic.

She reached for the knife at her belt, her fingers brushing the hilt.

The man lifted his head, revealing sharp features—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, piercing storm-gray eyes. His expression was unreadable. Cold. Beautiful in a way that made her chest tighten and her instincts scream.

“You don’t belong here,” she said, forcing steel into her voice.

He tilted his head slightly, considering her. “Neither do you.”

Her blood chilled.

“I asked you a question,” she snapped.

“I’m not your enemy, Lyra.”

He knew her name.

Panic surged, but she kept her face still. “Then who are you?”

The man stepped closer. His cloak billowed like smoke behind him. “You were right to leave the village. They’ll come for you tonight.”

Her throat went dry. “Who?”

“The ones who serve the shadow. The curse isn’t waiting anymore. It’s moving.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, her voice shaking now. “Who are you?”

He hesitated, then spoke in a voice low and steady. “Prince Kael of Emberhold.”

She blinked. “You’re lying. The prince doesn’t leave the capital. He wouldn’t—”

“I wouldn’t risk everything for a myth?” he said, stepping into full view. “And yet, here I am. Because you, Lyra, are more than just cursed. You are the key to saving what’s left of the kingdom.”

She stared at him, heart thundering.

A cursed girl. A prince cloaked in shadows. And a prophecy she could no longer outrun.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

Kael’s eyes darkened. “To keep you alive. And to show you the truth… before the crown claims you.”

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