They say the palace chooses you.
Not the king. Not the priests. Not the trembling women lined up with garlands in their hair and fear in their eyes.
The palace.
It knew me before I crossed its gate. I felt it—like breath on the back of my neck, like memory threading through bone. As if the black stone beneath my feet had been waiting for me to come home.
Even though I have no home.
No memory.
No name… except the one they gave me when I woke.
Vaeleria.
It means nothing to me.
But the king said it like a man tasting sin for the first time.
---
The carriage had broken down just before we reached the gate. Two white horses screamed and dropped dead where they stood—no wounds, just silence. The priests whispered that it was an omen. I stared at their blood steaming on the snow and felt nothing.
I was already dead, wasn't I?
When the guards tried to touch me, the palace doors opened on their own.
---
Inside, the air was warm, too warm. It smelled of incense and rot. The walls were covered in old gold and shadowed carvings. A throne stood at the end of the hall, but it was empty.
The man did not sit.
He stood in the darkness beside it, cloaked in black, a crown of thorns wrapped in silver around his head. And when he saw me—
The air cracked. Like glass breaking beneath a scream.
"You're early," he murmured.
I swallowed. "Early for what?"
His mouth curved like he didn't know whether to laugh or devour me.
"For remembering."
---
He stepped down, and with each step, the stone glowed faintly beneath his boots. Something in me pulled tight. I should have run. I should have begged.
But I stayed still.
Because something deep, deep inside me whispered: You've stood here before.
He stopped in front of me. Eyes black as night, ringed in gold. A face too perfect to be human—carved in sorrow and hunger. His hand lifted, hovering near my cheek.
"You should be afraid."
"I'm not," I said.
That made his smile vanish. "Then you remember nothing."
He stepped closer. His fingers ghosted the curve of my throat. Not touching—just near enough to feel the cold rising from him.
"You were a goddess once," he whispered. "And you cursed me with your final breath."
"I don't believe you."
"No," he said, so softly I almost missed the threat beneath it. "But you will."
He leaned in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. "And when you do... you'll beg me to end you."
---
Something inside me snapped—a vision, no, a memory: a sword in my hand. A crown slipping from my head. Blood—his blood—dripping from my fingers as I screamed a name I couldn't remember.
I staggered back.
The king watched me without blinking. "You feel it, don't you?"
My hands trembled.
He nodded, and turned toward the throne. "Let it come. Let it tear you apart. The palace will not let you die."
I forced a breath. "What do you want from me?"
He didn't look back.
"Everything."
To be continued...