Page 17

Jules

North Village—The Market

I know it’s market day.

But more importantly, according to Shade, it’s Ask Day .

“Tell me what today is again,” I say, trying not to react to the stares and whispers.

“Yes, of course. Ask Day is a time of year, usually held every quarter, when our people present Lord Alaric with their grievances, needs, and requests for his judgment,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What kind of problems?” I ask, brushing my fingers over bolts of lace and soft, silken linen at a vendor’s table.

A sweet-looking older woman smiles at me, and her daughters giggle when I compliment the pale blue embroidery.

“Anything, Lady Jules. Disputes between neighbors. Land boundaries. A cartwheel needing replacement. Even matchmaking requests.”

“Wait,” I stop walking and smile so hard it hurts. “Alaric is a matchmaker?”

Shade tilts her head, confused. “Not exactly. But it is the dream of many villagers to have their Lord bless their unions. Especially during Ask Day. Do they not do that on Earth?”

“Not unless you count dating apps,” I laugh. “Some cultures still use matchmakers, but not really anymore. Back home, people want to meet someone who just gets them. Someone to fall in love with.”

“Strange,” she murmurs, brows knitting.

I snort. “You’re telling me. But it’s supposed to be about connection. Not sex or dowries or parental approval.”

She doesn’t reply immediately, and the silence stretches just long enough to make me glance over. Shade’s expression is unreadable. Thoughtful.

“So, people ask him for matchmaking?” I press.

“Yes. Especially now. Since you arrived.”

“How do you mean?” I ask her.

“There’s been talk,” Shade says quietly.

I glance over at her. The wind teases her red braid over one shoulder, and she doesn’t meet my eyes at first.

“What kind of talk?” I ask.

She finally looks at me then, and there’s something unreadable in her expression.

A weight.

A warning.

Her eyes, normally the color of polished ash, seem to darken with whatever truth she’s holding back.

“About the prophecy,” she says.

I stop walking. “What prophecy?”

Shade sighs, as if she regrets bringing it up at all— but the words spill anyway, like they’ve been waiting to be said.

“In Nightfall, the realm is ruled by the great Lords. Each commands a dominion carved out by old power and older bloodlines. Lord Alaric rules the Eyrie and all the wild lands west of the Thorn Mountains. His brethren— Lords Kael, Thorne, and Dagan —govern their own territories. Together, they kept the realm in balance. Until,” she pauses.

“Until what?”

“The Prime fell,” she says softly. “The fifth Lord. The one who ruled over all. He died in battle, and with him, the balance broke.”

I swallow, heart thudding. “And this prophecy?”

Shade glances around, as if wary of ears even here, on the market path.

Her voice lowers. “It is said that each Lord inherits his true power only when he finds his mate. Not just a lover or consort. A viyella . When a zareth bond forms, it is unbreakable. Something older than blood. Older than Nightfall itself.”

“A zareth ,” I repeat. “I think that’s what Alaric mentioned when we—” I trail off.

Her eyes widen.

“It is a rare thing, my lady—I mean, Jules . Sacred. It binds two souls. And when that bond is true, it awakens something ancient. Magic reborn. They say the right bond could even elevate a Lord to Prime.”

I blink at her. “Wait. So, you’re saying if Alaric formed this zareth bond with me, he could become the new Prime?”

Shade hesitates.

“That’s what the old legends say,” she admits. “But,” again she pauses.

“But?”

“You’re human, Lady Jules. We’ve never had a human bonded to a Lord. Some whisper it’s impossible. That the zareth can’t form with someone from your world. That you’re just a distraction or an illusion like so many our Lord creates.”

“Illusion?”

“Yes. One of Lord Alaric’s many titles. Something his magic is infamous for. He is the Lord of Illusion.”

A cold ache forms in my chest.

“So, Alaric is the Lord of Air and Illusion, and you all think I’m just in the way,” I say slowly. “Or worse, that I’m a tool.”

“Oh, my lady, no, I did not mean?—”

“Please,” I whisper. “Friends don’t lie, Shade. Even when the truth hurts.”

Shade doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

Her silence says enough.

I look up toward the Eyrie, where I know Alaric is still holding court, hearing the pleas of his people like some kind of otherworldly king with wings and glowing skin and a voice that can shatter me in one breath and rebuild me in the next.

A mate. A zareth. A prophecy that could change everything.

And here I am.

A girl from Earth with a messy past, an ache for belonging, and a Dragon Lord who looks at me like I might be more.

But what if I’m not?

What if I’m just distracted by the illusion he created?

What if I’m simply the means to his end?

Her words hit like a stone dropped into still water.

Unimaginable strength.

Magic reborn.

The words replay over and over in my brain.

And all I can think is—was I stolen from my home for that reason?

Did he see me and think power instead of person ?

Shade says nothing more, only tugs me toward a vendor offering candied nuts wrapped in gold-dusted parchment.

But my appetite has dulled.

And for the first time since arriving in Nightfall, I feel a chill creep up my spine that has nothing to do with the weather.

The path that leads to the meeting place winds through the village and up a small hill, where sunlight pierces the clouds that have risen suddenly.

It’s just enough to bathe everything in a golden haze.

I walk beside Shade, trying to focus on the beauty around me and not the whirring in my head.

Was I stolen because Alaric truly wanted me? Or am I being used in his power play?

Shade hums a little as we approach the central green, where the villagers have gathered in a wide circle.

At the center, elevated on a platform of stone and twisted silver roots, I see him.

Alaric.

The sight of him steals the breath from my lungs.

He’s perched on something that looks like a throne, though I’m not sure it was built so much as grown from the magic that is Nightfall.

Intricate glyphs glow across his bare forearms and along the V of his chest, where his shirt hangs open.

His wings— those impossible black-and-silver things —are relaxed, but even at rest, they seem powerful enough to stir storms.

A Lord in every sense of the word.

And something more.

There’s a quiet reverence in the crowd as he speaks to the last of the day's petitioners.

It’s a young woman with a child tucked into her skirts, nervously wringing her hands. I can’t hear their words, but I see how he leans forward, how intently he listens.

Then, with a gesture of his hand, the woman gasps, bows low, and backs away.

Alaric speaks again—this time to an attendant who quickly disappears with a nod.

He looks up then.

Looks right at me.

And for a second, everything else disappears.

The people, the village, even Shade at my side.

It’s just him.

And me.

My chest aches with something I don’t understand. Want, maybe. Or hope.

Or maybe both.

Shade turns to speak with another attendant, giving me space.

Alaric’s attention is summoned by his people, and he drops his gaze.

Though, maybe he does it reluctantly? Like he doesn’t want to stop looking at me.

I stand quietly, not wanting to intrude, watching him like he’s the last page of a story I’m desperate to read again.

Until I’m no longer alone.

“Quite the image, isn’t he?” a deep, accented voice says from somewhere behind me.

I stiffen and turn, just enough to see a man standing far too close. He’s tall, muscular, with dark hair braided back and ink crawling over the side of his face and neck in swirling, unfamiliar patterns.

His eyes—a color I’ve never seen on a man, all fire and shades of red and orange—gleam with knowing.

“Are you fooled by the illusion you see before you, human?”

My spine straightens. “Excuse me?”

He smiles, and it isn’t friendly.

“Lord Alaric in all his glory,” he says, gesturing toward the throne with mockery dripping from his voice. “But do you really believe that is who he is? A benevolent ruler? A noble protector?”

I frown. “He is their Lord. They respect him.”

“Respect,” he sneers, “is not love. And love is not something he is capable of. Not the kind you seek, anyway.”

That hits a little too close.

“I don’t know what you think you know,” I snap, “but?—”

“Oh, I know ,” he cuts in smoothly. “You want him to love you. You want him to choose you. But his heart already has a master.”

The words land like stones.

“Nightfall,” he says softly. “It owns him. It always has.”

I look toward the platform again. Alaric is still seated there, head tilted slightly as he doles out favors and grants petitions to his subjects.

“If you want his love,” the stranger whispers, stepping closer, “I’m afraid, little human, you will never get it.”

A chill moves through me. One I can’t explain.

But before I can respond— before I can demand who he is or how he knows any of this —he’s gone.

Just gone.

Shade returns a moment later, but I barely register her presence. Because something inside me has started to crack.

And I don’t know if I can survive what might be on the other side.