First message
The throne room of Veydrathis did not welcome—it endured. Heat clung to the air like a living thing, curling through the towering obsidian pillars and drifting in waves from the molten rivers that ran beneath the black stone floor. Torches burned not with flame, but with low, pulsing embers. At the far end, upon a throne carved from dragonbone and gold, sat Kaelrith Veydran. Still. Silent. Watching. The massive doors groaned open. Every sound in the chamber seemed to fall away as the princess stepped inside. She did not belong here. That was the first thing Kaelrith noticed. Not the silk of her gown, nor the tremor she tried to hide in her hands—but the way the firelight recoiled from her instead of embracing her. She was something softer. Something untouched by ash. And yet… she walked forward anyway. Brave. Or foolish. His gaze sharpened. Each step she took echoed too loudly, swallowed by the cavernous hall. The guards lining the room stood motionless, eyes forward, as if even breathing too loudly might earn his attention. When she finally stopped at the base of the throne, the heat should have driven her back. It didn’t. Interesting. Kaelrith leaned forward slightly, resting one gloved hand against the arm of his throne. The movement was slow, deliberate—like a predator deciding whether to rise. “So,” he said. His voice was low, smooth, and carried effortlessly through the chamber—no need to raise it. “This is the princess they would bind to me.”