DRAVEN STORMHOLT

"Father," I said when I judged I was close enough to the throne. "We need to talk."

The conversations in the room didn't completely die, but they shifted into whispers. I could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on me, studying the blind prince who dared interrupt court proceedings.

"Draven." My father's voice carried across the marble floor, heavy with authority and barely concealed irritation. "You forget yourself. I am holding court."

"Then let's make this quick." I planted my feet firmly and lifted my chin. "I want you to stop bringing girls to my chambers."

The whispers died completely. The silence that followed was so thick I could have cut it with a blade. Someone near the back of the room cleared their throat nervously.

"We will discuss this later," my father said, his voice carrying the kind of warning that made grown men step back.

"No. We'll discuss it now." I tapped my stick against the marble once. The sound echoed in the vast space. "I'm done being your breeding project."

I heard movement from the throne. The creak of leather and the whisper of fabric. My father was leaning forward, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something more dangerous.

"You know exactly what will make me stop."

Here it was. The same conversation we'd had a dozen times before, always ending the same way. "You want me to make an attempt."

"Is that so much to ask?"

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You won't stop until another miracle like me happens, Father."

My voice dropped to a whisper. "Won't it be disappointing when it doesn't work? Or maybe when the same result as me comes out?"

The throne room was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. My father's breathing had changed, becoming deeper, more controlled. He was angry.

"Will you not at least try?" he asked.

"I would rather have a place in court than be kept in some gilded cage and forced to mate." The words came out bitter. "No matter what women you bring, it will fail. So just release that poor girl."

"I have done that for the last forty girls."

Forty. Forty women who had suffered needlessly because they couldn't accomplish the impossible. The number hit me like a punch to the gut.

"This time," my father continued, "there will be real consequences for refusing to do the one duty I ask of you."

I felt something cold settle in my chest. "What kind of consequences?"

"The girl will die in prison. And the next girl that arrives soon will suffer the same fate if you refuse." His voice was perfectly calm, perfectly reasonable. That made it worse somehow. "I hope your convictions are strong enough to stand that."

I scoffed and turned away from the throne. "Do what you want."

My stick clicked against the marble as I strode toward the doors. Each step echoed in the silent throne room, and I could feel every pair of eyes following my movement. Let them watch. Let them whisper about the cursed prince who defied his father.

The massive doors groaned open as I approached, and I stepped through them into the corridor beyond. The sounds of court resumed behind me, but they seemed muted now, distant.

I'd made it maybe fifty steps when I heard them. Boots on marble, multiple pairs, moving at the quick march of guards trying to catch up without running.

I stopped and turned around. "Did my father send you to hound me?"

"Your Highness." The voice belonged to Captain Morris, one of the senior guards. "The king requests—"

"I know this place like the back of my hand," I cut him off. "It doesn't matter if I'm blind. I don't need you."

They kept following. I could hear their boots, smell their leather armor and nervous sweat.

"Stay the fuck back," I said without turning around. "I need to breathe."

The moment the words left my mouth, my throat seized up. A coughing fit hit me like a wave, harsh and violent. I bent forward, one hand pressed against the stone wall for support, the other fumbling for the handkerchief in my pocket.

The coughs tore through my chest, each one feeling like it might turn me inside out. When I finally caught my breath, I felt wetness on the cloth pressed to my mouth. I didn't need to see it to know what it was. The metallic smell was unmistakable.

Blood.

I folded the handkerchief quickly and tucked it back into my pocket. The guards had stopped following, probably thinking I was having some kind of fit. Good. Let them think what they wanted.

I straightened up and kept walking, my stick tapping against the floor in steady rhythm. This was my life. This was the fate that had been dealt to me. Blind, weak, cursed, and slowly dying from whatever sickness was eating me from the inside.

I turned down a corridor that led toward the gardens. Maybe the fresh air would help. Maybe it would wash the taste of blood from my mouth and the sound of my father's threats from my ears.

That's when I smelled it.

Something sweet and spicy floated through the air. Honey, maybe, mixed with ginger and something floral. Roses? It was unlike anything I'd ever encountered before, and it seemed to be getting stronger.

I slowed my steps, trying to place the scent. It wasn't coming from the gardens. It was coming from ahead of me, from someone moving through the corridor.

I picked up my pace, following the trail of that incredible smell. My stick caught on an uneven stone, and I stumbled forward, off balance.

I hit something warm and soft, and we both went down in a tangle of limbs. The person beneath me let out a startled cry, and suddenly that amazing scent was everywhere, surrounding me like a cloud.

"I'm sorry," I started to say, but the words died in my throat.

Something was happening to my eyes. The endless darkness that had been my world for twenty-three years was... changing. There was a blur where there had been nothing, a shifting of light and shadow that made no sense.

The blur sharpened.

I was looking down into the most beautiful face I'd ever seen. Not that I'd seen many faces, but somehow I knew this one was special. She had dark hair that had come loose from whatever style she'd worn it in, and her eyes were the color of… What were there? Multiple colors all mixed together.

She was looking back at me with those incredible eyes, her lips parted in surprise. She was real. She was there. And I could see her.

She tried to move, to scurry out from under me, but I pressed my hands against the floor on either side of her shoulders and held her in place.

"Don't move," I whispered.

She froze, those amazing eyes searching my face. Could she tell I was looking at her? Could she see the wonder that must have been written all over my expression?

The voice came from somewhere deep in my mind, from a part of myself I'd almost forgotten existed. My wolf, silent for so many years, stirred to life with a single, earth-shattering word.

Mate.

The world tilted on its axis. Everything I thought I knew about my life, about my curse, about my future, crumbled and reformed in the space of a heartbeat.

This woman, this stranger I'd literally stumbled into, was my mate. And somehow, impossibly, she had given me back my sight.

I stared down at her, memorizing every detail of her face. The curve of her cheekbones, the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her skin, the small scar near her left temple. After a lifetime of darkness, every visual detail felt like a miracle.

"Who are you?" I breathed.

She opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. She was trembling beneath me, and I could smell her fear now underneath that incredible honey-ginger-rose scent that was driving my wolf wild.

"Please," she finally whispered. "Let me up."

But I couldn't. I couldn't let her go, couldn't risk losing this impossible gift she'd somehow given me. What if she moved and the darkness came back? What if this was just a dream and I'd wake up blind and alone again?

"What's your name?" I asked instead.

Her eyes darted around, looking for escape routes or help that wasn't coming. We were alone in this space, and I realized I was probably scaring her. A strange man had fallen on top of her and was now pinning her to the floor, staring at her like she was some kind of miracle.

Which she was.

"Aria," she said quietly. "My name is Aria."

Aria. Even her name was perfect, musical and light. I wanted to say it again just to hear how it sounded.

"Aria," I repeated, and I saw something flicker in her eyes at the way I said it. "I'm Draven."

Recognition dawned on her face, followed immediately by terror. Of course. She knew who I was now. The cursed prince. The monster who lived in the castle and couldn't produce an heir.

"Your Highness," she breathed, and tried again to move away from me.

"Don't." The word came out sharper than I intended. "Please. Just... give me a moment."

I needed to understand what was happening. How was I seeing her? How was it possible that after twenty-three years of blindness, I could suddenly make out every detail of her face, every strand of her hair, every fleck of color in her strange eyes?

My wolf stirred again, pressing against my consciousness with an urgency I hadn't felt in years. Mate, it whispered again. Claim her. Keep her. Don't let her go.