The sky above the castle was darker than it should have been.
Storm clouds circled, silent and ominous. Not a rumble, not a crack—just the thick pressure of waiting. As if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
Inside the castle, I was being laced into a coronation gown by four attendants who looked like they'd rather be handling vipers. The silk was woven with ancestral glyphs, alive with golden shimmer. It itched like prophecy.
"Do I have to wear this many layers?" I asked.
One of the girls, perhaps the braver of the lot, whispered, "It's tradition, my lady."
"So is keeping secrets from me," I muttered, adjusting my breasts for the fifteenth time. "And yet here I am, about to be crowned queen of a cursed kingdom with ancestral magic pulsing in my thighs."
She blushed. The others pretended they didn't hear.
I caught my reflection in the mirror. Eyes like stormlight. Skin kissed by the gods. Hair coiled like fire made flesh. The crown Marcus gave me shimmered faintly at the tips.
I didn't look like a foreign princess anymore.
I looked like power in heels.
Elsewhere
In a chamber built of obsidian and bone, Queen Isolde knelt before a shrine of ice.
"She awakens too quickly," she hissed. "The blood of Sango flows in her veins. She will burn us all."
The ice statue before her flickered—eyes glowing with godlight.
"Then burn her first," the voice said.
---
The throne hall was packed.
Lords. Ladies. Masked ambassadors. A fae envoy who kept licking his wineglass like it told secrets.
Marcus stood beside me, regal and unreadable, but his hand brushed mine as the High Seer stepped forward.
"Today, the union of thunder and star is sealed," he intoned.
"Let the gods bear witness."
As the crown was lifted over my head, my breath caught.
A flash—a memory not my own.
Flames. Screams. Betrayal.
A sword through Marcus's chest.
"Yétùndé," he whispered in the vision. "Run."
I blinked, the vision vanishing. The crown landed on my curls like a kiss from destiny.
Power surged.
The floor cracked beneath my feet. A ripple of lightning snaked up the marble. Gasps echoed.
The High Seer stumbled back. "The gods—They've marked her."
Then all hell broke loose.
---
A Masked Assassin Leapt.
The blade gleamed, aimed for my heart.
Marcus moved fast, but not faster than me.
My fingers burned white-hot as I raised my hand and screamed.
"Sango!"
Thunder shattered the stained-glass ceiling.
The assassin burst into flame mid-air—gone before he touched the ground.
Silence.
Smoke curled in elegant spirals.
I turned slowly to the crowd, my voice steady, even regal.
"Any other objections to my reign?"
A lord fainted.
---
In the privacy of our chambers, Marcus stared at me like I was made of stars and chaos.
"You could have let me handle that," he said.
"I did handle it."
"You incinerated a man."
"He shouldn't have lunged at a thunder bride on her coronation day. That's just bad manners."
He laughed, pulling me into his arms.
But outside, deep in the forest that bordered the kingdom, something darker than prophecy stirred.
And a whisper rose on the wind:
"The old blood returns. The war bride awakens. And not even gods can chain her now."
---
The morning after my coronation tasted like thunder and honey.
The palace bustled with celebration—maids scurrying with trays of enchanted fruit, courtiers whispering about my lightning trick, and bards already composing scandalous songs about the "Fire Between the Queen's Thighs."
Marcus smirked when he heard that one. "They're not wrong," he murmured, kissing my shoulder lazily.
I was sprawled across his chest, my crown resting unevenly on a pillow. The air still shimmered with leftover magic—and maybe the echo of a few moans that had scared off the servants.
But peace is a liar in kingdoms built on blood.
---
At noon, the sky turned lavender. A scent like burnt cinnamon filled the air. And then… she came.
The Oracle of Ile-Ife.
Carried in a palanquin made of bone and starlight, her feet never touched the ground. Her veil was woven from midnight, her voice—when she finally spoke—came from everywhere and nowhere.
"I seek the Thunder Bride."
Every guard in the hall went still. Even Marcus tensed beside me.
"I am she," I said, stepping forward.
She tilted her head, and for a brief second, her veil lifted just enough to show a third eye—vertical and glowing white-hot.
"I bring you three truths and a warning," she said.
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "You will speak respectfully—"
"Silence, wolf son. This is not your moment."
That shut him up real fast.
---
The Three Truths
The Oracle placed a bowl of black water at my feet. One by one, she dropped stones into it, each one sparking images in the air:
First Stone – A golden-haired child screaming as fire swallowed a village.
Second Stone – A sea of faceless men chanting my name… before drowning in their own blood.
Third Stone – Me. Crown ablaze. Sitting on a throne of bone. Alone.
"What does it mean?" I whispered, the air around me pulsing.
"The child is your future. The faceless men are your past. And the throne… is your test."
I shivered. "And the warning?"
Her eyes burned through me.
"The gods are not your only enemies."
---
That night, I found Marcus outside in the temple garden, shirtless again (seriously, the man hates fabric), fists bloodied from training.
"I know that look," I said.
"I killed someone," he muttered, eyes not meeting mine.
I paused. "Today?"
"No. Years ago. The Oracle's visions... they're waking memories I buried. There was a girl once—half fae, half stormblood. She loved me. I loved her too. But I… chose war over her. She cursed me."
I stepped closer. "What was her name?"
"Selene."
The name hit like a blade dipped in ice.
That name rang with fate.
That name echoed from my dreams.
---
At midnight, I woke with a gasp—cold sweat down my spine.
Because I'd seen her.
Selene.
Standing at the edge of a battlefield. Her skin silver. Her smile cruel. And her hands—dripping with moonfire.
She was alive.
And she was coming for us.
The mirror in our chamber fogged over on its own. A sentence scrawled across the glass in red mist:
"She remembers too."
I turned to Marcus. "Who else have you made vows to, wolf king?"
He didn't answer.
He just stared at the words, jaw tight.
The crown on my head pulsed.
My palms glowed.
A second mark—next to Marcus's rune—began to form on my skin.
Not his.
Hers.
Selene's.
---