The Thief and the Shadow Prince
In the heart of the Red City, where lanterns burned like dying stars and the scent of spice and sin clung to the air, there was a legend of a thief who could steal anything.
A crown. A fortune. A secret whispered in the dead of night.
And tonight, she had come for her most dangerous prize yet.
Lyra Nightbane moved like a shadow through the palace corridors, her leather-clad form slipping between patrols with the ease of someone who belonged to the dark. Her golden eyes gleamed beneath her hood, her lips curved in a smirk as she reached her destination—the vault of the Shadow Prince himself.
It was said the prince hoarded not gold, nor jewels, but something far more valuable. Something that could shift the balance of power in 4EverMore.
And Lyra? Well, she had never been able to resist a good challenge.
The lock on the vault was a beast, ancient magic woven into its steel. But Lyra was no ordinary thief. She traced a rune along its surface, whispered a forbidden incantation, and—
Click.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the vault was nothing like she had expected. No mountains of treasure. No enchanted weapons.
Just a single, obsidian mirror standing in the center of the room.
Lyra’s brow furrowed.
“A mirror?” she murmured, stepping forward.
But the moment her fingers brushed its frame—
The air shifted. The room darkened. And suddenly, she was no longer alone.
A voice, smooth as velvet and sharp as a blade, echoed through the chamber.
“You should know, little thief, that some treasures are meant to remain untouched.”
Lyra whirled, her daggers flashing in her hands.
And there he stood.
The Shadow Prince.
Tall. Lethal. Wrapped in a black cloak that seemed to devour the light. His silver eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he had been expecting her all along.
And worse? He was smiling.
“Not many would dare to steal from me,” he mused, stepping closer.
Lyra didn’t retreat. She never did.
“I’m not most people.”
His smile deepened, dark and dangerous.
“No,” he agreed, circling her now, his voice a purr against her skin. “You’re not.”
The air between them crackled. A game of predator and prey, except neither of them seemed willing to decide who was who.
Lyra tilted her head. “What’s so special about the mirror?”
His gaze flickered to it for the briefest moment.
“Why don’t you look and find out?”
She hesitated. Just for a second. But in that second, he struck.
Shadow wrapped around her wrists, yanking her forward. In a heartbeat, she was caught—pinned against the very mirror she had come to steal.
The prince loomed over her, his breath ghosting against her lips. “Tell me, little thief…” His fingers trailed along her jaw, tilting her chin up. “What should I do with you?”
Lyra’s pulse thundered.
Gods, he was infuriatingly beautiful.
And worse? She wanted to kiss him just as much as she wanted to stab him.
So she did the only thing she could.
She smirked. “Whatever you do, make sure I enjoy it.”
His laughter was a low, wicked thing.
And so the game began, a dance of daggers and desire, of shadows and stolen breaths. But in the Red City, where secrets are worth more than gold, one question remained…
Who would steal the other’s heart first?
🩸⚔
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