Flamebound: Rise of the Cursed Prince

The Red Salon was unlike any room Aaron had yet seen in the mansion. Heavy velvet curtains, dyed a deep crimson, draped the tall windows, muffling the faint light of dawn. Gold-lined bookshelves rose to the ceiling, their spines bare of titles—only strange runes and twisting symbols burned into the leather, glowing faintly in the flickering firelight. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long, restless shadows that danced across the polished marble floor.

Aaron stood just behind Lord Frankfurt Pierce, who sat with the unyielding grace of a monarch in a high-backed chair. Despite the early hour, his appearance was immaculate—each crease and fold of his dark robe perfectly arranged. Aaron, still clad in plain servant's attire, felt the weight of his place—an outsider in a room soaked with power and secrets.

The door opened quietly.

She entered like a blade cutting through fog.

Tall and poised, cloaked in navy silk embroidered with silver threads, the emissary moved with the assured ease of someone who delivered royal ultimatums before breakfast. Her black gloves were spotless, and a silver crest pinned at her shoulder bore the emblem of the House of Eldemar—the ruling bloodline of Maro.

She gave a curt nod to Frankfurt. "Lord Pierce."

"Lady Adrienne," he replied smoothly, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "To what do we owe the court's visit before dawn?"

Her gaze flicked briefly to Aaron, then returned to Frankfurt. "I was unaware you had taken new help."

Frankfurt didn't glance at Aaron. "He serves under my personal employ. Speak freely."

Aaron could feel her measuring him, as if weighing what secrets his skin might hide.

Adrienne stepped forward and produced a sealed envelope from within her cloak, placing it deliberately on the nearby table. "The King's inner circle is... unsettled. There are whispers—strange disturbances across the kingdom. Sightings, disappearances, anomalies not seen since the War of Flame nearly a century ago."

Aaron furrowed his brow but said nothing.

"And what," Frankfurt asked slowly, lifting the envelope, "does this have to do with me?"

Lady Adrienne's voice dropped. "Your bloodline has always had... affinities. Your estate sits atop the Old Lines. If anyone would sense these tremors, it would be you."

"Flattering," Frankfurt murmured, breaking the seal with a flick of his finger.

Aaron watched in fascination as the letter unfolded itself midair, shimmering with faint blue runes. Words appeared in silver ink, scrolling elegantly across the page. He caught fragments:

> "Disturbance near the Eastern Reach..."

"A child with sky-colored eyes... vanishing without a trace..."

"…blue flame recorded by scouts in the woods of Hollowmere."

Frankfurt read silently. When finished, the letter crumbled to ash in the air.

He rose slowly.

"I will consider the matter," he said. "But I no longer meddle in court affairs."

Adrienne's eyes narrowed. "You may not have a choice this time. The old blood stirs again, Frankfurt. And it rarely does so without consequence."

Her words lingered heavily in the room. She turned sharply, her cloak trailing like a falling curtain's shadow.

Before she left, she cast one last glance at Aaron—this time with something beyond suspicion or disdain.

Recognition.

Then she was gone.

---

The silence left behind was thick and heavy.

Aaron shifted uneasily. "What was in that letter?"

Frankfurt moved to the window, watching early morning fog coil like smoke among the garden trees. "Things best left forgotten."

"Did it have anything to do with me?" Aaron asked before he could stop himself.

Frankfurt turned slowly, his eyes dark pools. "Tell me, Aaron... Have you ever felt a fire burn beneath your skin when fear or anger took hold? A heat that wasn't your own?"

Aaron stiffened. "Sometimes... I thought it was just me."

"It isn't."

Frankfurt stepped closer, deliberate and slow. "There are forces older than kings. Magic born before Maro's throne was forged. Bloodlines shaped from fire, air, shadow, and stars."

He stopped a pace from Aaron, staring into those impossible sky-blue eyes—the eyes no Hotveil had ever shared.

"You've seen the dreams. That is only the beginning."

Aaron swallowed hard. His instincts screamed questions, but deeper inside, something awaited—like a door creaking open, slow and inevitable.

Frankfurt's voice dropped to a whisper.

"The court believes I know what's coming. They are wrong."

Aaron's voice cracked. "Then who does?"

Frankfurt smiled, and for the first time, it was almost… sad.

"You will."