PART 1 — THE BRIDE EVERYONE REJECTED
Everyone in the kingdom was waiting to see the most beautiful princess in Canar.
Instead…
they saw a monster.
Princess Jade had been cursed since she was six years old.
Every morning, when the sun rose, her skin changed.
It became gray-blue.
Rough.
Cracked like tree bark.
Her beautiful face disappeared beneath the curse.
But every evening, when the sun went down…
the curse vanished.
And the real Jade returned.
Beautiful.
Graceful.
Almost impossible to recognize.
Only a handful of people knew the truth.
Her parents.
Her closest servants.
And the royal healers who had spent years searching for a cure.
But there was one person who had never seen Jade’s true face.
Lynden.
The Crown Prince of Arth.
When Jade was six years old, her family had promised her to him.
It was supposed to unite two kingdoms.
Two decades later…
the wedding finally arrived.
Six hundred guests gathered inside the royal palace.
Kings.
Queens.
Generals.
Nobles.
The entire court waited for the moment the Crown Prince would finally see his bride.
Jade stood behind a silk veil.
Her hands were trembling.
She knew what would happen when the veil came off.
But she still hoped…
perhaps he would see the person beneath the curse.
Lynden approached.
He smiled confidently.
Then he lifted the veil.
The room went silent.
His smile disappeared.
His face turned pale.
He stepped backward.
“What…”
“What are you?”
Jade’s heart broke.
“Lynden…”
He recoiled from her.
“Get away from me!”
The guests began whispering.
Some covered their mouths.
Others laughed.
Jade stood completely still.
She had imagined this moment for twenty years.
She had hoped for kindness.
Instead, she received humiliation.
Lynden pointed at her.
“You expect me to marry this?”
Jade’s father stood up.
“Prince Lynden, remember the treaty.”
Lynden laughed.
“I don’t care about your treaty!”
Then he turned toward the six hundred guests.
“I refuse this marriage.”
The room erupted.
Jade’s face burned with humiliation.
But Lynden wasn’t finished.
He removed his crown.
And threw it onto the floor.
“I don’t want this throne either.”
He turned toward his uncle.
General Uldren.
A powerful military commander known throughout both kingdoms for his discipline and calm nature.
“Uncle, take the throne.”
Everyone froze.
Uldren looked at his nephew.
Then at Jade.
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t look disgusted.
He simply walked toward the abandoned crown.
He picked it up.
Then looked at the royal council.
“If this marriage is the only thing keeping our kingdoms from war…”
He paused.
“I will honor it.”
The room erupted in whispers again.
Jade stared at him.
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
But Lynden suddenly smiled.
Because he had already made his choice.
He walked away from the altar.
And moments later…
he was seen leaving the palace with Melinda.
Jade’s cousin.
The woman she had trusted more than anyone.
Jade watched them disappear through the palace doors.
Her future had collapsed in a single afternoon.
Her fiancé had rejected her.
Her cousin had betrayed her.
And six hundred people had witnessed her humiliation.
Then Uldren approached her.
He stopped several steps away.
He didn’t try to touch her.
He simply bowed.
“Princess Jade.”
She looked at him through tears.
“Why?”
Uldren’s expression remained calm.
“Because you did nothing wrong.”
Those six words were the first kindness Jade had heard that day.
And she had no idea…
that the man standing in front of her would eventually become the person who broke the curse that had controlled her entire life.
But first, Jade would have to survive a marriage to a man who had never chosen her.
And the palace was already preparing to make her regret becoming Uldren’s wife.
Part 2 reveals what happened when Jade entered Uldren’s palace — and the first time he defended her in front of the entire court. Comment “YES” if you want Part 2. 👇
Chapter 1: The Ash and the Moonlight
The grand bells of the Cathedral of Canar did not ring with joy; they tolled with the heavy, bronze gravity of a binding contract.
Princess Jade stood before the tall mirror of her solar, her fingers tracing the rigid line of her collarbone. In the dim, predawn silence, her reflection was all a kingdom could ever pray for in a sovereign. Her hair fell in heavy waves of spun copper, catching the faint glimmers of the fading moonlight. Her skin possessed the luminous, translucent quality of morning mist, and her eyes were the deep, untamed green of the ancient pines that bordered her father’s realm.
She was the jewel of Canar, a masterpiece forged from peace and political necessity.
Yet, as she watched, the first pale sliver of dawn crested the eastern horizon, slicing through the stained-glass window and casting a harsh, golden beam across the Persian rug.
Jade closed her eyes. She did not need to look to know the agony that followed, but discipline—the cold, unyielding armor of a royal princess—demanded that she witness it.
The transformation was never gentle. It began in the marrow of her bones, a deep, icy ache that felt like winter frost creeping through her veins. Her skin, so soft a moment ago, tightened and dried, losing its warmth as the color bled out of it, replaced by a dull, mottled shade of ash and slate. The delicate curves of her face shifted; her skin grew thick, rough, and furrowed like the bark of a dead oak, stretching tightly across cheekbones that suddenly felt too sharp, too alien. The copper hair lost its luster, turning the color of dried peat.
When she opened her eyes again, the mirror did not reflect a princess. It reflected a creature born of nightmares, a haunting woodland spirit cursed by a vengeful witch fifteen summers ago.
“Your Highness,” a soft voice whispered from the doorway.
Jade did not turn around. She kept her gaze fixed on the monster staring back at her from the glass. “Is it time, Martha?”
Martha, an elderly handmaiden whose loyalty had outlived two kings, stepped into the room, carrying a heavy, embroidered veil of midnight-blue silk threaded with silver. The older woman’s hands trembled slightly, not out of fear—for she had bathed Jade’s fevered, changing body since the girl was six years old—but out of a profound, aching sorrow.
“The sun has fully risen, Your Highness,” Martha said gently, her voice thick with unshed tears. “And the delegation from Arth has arrived at the outer gates. Crown Prince Lynden awaits you in the great cathedral.”
Jade reached out, her fingers—now thick, grey, and ridged like tree bark—taking the delicate fabric of the veil. “He knows the terms of the treaty, Martha. He knows that the curse rules my body until the sun sinks below the western mountains. My father assured me that the House of Arth honors its oaths.”
“Prince Lynden is a man of his time, child,” Martha murmured, draping the heavy veil over Jade’s head. The thick fabric cascaded downward, pooling over her shoulders and completely obscuring her face and upper body in layers of dense, opaque silk. Only her hands, encased in long velvet gloves of midnight blue, remained hidden from the cruel light of day. “Men of Arth worship the sun, the gold, and the unblemished surface of things. They do not understand the quiet truths that live in the dark.”
Jade gripped the edge of her dressing table, feeling the rough wood beneath her gloved fingertips. “They understand war, Martha. And Canar cannot survive another war. If marrying me keeps the peace, then I will wear this veil. I will be their stone statue, their silent queen, until the night comes and I can breathe again.”
Chapter 2: The Six Hundred Witnesses
The Cathedral of Canar was a marvel of architectural defiance, built to house six hundred souls without a single pillar obstructing the view of the high altar. Today, it was filled to its absolute capacity.
Six hundred aristocrats, generals, and diplomats sat in tense, whispered silence. On the left side of the central aisle sat the nobility of Canar, their faces solemn, adorned in traditional emerald and silver garments. On the right sat the proud, martial elite of Arth, draped in crimson and gold, their hands resting comfortably on the pommels of their broadswords.
Between the two rival nations hung a fragile, twenty-year truce—a truce bought with blood and maintained only by the promise of this very union.
At the front of the altar stood Crown Prince Lynden of Arth. He was the epitome of his kingdom’s martial glory: tall, broad-shouldered, with hair the color of harvested wheat and eyes as sharp and cold as polished steel. He stood with an easy, confident posture, though a close observer might have noticed the slight impatience in the tapping of his boot against the stone floor. Lynden was a man who conquered; he did not wait.
Beside him, shifted slightly into the shadows of a stone pillar, stood General Uldren, Lynden’s paternal uncle. Uldren was cut from a different stone altogether. Older, scarred from decades on the northern frontiers, his dark hair was streaked with silver, and his grey eyes possessed a terrifying, unreadable stillness. He wore plain, unadorned armor beneath a dark cloak, looking more like a sentinel carved from the mountain itself than a royal prince. He did not speak to anyone, nor did he look at the glittering crowd. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, locked onto the heavy oak doors of the cathedral.
Then, the great horns sounded.
A-oooo-gah.
The deep, resonant blast vibrated through the floorboards, silencing the murmurs instantly. All six hundred heads turned as one toward the entrance.
The massive iron-banded doors slowly swung outward, letting in a blinding shaft of morning sunlight. Framed against the white glare stood the silhouette of Princess Jade.
She walked with the slow, measured grace taught to her since infancy. Every step was deliberate, every movement rehearsed to project calm dignity despite the roaring tempest of anxiety inside her chest. The heavy midnight-blue veil shielded her face, cascading down to the floor, heavy and mysterious.
As she moved down the aisle, the whispers began—low, rustling sounds like dry leaves swept by a winter wind.
“Is that her?” “The veil is so heavy…” “They say the curse is real. They say she looks like a corpse dragged from the river…”
Jade heard them all. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bark and stone. She kept her eyes fixed on the man waiting at the end of the aisle. Lynden, she thought, repeating his name like a protective incantation. You know. Your father signed the pact. You swore before the high gods that you would take me as I am until nightfall.
She reached the foot of the altar. Prince Lynden stepped forward, offering his hand. His fingers, warm and bare, brushed against her velvet-gloved hand. A shiver went down her spine.
“My princess,” Lynden said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent hall. It sounded smooth, almost rehearsed, lacking the raw warmth Jade had desperately hoped to hear. “The day has finally come.”
“My lord,” Jade replied, her voice muffled slightly by the thick layers of the veil. “May our union bring enduring peace to our lands.”
The High Priest of Canar stepped forward, opening the ancient tome of binding. The ceremony began, the archaic latin phrases rolling off the priest’s tongue like sacred water. Jade stood beside the man she believed was her destiny, watching the golden light dance across the altar. She counted the hours in her head. Only a few more hours, she whispered to herself. Once the sun sets, the curse breaks. Once we are alone in the bridal chamber, I will lift this veil myself. I will show him my true face. He will see that the monster is only a shadow.
Chapter 3: The Unveiling
“Do you, Lynden of Arth, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, in light and in shadow, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
The High Priest’s voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
Prince Lynden paused. A faint flicker of hesitation crossed his handsome face, quickly masked by a tight, polite smile. “I do,” he said clearly.
“And do you, Jade of Canar, take this man…”
“I do,” Jade answered steadily.
“By the power vested in me by the gods of earth and sky, I now pronounce you husband and wife. What the gods have joined, let no mortal put asunder. Prince Lynden, you may lift the veil and kiss your bride.”
A collective intake of breath swept through the six hundred guests. In Arth culture, the unveiling was a sacred moment of revelation, the first time a groom looked upon his wife’s uncovered face.
Lynden stepped closer to Jade. His smile was still intact, though his eyes darted nervously toward the glittering crowd of Arth nobility watching him with bated breath. With long, sure fingers, he reached out and grabbed the edge of the heavy midnight-blue silk.
With a swift, dramatic motion, Lynden pulled the veil back and tossed it over Jade’s head.
The silence that followed was not peaceful; it was violent, suffocating, and absolute.
For a second, Jade stood completely still, her eyes blinking against the sudden rush of air. She looked up at her husband, a tender, hopeful smile trembling on her dry, grey lips.
Lynden did not smile back.
His face drained of all color, turning a sickly, pasty white. His eyes widened in pure, unadulterated horror, the pupils shrinking to tiny black pins. He didn’t just step back; he recoiled violently, stumbling backward over his own ceremonial robes and crashing hard against the stone steps of the altar.
“By the gods…” Lynden choked out, his voice cracking with panic and disgust as he scrambled away on his hands and knees, pointing a trembling finger at her. “Get it away! Get that… that thing away from me!”
The cathedral erupted into chaos.
Gasps, shrieks, and shouts of shock bounced off the stone walls. The nobles of Arth surged to their feet, hands dropping instantly to their swords. The lords of Canar rose in fury, their faces flushing with insult.
Jade stood frozen in the center of the storm. The air felt sucked entirely from her lungs.
“Look at her!” Lynden screamed, his voice echoing off the high rafters, stripped of all princely dignity, driven entirely by feral terror. He hauled himself up, leaning heavily against the altar for support, his chest heaving. “Look at its face! It’s not a woman! It’s a corpse! A walking corpse! A foul, rotting monster!”
The words struck Jade harder than any physical blow. They were knives dipped in salt, twisting deep into her heart.
“Lynden…” she whispered, her voice cracking, sounding like dry branches snapping in the wind. “You knew… the treaty… my father told your father…”
“My father lied to me!” Lynden roared, cutting her off, his face twisted in absolute revulsion. He turned his desperate, frantic gaze toward the stunned crowd of six hundred guests, raising his voice so that every single person could hear. “He told me she had a mild skin affliction! He said it was a shadow! He didn’t tell me I was being sold to a demon of the dark woods!”
Tears pricked behind Jade’s burning eyes, but no moisture could escape the parched, dead skin of her face. She felt as though she were standing naked in the middle of a freezing winter storm, stripped of every ounce of dignity, honor, and hope she had carried for nineteen years.
“I renounce this marriage!” Lynden shouted, his chest heaving as he pointed a shaking finger at the high altar. “I renounce it before the gods, before Canar, and before Arth! I will not marry a monster! I will not chain my life to a rotting corpse!”
Chapter 4: The Betrayal in the Shadows
Before the High Priest could step forward to restore order, Lynden turned his back on the altar with theatrical disgust. He reached up to his head, unclasped the heavy gold-and-ruby circlet that marked his station as Crown Prince of Arth, and hurled it violently onto the stone floor. It clattered loudly, rolling until it came to a stop against the base of a pillar.
“Let the crown rot with her!” Lynden shouted. “I give up my birthright! Let whoever wants this cursed throne take it!”
With the entire cathedral watching in stunned disbelief, Lynden turned toward the front rows of the Arth delegation. A figure stood up from among the sea of crimson and gold.
It was Lady Melinda.
Melinda, Jade’s own cousin, daughter of the Duke of Westreach, stepped gracefully into the center aisle. Her face was a mask of calculated innocence, but her eyes glittered with triumph. She wore a gown of deep crimson velvet that hugged her slender figure—a dress designed to draw every eye in the room.
As Lynden strode down the steps of the altar, he did not look at the fallen crown, nor did he look at the heartbroken court of Canar. Instead, his eyes locked onto Melinda with a look of intense, desperate relief.
He reached out and grabbed her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers as if she were his true salvation.
“Melinda,” Lynden said, his voice dropping to a loud, public declaration for all to hear. “You are the only true light in this darkness. Come with me. We are leaving this cursed place.”
Melinda offered a soft, sympathetic sigh, playing the part of the devoted martyr to perfection. “My place is wherever you are, my love,” she murmured softly, her voice carrying easily through the silent, horrified cathedral.
The truth, ugly and jagged, crashed over Jade like a tidal wave.
It wasn’t just a sudden rejection born of fear. It was a conspiracy. Lynden and Melinda had planned this. While Jade had spent months praying in her tower, sewing her own wedding dress, and weeping over the heavy burden of her curse, her own flesh and blood had been whispering in the dark corners of the court, plotting her humiliation. Melinda had traded her loyalty for a crown prince, using Jade’s curse as the ultimate weapon of destruction.
Gasps of outrage rippled through the Canar nobility. Several generals drew their swords half an inch from their scabbards, the metal hissing ominously against leather. A war was about to ignite right here, on the wedding floor, fueled by broken oaths and public degradation.
“Halt!”
The single word did not ring out with the frantic panic of Lynden’s screams, nor the high-pitched fury of the priests. It was a deep, authoritative baritone that commanded silence through sheer, suffocating weight.
Every head turned toward the shadows of the altar.
General Uldren stepped forward.
His face was carved from dark granite, utterly devoid of fear, disgust, or amusement. He walked with slow, heavy strides, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the stone floor until he stood directly beside the weeping, humiliated princess.
Chapter 5: The Silent General
Uldren did not look at Lynden. He did not look at Melinda, who was already retreating toward the doors with her disgraced lover. His grey eyes were fixed entirely on the fallen gold crown of Arth lying on the floor, and then, slowly, they rose to meet the ash-grey, bark-covered face of Princess Jade.
The court held its breath.
Uldren bent down. With slow, deliberate dignity, he picked up the heavy gold circlet from the stone floor. He brushed a speck of dust from the rubies with his calloused thumb, then turned to face the high altar and the assembled representatives of both kingdoms.
“Prince Lynden has spoken,” Uldren’s deep voice resonated through the cathedral, steady as a monolith. “He has renounced his crown. He has abandoned his duty to his people, and he has broken a sacred treaty sealed in the blood of our ancestors.”
King Roderick of Canar, Jade’s father, stepped forward from the royal box, his face purple with rage, his hand gripping the hilt of his ceremonial sword. “General Uldren! Your nephew has spat upon my daughter and insulted my crown! This means war! Arth will burn for this!”
“And Arth would burn, King Roderick,” Uldren replied, his voice chillingly calm, cutting through the king’s fury like a razor-sharp blade. “Thousands of innocent sons of Canar and daughters of Arth would die in the mud over the cowardice of one boy. I refuse to let that happen.”
Uldren turned back to face the altar. He placed the heavy gold circlet not on his own head, but rested it upon the edge of the stone table, before turning his gaze back to Jade.
The general stepped closer to her. Close enough that he could smell the faint, earthy scent of crushed leaves and mountain moss that clung to her cursed skin. Close enough that most men would have instinctively stepped back in revulsion.
Uldren did not flinch. His grey eyes did not widen, nor did his expression tighten into disgust. He looked at her with the quiet, devastating intensity of a soldier assessing a battlefield—not with fear, but with profound, unflinching acknowledgment.
“The crown of Arth was offered to whoever would take it,” Uldren said quietly, his voice pitched so that only Jade and the nearest priests could hear. “And the treaty demands a sovereign of Arth to wed the princess of Canar to secure the peace.”
Jade stared at him, her chest trembling beneath the rough, grey skin. What is he doing? she thought, her mind spinning. Does he pity me? Is this some cruel political maneuver?
“General Uldren,” King Roderick demanded, stepping closer, his sword halfway out of its scabbard. “State your intent. Are you claiming the throne?”
Uldren turned his head slightly toward the king, never breaking the short distance between himself and Jade. “I am a general of Arth, Your Majesty. My duty has always been to protect the realm. If Prince Lynden lacks the spine to honor an oath, then I will bear the weight.”
Uldren turned back to Jade. He lifted his hand—gloved in black leather, scarred and worn from decades of battle—and gently, deliberately, pulled the heavy midnight-blue veil back completely, ensuring her face was fully exposed to the harsh, unforgiving light of the morning sun and the staring eyes of six hundred guests.
Jade flinched, instinctively trying to turn her head away from his gaze. Look away, her soul screamed. Don’t look at the monster. Leave me to my shame.
But Uldren’s hand reached out, his heavy fingers gently catching her chin. He forced her to look up, holding her gaze with eyes as deep and steady as a winter ocean.
“You are Princess Jade of Canar,” Uldren said, his voice dropping to a low, resonant rumble that carried a strange, unshakeable comfort. “And I am Uldren. I take your hand, and I take your oath. The wedding will proceed.”
The cathedral erupted once more—not into chaos, but into a stunned, breathless murmur of absolute disbelief.
Jade stood frozen, her eyes wide, staring into the face of the man who had just taken her ruined life and rewritten it. She had expected disgust. She had expected mockery, pity, or rejection.
Instead, for the first time in nineteen years, as the harsh morning sun beat down on her ash-grey skin, Jade looked into the eyes of a man who did not see a monster.
And as the general stood beside her, waiting for the priest to resume the vows, Jade felt a strange, terrifying spark ignite deep within her chest—a spark that whispered the night was coming, and with it, secrets neither of them were prepared to face.
