The Crimson Oath
Princess Lyra’s breath hitched, a fragile plume in the biting arctic air.
E.g. ：The Night I Shattered a Philanthropist’s Lie and Reclaimed My Family’s Honor
- 1、The Crimson Oath
- 2、A Ghost Beneath the Fur
- 3、The Commoner and the Crown
- 4、The Queen's Dark Hand
- 5、A Wolf's Secret Life
- 6、The Hunter's Closing Net
- 7、The Unbreakable Bond
Jagged peaks of the Dragon’s Tooth mountains clawed at the slate-grey sky.
The wind howled a desolate dirge through the skeletal trees of the Frostwood.
The vast expanse of snow, usually a pristine canvas of silence, was now a gruesome tableau.
A colossal wolf lay before her, its magnificent silver fur matted with crimson.
Its once-proud frame now shuddered with weakening life, each muscle tense with pain.
The stain spread from its side, a violent bloom across the virgin white snow.
Each powerful pulse pumped fresh horror onto the unforgiving ground beneath.
She knelt, heedless of the icy crystals that bit into her fine royal gown.
This was not merely an injured animal; this was a desperate, shattering secret.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum of terror and devotion.
Every rational sinew screamed for her to flee this perilous, exposed place.
Yet, she held firm, her gaze locked on the suffering creature’s face.
Her fingers, usually adorned with delicate jewels, now fumbled with rough bandages.
She pressed them against the gaping wound, a silent, desperate prayer escaping her chapped lips.
The wolf’s labored breaths were shallow, each one a stark reminder of fading life.
The freezing air bit into her exposed skin, yet she barely registered the cold.
Only the urgency of saving this one, impossible life mattered now.
A Ghost Beneath the Fur
Suddenly, her hand brushed something hard and cold beneath the wolf’s thick paw.
It was a small, ornate pocket watch, its tarnished silver dulled by time and snow.
A surge of icy dread, quickly followed by a spark of agonizing hope, coursed through her veins.
She knew this object, a phantom from a past she had desperately tried to bury.
She pried open the delicate clasp, her fingers numb with cold and anticipation.
A soft click echoed in the sudden silence of the snowy landscape.
Inside, beneath the scratched crystal, was a faded, sepia-toned photograph.
Her own youthful face, radiant with unburdened joy, smiled back at her from the miniature image.
Beside her stood Peter, his eyes crinkling with the laughter only he could evoke in her.
The watch, a forgotten token of their forbidden past, now lay cradled in her trembling palm.
It was impossible; Peter was gone, vanished, swallowed by the kingdom’s unforgiving shadows years ago.
Yet, this brutal proof, this undeniable confirmation, clawed at her fragile composure.
The wolf stirred slightly, a pained whimper escaping its throat, as if acknowledging her discovery.
His golden eyes, clouded with pain, met hers with an intelligence that pierced her soul.
It was him, undoubtedly, inescapably him, trapped within this monstrous form.
A wave of grief, relief, and renewed terror washed over Princess Lyra in the silent wilderness.
The Commoner and the Crown
Peter had been everything her rigid royal life was not: vibrant, honest, and truly free.
He was a brilliant scholar from the outer villages, a passionate voice for the forgotten common folk.
Their clandestine meetings in the sprawling royal gardens were illicit bursts of pure, exhilarating joy.
Lyra, trapped by destiny and the suffocating weight of her crown, found solace in his fierce intellect and gentle spirit.
Their love had blossomed in stolen moments, a dangerous flame in a kingdom built on strict hierarchy and ancient prejudices.
Her parents, King Theron and Queen Isolde, initially considered him an inconvenient nuisance, then a rapidly growing threat.
“A commoner,” her mother had sneered with venomous disdain, “presuming to whisper ideals into a princess’s ear.”
Peter’s words were powerful, rallying dissent among the disenfranchised, challenging the established, oppressive order of Eldoria.
His vision of a fairer realm, where justice extended beyond noble blood, resonated deeply with Lyra’s own silent doubts and burgeoning conscience.
He was a storm, destined to break the stagnant, oppressive air of the Eldorian court and its rigid traditions.
His popularity among the people grew alarmingly, making him a symbol of hope and rebellion.
The Queen, a master of political manipulation, saw his influence as an existential threat to her son, the true heir.
Lyra knew their love was a direct challenge to the crown, a rebellion of the heart against duty.
The Queen's Dark Hand
Then, Peter had simply vanished from Eldoria, an official decree stating his immediate exile.
Lyra knew better; she heard the hushed whispers, the chilling tales that circulated through the servants’ quarters.
The Queen’s Royal Sorcerer, Malakor, was notorious for his insidious magic and cruel ingenuity.
He was a shadowy figure of immense power, loyal only to Isolde, his grim influence absolute within the castle walls.
Malakor’s specialized enchantments were never about swift death, but about transformation, suppression, and prolonged suffering.
He turned threats into forgotten echoes, or worse, living nightmares unable to speak their truth.
Lyra had searched, desperate and heartbroken, for any trace of her beloved Peter.
She secretly visited forbidden healers, cryptic soothsayers, and forgotten hermits in the deepest, most ancient forests.
Each whispered prophecy, each cryptic omen, pointed to a beast, a magnificent wolf, appearing in the frozen Northern Wastes.
Her heart had refused to believe, clinging to the slim hope of Peter’s simple, uncursed escape.
But then she saw him, a shadow in the moonlight, impossibly intelligent, hauntingly familiar in his suffering.
