The Mask of Eternal Dawn

The Mask of Eternal Dawn

Shãdøw Bøøks

5.0
Comment(s)
4
View
11
Chapters

In a kingdom where nobles wear enchanted masks that define their roles and status, the protagonist-a commoner with the rare ability to craft living masks-becomes entangled in palace intrigue when they are commissioned to create a mask for a reclusive prince cursed never to see sunlight. As the protagonist works on the mask, they uncover a hidden world of magic, betrayal, and a growing bond with the prince. Their love becomes the key to breaking the curse, but doing so could destabilize the entire kingdom. Together, they must navigate a treacherous path where one wrong move could mean losing not just their love, but their lives.

Chapter 1 The Curse Unveiled

The sun was setting over the kingdom of Veloria, casting a warm, amber glow over the royal gardens. Lyra knelt among the delicate petals of the moonlit roses, her fingers brushing lightly over the soft blooms. The evening air was filled with the sweet scent of jasmine and the earthy fragrance of the garden's hidden treasures. It was here, in this secluded place, that Lyra felt most at peace-where time seemed to pause, and the world outside the walls of the castle faded into the distance.

Lyra was the castle's healer, though most of her work was confined to tending the plants and flowers that flourished under her care. There was something magical about these gardens-something that had always felt more alive than the rest of the kingdom. The roses, in particular, were said to have healing properties, their petals capable of soothing even the most broken of spirits.

As she worked, her mind wandered to the stories she had heard since childhood-stories about Prince Caelan, the cursed heir to the throne. The tale was well-known across the kingdom, whispered from servant to servant, from mother to child. It was said that the prince had been cursed by a vengeful sorcerer, doomed to live a life in torment. By day, he was a statue of stone, motionless, trapped in the form of an inanimate figure. Only by night, when the stars rose high above the castle, did he regain his human form. But even then, his curse lingered, for he was bound to wear an enchanted mask, hiding his face from the world.

Lyra had never seen the prince herself, only heard the rumors-the darkened tales of his isolation and sorrow. Some said he was a monster. Others claimed he was a victim of a cruel fate. But Lyra couldn't help but feel a flicker of compassion for him. What must it be like to live a life so separated from others, to never know the warmth of another's touch?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. She stood up and turned, seeing one of the castle servants approaching her with an air of urgency.

"The royal banquet is to begin soon, Mistress Lyra," the servant said, her voice laced with nervousness. "The prince will be in attendance tonight. It's... it's his rare appearance."

Lyra's heart skipped a beat. Tonight. She had heard of these gatherings-the few times a year when Prince Caelan was allowed to leave his chambers, when he made an appearance before the court. But despite the excitement that surrounded his rare visits, there was always an underlying tension. The prince never spoke. He never removed his mask. It was said that the mask was a reminder of the curse, an object of both power and torment.

"I see," Lyra murmured, her gaze drifting back to the moonlit garden. Her mind raced. Perhaps tonight she would finally understand the prince's curse. Perhaps, for the first time, she would see the man behind the mask.

Later that evening, the grand hall was alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of silver goblets. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the sweet aroma of roasted meats. Lyra stood by the far corner, unnoticed amidst the nobility, her dark dress blending into the shadows. She had no desire to mingle with the courtly crowd-her heart was focused elsewhere, on the figure who had just entered the room.

Prince Caelan stood at the entrance of the hall, his presence commanding the attention of all who saw him. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and regal, with an air of quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him despite the mask that obscured his features. The mask was a work of exquisite craftsmanship-its golden surface gleaming in the candlelight, intricate patterns etched across it, as though it held secrets within its design. It was said that the mask was enchanted, not just a symbol of his curse but a means of controlling the magic that kept him alive.

Lyra's breath caught in her throat as she watched him. His eyes-hidden behind the mask-seemed distant, haunted. He moved through the room with an eerie grace, but there was something about his presence that felt out of place. As if he were a stranger in his own skin.

She couldn't look away.

Prince Caelan paused before the royal dais, where his parents, the king and queen, sat in their regal seats. His mother's eyes were filled with sorrow as she regarded him, her hands clasped tightly together. His father, the king, gave a curt nod, though his expression was unreadable. The prince made no attempt to acknowledge either of them. Instead, he turned and began to make his way toward the center of the hall, his movements stiff and mechanical.

Lyra's heart ached at the sight. She knew the stories-knew that the prince could never remove the mask, never show his true face. But standing there in the dim light, she saw something more: a man imprisoned by his own curse, a soul lost in the shadow of a terrible fate.

As he passed close to her, Lyra's breath caught in her throat. She glanced at him, her gaze lingering just a moment too long. And in that fleeting instant, she saw something flicker behind the mask-something raw, something human. It was a look of such deep, unspoken pain that it left her breathless.

For a moment, time stood still.

Later that night, as the banquet wore on, Lyra found herself restless. She excused herself from the hall, retreating to the quiet solitude of the garden. The cool night air felt like a balm against her flushed skin, and she inhaled deeply, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind.

What had she seen in his eyes? What had the prince felt in that moment?

And what could she possibly do to help him?

As she walked through the moonlit garden, her eyes were drawn to a small, intricately carved box nestled among the roots of the ancient oak tree. It was a relic she had seen before-an artifact passed down through the royal family, a symbol of the prince's curse. She knelt down, her fingers tracing the smooth wood. The box contained a mask, one of many enchanted items connected to the prince's fate.

Her heart pounded as a sudden thought struck her. Could this mask hold the key to breaking the curse? Could the artifact she had found in the garden be the one thing that could set Caelan free?

With a sense of purpose she had never felt before, Lyra rose to her feet, clutching the mask tightly. There was only one way to find out.

Continue Reading

Other books by Shãdøw Bøøks

More

You'll also like

The Surgeon's Vow: Healing My Billionaire Husband

The Surgeon's Vow: Healing My Billionaire Husband

Qing Shui
5.0

I sat in the gray, airless room of the New York State Department of Corrections, my knuckles white as the Warden delivered the news. "Parole denied." My father, Howard Sterling, had forged new evidence of financial crimes to keep me behind bars. He walked into the room, smelling of expensive cologne, and tossed a black folder onto the steel table. It was a marriage contract for Lucas Kensington, a billionaire currently lying in a vegetative state in the ICU. "Sign it. You walk out today." I laughed at the idea of being sold to a "corpse" until Howard slid a grainy photo toward me. It showed a toddler with a crescent-moon birthmark—the son Howard told me had died in an incubator five years ago. He smiled and told me the boy's safety depended entirely on my cooperation. I was thrust into the Kensington estate, where the family treated me like a "drowned rat." They dressed me in mothball-scented rags and mocked my status, unaware that I was monitoring their every move. I watched the cousin, Julian, openly waiting for Lucas to die to inherit the empire, while the doctors prepared to sign the death certificate. I didn't understand why my father would lie about my son’s death for years, or what kind of monsters would use a child as a bargaining chip. The injustice of it burned in my chest as I realized I was just a pawn in a game of old money and blood. As the monitors began to flatline and the family started to celebrate their inheritance, I locked the door and reached into the hem of my dress. I pulled out the sharpened silver wires I’d fashioned in the prison workshop. They thought they bought a submissive convict, but they actually invited "The Saint"—the world’s most dangerous underground surgeon—into their home. "Wake up, Lucas. You owe me a life." I wasn't there to be a bride; I was there to wake the dead and burn their empire to the ground.

The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Catherine
5.0

I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I’d be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years—a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book