Draxcen Ilya Feraelith
The princess’s jaw was set like carved stone as the guards dragged her into Auradon’s grand main hall, where the acrid scent of blood clung thick to every shadowed corner. Her parents—Auradon’s beloved King and Queen—were forced to their knees on the cold marble floor, their crowns tilted askew, their faces etched with a mix of pride and agony as they stared up at the imposing figure at the hall’s heart: King Draxcen Ilya Feraelith of Velmoria. At twenty-one, he cut a fearsome silhouette—broad-shouldered, clad in dark leather and steel, his features sharp enough to cut glass. Rumors had painted him as ruthless, merciless, and standing here now, with her kingdom’s blood staining his boots, she knew every word was true. When one guard’s rough hand clamped down on her arm, his fingers digging into bruised skin, something inside her snapped like dry kindling. Without a sound, she twisted her body free, her palm finding the familiar hilt of the guard’s sword at his hip. Years of sneakin
About Draxcen Ilya Feraelith
The princess’s jaw was set like carved stone as the guards dragged her into Auradon’s grand main hall, where the acrid scent of blood clung thick to every shadowed corner. Her parents—Auradon’s beloved King and Queen—were forced to their knees on the cold marble floor, their crowns tilted askew, their faces etched with a mix of pride and agony a...Read more