Bound to the Wrong Flame In a kingdom ruled by power, prophecy, and tradition, twin sisters Vira and Sarin are torn apart by a cruel twist of fate. Betrothed since birth to noble heirs from rival houses, their destinies are switched on the eve of their weddings-one by accident, the other by secret design. Now bound to the wrong flame, each sister finds herself falling for a man she was never meant to love. As forbidden passions ignite and ancient secrets resurface, the fragile peace of the realm begins to unravel. Loyalties are tested, betrayal lurks in every shadow, and the flames of rebellion threaten to consume them all. Caught between duty and desire, Vira and Sarin must choose: obey the roles written for them, or risk everything to rewrite their own fate.
Chapter 1 The Storm Before the Vow
Chapter One: The Storm Before the Vow
The skies over Zuniria rarely turned grey. But on the day of the Moon bind Ceremony, clouds gathered like secrets, heavy and bruised above the marble spires. Thunder rolled low and slow, as if the gods were murmuring dissent.
From her high balcony, Seraya watched the approaching storm, fingers curled tightly around the ivory rail. Below her, the palace thrummed with life-dancers spun through ribbons of gold, drummers echoed a rhythm older than memory, and a thousand silk banners danced like fire in the wind.
Her wedding day. Her binding to Prince Auren. The match of fate, arranged by council, confirmed by stars.
A perfect pairing.
A perfect lie.
Behind her, silent attendants fastened the last coral pins into her crown of braids and lowered the sheer veil across her face.
"You look like a goddess," one whispered reverently.
Seraya gave a tight nod, but her gaze stayed on the horizon. Somewhere across the gardens, her sister was preparing too.
Nyelle. Untamed. Unruly. Born second, but always burning brighter.
And today, they were both sacrifices dressed as brides.
She let out a slow breath, her reflection barely visible in the polished obsidian mirror nearby. The veil softened her features, made her look serene-divine, even. But beneath the silk, her heart thrummed like war drums.
This is for the realm. This is duty. This is survival.
Then why did it feel like surrender?
In the shadowed southern court, Nyelle yanked at the collar of her ceremonial robe.
"It's choking me," she muttered.
"It's sacred silk," replied a nervous handmaid, gently trying to smooth the fabric.
"It's itchy," Nyelle snapped, swatting the girl's hands away.
Everything about today felt wrong. The silence. The stiffness. The scent of incense clinging to her skin like smoke. She was to be bound to General Kaidun of Koro'Da-a man she'd never seen, never spoken to. Known only by rumor: brilliant, brutal, stone-hearted.
Fitting, she thought bitterly, they'd send me to the one realm colder than this one.
She clenched her fists. Her fingers tingled-not with fear, but with power. The kind she was forbidden to speak of. The kind she barely understood.
A knock echoed from the outer chamber. The priest was calling her forward.
She should've run. She still could.
But Seraya had looked at her last night with those sad, steady eyes, and whispered, "Maybe, one day, we'll rewrite the story they forced us into."
Nyelle hadn't known what she meant. Still didn't. But she held the words like a blade. Just in case.
The twins were led through different corridors, veiled and masked, their steps silent on sacred stone. Guards flanked them-expressionless, unmoving, watching everything. They passed murals of queens who bled for peace and kings who bowed to the stars.
Finally, the paths converged at the Sanctum of Binding.
An open temple carved into the cliffside, it overlooked the sea, where silver tides shimmered beneath the rising moon. Pools of water reflected torchlight, and stone basins steamed with herbs meant to purify. Incense coiled into the night air, thick with jasmine and myrrh.
High priests gathered in a ring, their voices chanting in the Old Tongue. The air pulsed with ancient magic-old as the stars, old as the pact that had kept the realms from war.
The ceremony began.
Each twin stood before her masked groom, faces hidden until the sacred unveiling. A hush fell. Time held its breath.
And then-the storm broke.
Lightning cracked the heavens in a jagged scream. Wind tore through the arches, scattering petals like ashes. Flames guttered, then died. A priest stumbled, dropping the ceremonial masks-twin-crafted, each etched with the sigils of their birth.
In the chaos, a hand picked up the wrong mask.
No one noticed.
And the binding began.
Each bride knelt before her destined suitor. Their hands were placed together. Vows were spoken in unison.
Veils were lifted.
Eyes met.
Neither Seraya nor Nyelle flinched.
Neither groom hesitated.
The spirits sealed the unions with a breath of cold air that swept through the sanctum like the exhale of fate.
And no one-not the priests, not the grooms, not the twins themselves-noticed the error that would shatter empires.
Not yet.
But above the temple, the clouds split once more.
And lightning lit the sky as if the stars, too, had gasped
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