A prince cursed to turn into stone by day falls for a gardener tending the magical roses in his castle grounds. Together, they seek the key to breaking the curse before it's too late
A prince cursed to turn into stone by day falls for a gardener tending the magical roses in his castle grounds. Together, they seek the key to breaking the curse before it's too late
Prince Alistair stood in the garden of his castle, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the first rays of the morning sun began to stretch across the sky. He could feel it already-the cold tightening in his limbs, creeping up his spine like a silent thief. The warmth of his human form would soon fade, replaced by the stillness of stone.
It had become his routine, this slow, inevitable transformation. The curse that bound him to the stone form every morning had not been kind. There had been no warning, no mercy. One day he had simply woken, and the sun had not only burned away the night but his very freedom as well. By day, he was nothing more than a statue, a monument of stone standing rigidly in the palace courtyard. But by night, when the moon rose high in the sky, he was restored to his human shape-alive, aware, but only for a few fleeting hours before the curse claimed him again.
His fingers twitched, but the stone creeping up his skin held them stiff, unwilling to move. He looked down at the stone veins spreading across his hand, the transformation slowly, inexorably taking hold. He could hear the distant hum of the castle, the hustle and bustle of his kingdom continuing as if nothing were wrong. But it wasn't the same for him. His life had been paused in an eternal struggle between moments of life and stone, his heart cursed to love and be loved by none.
His eyes flicked toward the garden, where the roses-magical roses, or so the old legends claimed-grew wild and unkempt. Their petals shimmered faintly in the early morning light, their fragrance rich with the promise of something beyond the mundane, something that had long intrigued him.
A figure moved between the rosebushes-a gardener, he noticed, working diligently amidst the flowers, trimming and tending to the plants. She wore no crown or jewels, no silk gown like the ladies of his court. Her clothes were simple-earthy tones of brown and green, a stark contrast to the gleaming castle walls behind her. But there was something captivating about her movements, something graceful in the way she bent to the earth, as though she belonged more to the roses than the castle.
It was only when the sun began to rise higher, casting deeper shadows across the stone courtyard, that the transformation began to take hold of him fully. The last vestige of his human warmth slipped away, and he felt himself stiffen, his body locking in place as if frozen in time.
Alistair knew that if he did not leave the garden soon, the curse would claim him completely, turning him into an unmoving statue for the rest of the day. But something about the gardener's presence kept him rooted to the spot. Perhaps it was the way she worked so tirelessly, lost in the rhythm of tending the roses. Or perhaps it was the unspoken connection he felt, a pull that had been there since she had first arrived at the castle weeks ago.
Her name, he knew, was Elara. She had been hired by the king to maintain the enchanted garden that had been a part of the castle grounds for centuries. The garden was more than just a place of beauty-it was said that the roses held strange and powerful magic, and some even whispered that they were the key to unlocking long-lost secrets of the world.
Elara was a mystery. While the rest of the court gossiped about her, questioning her origins and her purpose, she remained quiet, focused only on her work. Her gentle hands caressed the petals with a tenderness that seemed at odds with the hard labor she performed, yet she never faltered, never seemed to tire.
Alistair's heart sank as he watched her, knowing he couldn't stay much longer. The moment the sun crested fully over the horizon, he would turn to stone, unable to move, to speak, to feel. It was a fate that had imprisoned him for years, and there seemed to be no way out.
But something changed that morning. Just as the last of the warmth drained from his body, leaving him cold and unmoving, Elara looked up. Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments, and for the first time in weeks, Alistair felt something stir within him-a flicker of recognition. Her gaze lingered on him longer than expected, her brow furrowing in confusion as if she, too, felt the strange pull between them.
The moment was short-lived. The sun crested high enough that the curse took full effect. Alistair could feel his body lock, the stone replacing flesh, his breath no longer able to draw. His vision blurred as he stood motionless, unable to do anything but watch as Elara's form slowly disappeared from his view.
The hours dragged by. He stood in the garden, no longer a man, but a figure of cold marble. The world passed around him-nobles strolling by, birds chirping, the sounds of the kingdom continuing as they always did. But for him, time had ceased to exist. He was neither alive nor dead, caught in the endless loop of his curse.
When the sun finally began to set, a chill in the air signaling the night's approach, the transformation reversed. His body began to soften, the stone receding as warmth returned to his limbs. He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding as his lungs filled with air. He was human again.
But Elara was gone.
He had spent the entire day as stone, his thoughts consumed with her-her presence, her gaze. She had noticed him, truly noticed him, for the first time. He couldn't help but wonder what she thought of him now, what she might say when they next met.
For a moment, he allowed himself the small luxury of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was more than just a gardener. Perhaps she was the key to breaking the curse that held him captive in stone.
And if she was, he would find a way to reach her.
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.
In the glittering world of high society and cutthroat ambition, a single sentence shatters a marriage: "Let's get a divorce." For three years, Claire Thompson has lived in exile, her marriage to the powerful Nelson Cooper a hollow shell existing only on paper. Shipped abroad on her wedding day and utterly forgotten, she returns only to be handed divorce papers. But Claire is no longer the timid, heartbroken girl she once was. Behind her quiet facade lies a woman transformed, secretly rejoicing at her newfound freedom. However, freedom comes with a price. As Claire signs the papers with relief, a chilling phone call reveals a dark truth: the threats she faced overseas were no accident, and the trail leads shockingly close to home-to the family that raised her and the husband who discarded her. Just as she prepares to sever all ties, a twist of fate pulls her back into the gilded cage. Nelson, for reasons unknown, suddenly stalls the divorce. Meanwhile, the family that disowned her and the fragile, manipulative sister who stole her life are determined to ruin her reputation and drive her out for good. But Claire is playing a different game now. With a mysterious new identity, powerful allies, and secrets of her own, she is no one's pawn. As hidden truths unravel and loyalties are tested, a stunning question emerges: In this high-stakes battle of love, betrayal, and revenge, who is truly trapping whom?
Abandoned as a child and orphaned by murder, Kathryn swore she'd reclaim every shred of her stolen birthright. When she returned, society called her an unpolished love-child, scoffing that Evan had lost his mind to marry her. Only Evan knew the truth: the quiet woman he cradled like porcelain hid secrets enough to set the city trembling. She doubled as a legendary healer, an elusive hacker, and the royal court's favorite perfumer. At meetings, the directors groaned at the lovey-dovey couple, "Does she really have to be here?" Evan shrugged. "Happy wife, happy life." Soon her masks fell, and those who sneered bowed in awe.
For three years, Deanna endured scorn in a one-sided marriage. When Connor forced her to choose between her career and a divorce, she didn't hesitate-she walked away. Determined to reclaim her birthright, Deanna returned as the brilliant heiress to a medical conglomerate. Her ex and his family begged for another chance, but it was too late. With a tycoon father, a legendary healer mother, a CEO brother who adored her, and a showbiz powerhouse sibling, Deanna's life overflowed with power. Even her arrogant rival, heir to billions, only ever had a soft spot for her.
Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."
After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."
Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."
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