Margaret squinted at the door, her ears perked for any sound, her nose flared, trying to make sense of it.
The events of the day had left her dizzy. And all she could think of was one person. Dante.
His scent still lingered, and the way those eyes had looked at her... No matter how she tried to dismiss it, she couldn't. There was something about the way his gaze had stayed fixed on her. Perhaps there was more to him than a creature created merely to fulfill a task.
She inhaled sharply, dragging her mind back to the present. It did her no good to think of a man so forbidden, of a man who could never be as normal as the rest of them.
She knew what danger came with being close to the shadow vampires. It wouldn't just put the world in jeopardy like it had before—it could destroy her.
And she was far too young for a vampire to be destroyed. Even as a half-vampire, her lifespan stretched long ahead of her. It wouldn't do her any good to waste it. Like this.
The door made no further sound, but it didn't need to. There was a presence behind it. And though she wished it was him, she knew it wasn't.
Then the scent reached her—cinnamon and mint, mixed with strange and foreign spices. Her whole body began to relax as she made sense of who it could possibly be.
A witch.
Her friend turned sister.
Gwen.
Male witches rarely brewed potions. Godfather Sebastian had often spoken of Anna, one of his and her father's longtime friends—Anna, who had died during the Mutant War. She had been the one who handled most of the potion work.
Gwen had taken interest in the story. With her father's guidance, she picked it up easily, even mastering her powers at an early age.
The doorknob turned. A head poked in. Gwen's brown hair fell to the side. Her hazel eyes narrowed—then her lips curved into a grin. She stepped into the room and shut the door with one foot.
She wore a plain brown gown dotted with white crystals. The velvet clung lightly to her frame, straight and simple.
In her hand, she held a black-covered book laced with green, vein-like lines. A potion manual—or maybe one of the storybooks she loved to sneak from the library.
Gwen always preferred reading. Even if danger loomed, she'd lose herself in pages or potion-making. And always, a book remained at her side.
It was the opposite for Margaret. She rarely read—too focused on being the perfect princess the people of Ravencreast adored. Too focused on honing her powers.
Moonlight streamed in from above, mixing with the yellow and white glow of the lamp perched on the wall, washing over Gwen as she approached.
"And here I was thinking you'd already finished dressing for the ball," she said, striding across the room. She had her father's height and sculpted face.
Margaret smiled. "You don't think balls are boring? Do you?"
Gwen lounged beside her—so unlike Margaret, who always sat like a proper lady. Gwen had one leg tossed over the arm of the settee, her head bent awkwardly against the backrest. Margaret couldn't help but wonder how that was comfortable.
But Gwen had insisted it was the best way to read—not to sit comfortably.
"I don't agree with you, sister," Gwen said, eyes locked on Margaret's. She waved the book lazily with one hand, gesturing with the other. "Balls fascinate me. Especially royal ones."
Her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned in close to Margaret's ear. "And you need to come down to the ballroom. I happened to be there—and the eligible bachelors I saw…"
She leaned back, her eyes glowing with excitement. "They're far more handsome than I expected."
Margaret rolled her eyes. "I presume you'll have your pick."
Gwen grinned and nodded. "If I do, my mother will be the happiest woman in the world."
Unlike Gwen and her father, Lady Elizabeth was human—but she fit into their family so well, it was easy to forget. These days, more and more humans mingled with supernatural beings, and Margaret had no doubt some of the eligible bachelors downstairs were human too.
"I don't think marriage is on my list," Margaret said, nodding at Gwen. "We're still young. There are far more better things to do before settling down."
But Gwen was still grinning. Her face was always lit with amusement—she shared her father's humor.
"You know I'll always agree with you," she said, "but I don't think you'd hold on to this no suitor, no marriage idea if you saw the male guests."
Would she?
She'd just been shaken by the sight of Dante.
Gwen tilted her head. "Why are you even here instead of getting ready?" Her gaze swept over Margaret's unpowdered face and the absence of her crown. As a princess, she was expected to appear flawless—especially at a ball held in her honor.
Before she ran, she had seen the gold crystal crown, a sapphire embedded at its center, resting on a soft cotton pillow.
But she had run. Left it all behind.
Gwen gasped, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "Did you run away from your royal chamber and the castle?"
Margaret rolled her eyes. "I'm clearly still in the palace."
"Right. Which means you're hiding. But why?" Gwen's eyes widened just slightly. "You don't want to attend?"
A few minutes ago—before she met Dante and everything unfolded—she truly hadn't wanted to go. But now, her mind swirled in turmoil. This ball was for her. The crown would become a laughingstock if she didn't appear. Even if her parents wouldn't care. Even if they said they'd handle it.
But she couldn't stand that.
And she didn't even have to pick any of the suitors.
All she needed to do was show her face—and decline them all.
"I'll go," she said, turning to Gwen with a smile.
"Oh dear, my dear," Gwen sat upright and took her hand. "Then we shall dress you for the ball and turn you into the finest princess. One who'll make every head turn. I assure you, you won't be forgotten by the handsome young lords and nobles you'll meet. Men from different countries have come. You must pick among them."
Will she?
Does she want to?
After meeting Dante?
The only one she wanted to see again… was Dante.
But a sigh escaped her lips at the thought. Dante was different. He was not part of her world.
Gwen waved a hand. "What are you thinking? A change of plan?"
Margaret shook her head and smiled. "Of course not."
Should she tell Gwen about the shadow vampire?
No. There was no need.
She would never have any business with him, anyway.
"If that's the case, you need to come downstairs with me so I can get you dressed," Gwen said, tightening her grip on Margaret's hand. She stood up, pulling Margaret along with her. "Oh, and I have something special for you."
"Really?" Margaret's eyes brightened as she followed behind Gwen. She wondered what the gift could be. Gwen was always so mysterious with her presents. The last time, for her birthday, Gwen had given her a cactus plant.
Margaret couldn't help but laugh now at the memory.
They stepped out of the room just as a maid arrived with tea.
"Oh, my princess," the maid said, glancing between the two girls. "I've made ginger tea, as the queen requested."
"Ginger tea!" Gwen took the cup and drank it in one swift gulp. She leaned closer to Margaret and whispered, "Happy birthday, Margaret. I truly wish for all your dreams to come true." She set the empty cup down and waved at the maid, who quickly left the room.
Margaret smiled. Her herbal teas—ginger and mint—always made her dizzy. The lingering fragrance and calming effect relaxed her mind, but she couldn't afford to feel dizzy at the ball.
The reason she was given ginger tea was likely to help her rest, since her mother had told her she didn't have to go if she didn't want to.
As they walked down the corridor, Margaret sensed another presence, though Gwen's senses weren't as sharp as hers, so she kept walking as if nothing was amiss.
However, Margaret was certain there was someone else nearby. She stopped and scanned the room, narrowing her eyes as she searched the shadows.
The scent was familiar, that rose scent—though mixed with smoke, she could still recognize it. It was him.
He was lurking in the shadows, watching her.