Chapter 3: Trial of Blood
Liam didn't sleep.
The bed was large enough to drown in, swathed in velvet sheets dyed the color of midnight. Pillows soft as clouds crowded around him, and a heavy canopy hung over the frame like a starless sky. But comfort meant nothing. Not when his body still tingled with residual magic and his wrist still bore the burning sigil from the blood contract.
He had married a vampire queen.
He'd signed a contract with his own blood, bound himself to a realm of darkness and politics he didn't understand, and walked away with his neck somehow intact—and his heart still thumping like it hadn't realized what he'd done.
The castle was quiet, but it wasn't peaceful. Shadows moved too naturally along the walls, sometimes pausing near his door as if considering entry. Whispered conversations filtered in from hallways that shouldn't echo. And beneath it all, a low hum vibrated through the air—magic, maybe. Or something older.
He threw the covers aside and sat up. Cold kissed his skin instantly. He hadn't changed into anything more appropriate; the ceremonial clothes from the contract ritual still clung to him like guilt. He stared at his wrist. The glowing red seal had faded slightly, but he could still feel it—like a second heartbeat, pulsing magic into his veins.
He didn't belong here.
And yet… the Queen had spared him. She hadn't taken his life, or his blood. She hadn't forced herself upon him. In fact, she'd barely said anything after the court had dissolved.
"Rest," she'd said. "Tomorrow, you face the Trial."
The Trial.
He didn't know what that meant. Only that it was capitalized, and important, and almost certainly designed to kill him.
Liam rubbed his temples and stood. Sleep would not come. Maybe walking would help.
The corridors outside were dimly lit by enchanted torches, their flames burning with pale blue fire. Every painting he passed seemed to watch him, their oil-brushed eyes following with judgment. The architecture was impossibly grand—spiraling staircases, vaulted ceilings, windows that opened into black voids rather than scenery.
He wandered, careful not to stray too far from familiar hallways.
He passed servants dressed in dark uniforms, some vampire, some human. They bowed politely but kept their distance. One girl, younger than the rest and clearly human, offered him a weak smile.
"You should return to your room, milord," she said in a hushed tone. "The castle listens at night."
Liam managed a polite nod. "Thanks for the advice."
He turned back.
But as he rounded a corner leading toward the Queen's wing, he heard a voice.
Male. Arrogant.
"I don't care what she says. He's a liability. A human? In the court? She's lost her mind."
Liam paused, hidden behind a column.
A second voice responded. Female. Cold.
"She hasn't lost her mind. She's playing a long game. The contract—"
"Will doom us all," the man interrupted. "Mark my words."
Footsteps approached. Liam slipped into a side passage and leaned against the stone wall, heart racing. He didn't recognize the voices, but the implication was clear.
He wasn't welcome here.
He was being watched.
And if the Trial didn't kill him, someone else would gladly do it.
Morning—though the sun never truly rose—brought a grim procession.
The Queen entered his chambers just as he finished dressing in fresh clothes laid out by servants. Black tunic, dark trousers, a crimson sash that he suspected meant something. Her presence made the room colder, more refined. Her beauty still hit like a slap—flawless pale skin, high cheekbones, lips painted wine-dark, and those eyes. Crimson and gold, like royal blood made flame.
"You survived the night," she said.
"I had help," he replied, gesturing to the tea he'd found waiting. "Chamomile. I assume that's not poisoned?"
"Not by me."
Charming.
"You said something about a trial," he ventured. "What does that involve?"
She studied him.
"A test of will. Blood. Spirit. Loyalty. The Elders demand it of all consorts."
"Right. Because a blood contract wasn't enough."
She didn't smile, but her voice softened. "The contract binds us. But the Trial proves you're not a liability. That you can survive here."
"And if I don't?"
"You die."
Of course.
They walked in silence, her cloak trailing like spilled ink over the marble floors. Servants and guards bowed deeply as she passed. Some looked at Liam with curiosity. Others with disdain.
The trial chamber was deep underground.
Circular. Ancient.
The walls were carved with runes that pulsed red as they entered. Torches ringed the room, their flames black. In the center was a blood sigil inscribed on the floor—an intricate spiral design filled with old vampire script.
Waiting there were five Elders. Vampires so old their eyes had turned silver-white. One of them, a tall man with skin like marble and a voice like crumbling stone, addressed them.
"The consort is present."
The Queen nodded. "He is."
"Then let the Trial begin."
Liam stepped forward. The floor was cold and humming with unseen energy.
The Elder raised one skeletal hand. "Do you, Liam Kestrel, accept the consequences of the Trial of Blood?"
He hesitated.
"I do."
The sigil flared. The world melted.
Liam was no longer in the chamber.
He stood in a snow-covered forest beneath a dark, cloud-choked sky. Snowflakes fell gently, each one glowing faintly red as it touched the ground.
He wasn't cold. But he felt... empty. Like something had been pulled from him.
"Hello?" he called.
No answer.
Then a sound—footsteps. Crunching snow.
Across the clearing, another figure appeared.
It was Liam.
Or… someone who looked exactly like him. Same face, same clothes. But his eyes were black as voids, and his expression twisted with contempt.
"What is this?" Liam asked.
The doppelgänger laughed. "This is the part where you die."
It moved—fast. Faster than any human.
Liam barely dodged the first strike, stumbling through the snow. Pain exploded in his shoulder as the thing's claws—when had it grown claws?—raked across his skin.
He fell, gasping. Blood soaked his tunic.
"Why fight it?" the thing snarled. "You don't belong here. You're weak. Human."
"I'm stubborn," Liam hissed. "There's a difference."
He lunged.
They fought.
The snow became a battlefield, red and black clashing in a blur of fists, claws, and roars. Liam took hit after hit, but he kept getting up. Something inside him refused to yield.
At last, he grabbed the doppelgänger's throat.
"You're not me."
He slammed it to the ground.
"You're my doubt. My fear. My weakness."
The thing howled—and burst into smoke.
Silence fell.
Then, the world shattered like glass.
He was back in the chamber.
Collapsed on the floor, gasping, blood dripping from his arm. The sigil on the floor glowed brightly beneath him.
The Elders stared.
"He has passed," one of them said.
The Queen stepped forward.
Liam looked up at her. "You couldn't have warned me about the evil twin?"
She crouched and touched his cheek gently.
"Then it wouldn't have been a true trial."
He chuckled weakly. "I hate you a little."
"Good. That means you're still human."
End of Chapter 3