The morning light filtered into the chamber, seeping through the tall arched windows in golden shafts that made the velvet curtains glow faintly. Dust motes swirled in the beams, dancing lazily as if time itself had slowed in the emperor's palace. Serenya stirred against the silken sheets, her lashes fluttering open to the familiar carved ceiling.
For a moment she lay still, her body caught between drowsiness and wakefulness, before she turned her head—only to find the vast expanse of bedding beside her empty.
Her heart clenched. She told herself it was foolish, ridiculous even, that the absence of one man could cause such a hollow sting in her chest. And yet it did.
"Was yesterday… a dream?" she whispered to herself, her voice hoarse with sleep.
She pushed the covers back and swung her legs down to the polished marble floor, the cold surface kissing her bare feet. Crossing the room, she came to stand before the mirror. Her reflection greeted her—pale skin flushed pink, her hair a soft tangle, her eyes still hazy. But what truly caught her attention was her mouth.
Her lips were swollen, tinged with the faintest bruised pink.
The memory of last night came rushing back with scorching clarity—Zareth's lips claiming hers with unyielding dominance, his hand fisting in her hair as though she were nothing but a dove foolish enough to stray too close to a predator. Her cheeks flamed, and she raised trembling fingers to her mouth as though she could wipe away the lingering heat.
A loud knock broke her reverie.
Serenya startled, smoothing the front of her gown before calling softly, "Come in."
The door creaked open. Three of the ever-present servants glided into the room with noiseless grace, their pale faces as expressionless as marble statues. One moved immediately to draw back the curtains, flooding the room with light. Another padded toward the adjoining chamber to prepare her bath. The last approached Serenya, waiting silently as though she were merely another piece of furniture.
Serenya lifted her arms without a word, allowing the servant to begin loosening the ties of her nightdress. The motion was practiced, mechanical—yet for the first time Serenya truly noticed the woman's eyes. Dull crimson, lifeless, fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder as though Serenya were unworthy of even being looked at.
The realization stirred something restless in her chest. Until now, she had accepted their silence, their presence, as though it were simply another part of this strange palace. But reality has finally started to sink in . She was no longer able to run even if she wanted to — so she was slowly accepting her fate .
"What's your name?" Serenya asked quietly.
The servant's hands paused for the briefest moment, then continued as if she hadn't heard.
Serenya frowned. "I asked your name."
The woman remained silent, her thin lips pressed tight, her eyes lowered.
From across the room, the servant making the bed let out a derisive little laugh. "We don't answer to humans beneath us," she said coldly, not bothering to look at Serenya.
The words were a slap of their own, but Serenya's lips only pressed into a line. She turned back to the one in front of her, her voice softer now but laced with steel. "Are you deaf?"
The servant's head snapped up, shock flickering in those crimson eyes. For a moment it was unclear who was more stunned—her, or the human princess who dared to address her that way. She parted her lips, perhaps to sneer back, but her words were cut short by the sharp crack of Serenya's palm meeting her cheek.
The sound echoed through the chamber like a whip crack.
The servant's head snapped to the side, her hand flying up to her reddened cheek. The other two gasped, staring at Serenya as though she had sprouted wings. Humans were supposed to cower, to endure humiliation with lowered heads. Not strike back.
"You—" the servant began, rage trembling in her voice.
Another slap silenced her. Harder, sharper, ringing in the stunned air.
"Enough." Serenya's voice was quiet but commanding, trembling only slightly. "I may be human, but I am still a princess of Vayrana. I will not be disrespected in my own chambers, not by you, not by anyone."
Her mother's blood spoke in her veins. Serenya had never relished cruelty, but she had also been raised knowing that authority unclaimed was authority lost. If she bent her neck now, she might as well never lift it again.
The servant's crimson eyes widened, disbelief giving way to reluctant recognition.
"Your name," Serenya repeated, taking a single step closer, her voice as sharp as the edge of a blade.
The woman's pride warred visibly with fear, her lips trembling before she finally muttered, "A-Aria."
Serenya's lips curved faintly, satisfied. "Good. And you?" She turned her gaze on the one who had spoken earlier.
The woman swallowed, bowing quickly, her bravado dissolved into fear. "T-Tessa, your highness."
Serenya inclined her head. "Better." Her tone softened, though her eyes still glinted. "I will remember them both."
The atmosphere in the room had shifted entirely. Where moments ago the servants had dismissed her as little more than a fragile plaything, now they moved with uneasy deference, glancing at her from the corners of their eyes as though reevaluating everything they thought they knew.
Without waiting for more, Serenya strode toward the bath chamber, her chin lifted, her heart hammering in her chest. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a brief second as her trembling fingers pressed against her skirts.
Her hands shook. This wasn't actually her thing. But she had done it.
For the first time in this palace, she had not only spoken, but been heard and she'll make sure to ingrain it in their heads if it ever repeats itself.
The steaming bath awaited her, perfumed with crushed lavender leaves and warm enough that mist curled lazily into the air. She sank into it slowly, her skin sighing at the heat. The water enveloped her body, carrying away the tension, though her mind refused to quiet.
Zareth's face rose unbidden in her thoughts—the smug tilt of his lips, the storm in his eyes, the way his touch burned like fire and his words cut like blades. She had kissed him. Or rather, he had kissed her. And though it terrified her, though her innocence still flinched at the memory, she could not lie to herself.
A part of her had wanted it. Even though she didn't understand why.
Her cheeks burned anew, and she sank deeper into the bath, willing the heat to wash away the dangerous thoughts that threatened to consume her.
But deep inside, she knew the truth—yesterday had not been a dream.
---
After her bath, the servants had dressed her in a gown of muted blue silk that clung softly to her frame, its embroidery catching the morning light as she walked. The weight of the crownless tiara that rested on her head reminded her of who she was—a princess of Vayrana—even if almost everyone in this palace wished to treat her as little more than an insect.
Her slippers clicked against the polished marble floors as she made her way through the grand corridors, where columns rose like watchful sentinels. Portraits of stern-looking vampire lords lined the walls, their painted eyes following her like hunters in the night. The air itself seemed thicker here, chilled with the faint scent of iron and spiced wine.
When she entered the royal dining room, the vastness of it threatened to swallow her whole. The ceiling arched high above, painted in dusky colors that looked like a storm frozen mid-sky. A long obsidian table stretched across the chamber, gleaming as though polished with blood.
Already seated were Sorrelith, Velmira, Maltheira, and Cavric. Their postures were languid yet sharp, as though even at rest they were prepared to strike. Sorrelith's golden hair gleamed like a crown under the chandeliers, her smile thin as she purred,
"It looks like someone forgot to come down for breakfast early." Her voice dripped with venom masked in sweetness. "My, don't tell me you weren't taught to arrive at the dining table before your guests?"
Three pairs of eyes snapped toward her like predators locking onto prey. Serenya, forcing herself not to falter, moved to the table with quiet grace. She reached for a goblet of water, her fingers trembling slightly though she willed them still. Raising it to her lips, she took a sip before answering, her voice low but respectful.
"I apologize for not arriving early."
It was meant to keep the peace. To avoid needless conflict. But her attempt at civility only sparked amusement.
Velmira leaned back in her chair, her lips curling into a cruel smile that showed just a hint of fang. "What made you think a flimsy apology from a lowly human like yourself would do?"
Serenya's fingers tightened around the goblet, though she kept her eyes on Velmira calmly.
Maltheira, seated beside her daughter, let out a soft laugh that was more growl than amusement. "Indeed. That would be too easy… considering you are beneath us." Her eyes flashed, fangs glinting like daggers poised to pierce.
Velmira smirked wider encouraged by her mother's voice, leaning forward with false generosity. "You can start by licking my feet, and I may consider forgiving you." She crossed one leg elegantly over the other, extending her slippered foot as though presenting a gift. Her mother and sister gave approving nods, their expressions twisted in smug delight.
Meanwhile Cavric remained as he always did—unbothered, detached, his crimson eyes hooded as he watched from behind his cup.
Serenya set her goblet down with deliberate care. Slowly, she raised her gaze from Velmira's foot to her sneering face, then to Maltheira's flashing fangs. She inhaled deeply, summoning the same steel she had wielded against the servants earlier that morning.
"I'm sorry," she began softly, "but I'm afraid you didn't quite understand when I was introduced the other day." Her lips curved faintly. "Unlike you, I am not simply any ordinary lady. I am a royal of Vayrana. And where I come from…" She let her words trail off deliberately, her gaze unwavering. "…respect is owed, not begged for."
A pin-drop silence fell over the table.
Velmira's smugness faltered. Sorrelith's chair screeched against the floor as she rose abruptly, her hand slamming down on the table with a force that rattled the goblets and silverware.
"How dare you?!" she snarled, her voice echoing against the vaulted ceiling.
The air thickened instantly with hostility, the vampires' predatory auras pressing against Serenya like a suffocating storm. Her heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to lower her eyes. She lifted her chin, meeting Maltheira's fury with quiet defiance.
And then—
The double doors swung open.
A cold gust swept into the hall as Zareth strode in, his presence instantly seizing the attention of every soul in the room. His hair had been styled to one side, each dark strand deliberately in place, as though he had dressed for a coronation. His long coat trailed behind him like a shadow, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light with every step.
But it was his eyes that commanded silence—black storms rimmed with crimson, sharp and unreadable, carrying the weight of both danger and temptation.
A crooked smile played over his lips as his gaze landed directly on Serenya.
"What a lovely morning," he murmured, his tone edged with mockery that made the words cut like glass.
The tension in the room shifted violently. Maltheira's lips thinned. Velmira paled slightly. Sorrelith froze mid-anger, her hand still pressed to the table. Cavric, ever silent, only bowed slightly.
Zareth did not glance at them. He walked straight to Serenya, the sound of his boots deliberate, echoing in the chamber like a slow drumbeat. When he reached her, he didn't ask permission. He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up toward him.
Serenya's breath caught, her wide eyes searching his. The room burned with watching eyes, yet Zareth seemed to savor that fact.
"Mine," he whispered against her lips before lowering his mouth to hers in a kiss that was brief yet searing, leaving the taste of him lingering.
When he pulled away, Serenya's cheeks flamed scarlet. She tore her gaze from him quickly, mortified under the weight of so many furious stares. But Zareth only smiled wider, savoring the storm of jealousy he had provoked.
Across the table, Velmira's nails dug into the arm of her chair until the wood cracked. Sorrelith's fangs extended fully, rage twisting her features. Maltheira's smile was brittle as glass.
Zareth, ignoring them all, released Serenya only to drape an arm casually over the back of her chair, his posture one of unchallenged possession.
"Let breakfast begin," he declared smoothly. His tone made it sound less like an invitation and more like a decree.
The vampires sat reluctantly. Silver lids were lifted from trays, releasing the scent of roasted meats, spiced fruits, and for the vampires, the metallic tang of blood tea that filled the air.
Zareth picked up a crystal goblet, swirling the crimson liquid lazily before taking a sip. His gaze, however, never strayed far from Serenya, who kept her eyes lowered to her plate as though hiding in her food could save her from the embarrassment of the kiss.
A crooked smile tugged at his lips. He leaned back, his voice deceptively light.
"Care to explain what happened before I came, Aunt?"
The question hung in the air like a blade.