The long banquet table glittered beneath the chandelier's blaze, crystals casting fractured light across silver platters laden with roasted meats, jeweled fruits, and pastries that oozed honey. Servants moved with practiced grace, their hands lifting polished domes from steaming dishes. The air grew heavy with the scents of spiced lamb, butter-soaked breads, and the faint perfume of roses drifting in from the gardens.
Yet to Serenya, every aroma turned sour. Her throat closed with each attempted swallow, her appetite vanishing beneath the weight of two pairs of eyes—Zareth's, sharp and unrelenting, and Kael's, softer yet piercing in their quiet observation.
Her fingers tightened on her cutlery, knuckles blanching. She whispered under her breath, barely a breath of sound, "Please lord, let this soiree end quickly… just so I can leave with him peacefully."
But when her gaze flicked sideways, the Emperor's lips curved into a crooked smile. A smile that promised the exact opposite. He had no intention of letting her escape easily.
Zareth reached lazily for the goblet before him, swirling the blood-red wine like liquid fire before lifting it to his lips. He drank slowly, his gaze locked on her profile as though daring her to look back. His plate remained untouched, but his free hand slid deliberately across her lap, his palm pressing against her thigh again .
Serenya jolted faintly, a flush rising to her cheeks as she tried to move her leg away but Zareth wouldn't let her . Relief fluttered through her chest when, for a moment, his hand withdrew—only to freeze when he picked up a serving spoon and, without ceremony, began dishing food onto her plate.
The entire table seemed to pause. Forks halted midair. Servants exchanged startled glances.
The Emperor Ravaryn had never served anyone before. Not his minsters , not the countless women who had draped themselves across his soirees, hoping to catch his favor. And now here he was, placing roasted pheasant onto Serenya's plate, as if silently branding her before everyone present: She is mine.
Her chest tightened. The burn of a hundred eyes made her want to sink beneath the tablecloth, but Zareth's thumb returned—circling idly on her thigh beneath the linen as though her mortification were his amusement.
"Are you well, Your Highness?" came Mrs. Thompson's voice from across the table, cutting through the heavy air. The older woman's brow furrowed as her gaze lingered on Serenya's flushed cheeks.
Serenya forced a polite nod, her voice barely steady. "Yes, I'm good."
Her lie trembled between her lips, even as Zareth's thumb pressed firmer, tracing slow, deliberate circles that made her want to squirm.
Kael leaned forward then, his voice pitched low but tender. "You should take this." He poured a glass of water, sliding it gently toward her.
Her stomach twisted—not with gratitude, but dread. She could feel Zareth stiffen beside her, his hand tightening on her thigh like an iron shackle, as though daring her to so much as touch the glass. His possessive grip carried a silent message:Touch it , and I'll break him here in front of them all.
"I… there's no need," Serenya stammered, her throat constricting under the weight of every pair of eyes at the table. She gripped her cutlery tighter, fighting the urge to tremble.
This is unbearable. This is too much.
And then Zareth's hand moved higher. Slow, torturous, his fingertips ghosted up her thigh until her heart slammed against her ribs.
Her breath caught. In one desperate rush, she shoved her chair back, her legs unsteady as she rose. "I'm going to the powder room," she muttered, her voice tight. Her cheeks flamed with humiliation, and she could barely meet anyone's gaze as she hurried away.
Behind her, she felt his gaze burning into her back. Shameless Emperor! she cursed under her breath for what felt like the hundredth time.
The powder room's marble coolness wrapped around her the moment she entered. She grasped the edge of the polished counter, her reflection glaring back at her in the gilded mirror. Her cheeks were crimson, her lips trembling with suppressed frustration.
"Oh God," she whispered, pressing her palms to her face. "What are people going to think if this is how I looked? They'll think I'm some foolish, smitten girl… or worse."
She dropped her hands, staring into her own wide eyes. A thousand thoughts raced, yet one slipped bitterly through her lips. "And what is Prince Kael even doing here?" she muttered, her hand tightening around the fabric of her gown.
The door creaked open. Serenya straightened, startled, but relief flooded her when she saw Elarythn step inside.
"Elarythn!" Serenya gasped, rushing forward. She wrapped her arms around her elder sister, who returned the hug with a delay, her patting hand stiff and distant.
"I almost thought I wouldn't get time to talk to you," Elarythn murmured, her tone edged with something unplaceable, "since the Emperor seems glued to your side."
Serenya pulled back, her lips curving into a genuine smile. "I'm so happy to see you. How are Father, Mother, Thirena, Nearya, and brother—"
Elarythn interrupted, fingers brushing through her younger sister's hair almost absently. "Look at you… glowing as though you're already Empress." Her lips twisted, and then her voice dropped sharp as a blade. "Tell me, Serenya, how many times has he fucked you to parade you like this?"
The words struck like a slap. Serenya's cheeks burned scarlet, her breath catching. "W-Why would you say something like that?" she stammered, her voice breaking in disbelief. "Elarythn… if this is about what happened before, I'm sorry. It wasn't entirely my fault you were whipped for lying—"
Her sister's chuckle was low, bitter, curling into the corners of the room like smoke. She folded her arms, her gaze sliding down to the golden necklace glinting at Serenya's throat.
"I see you're still clinging to your birth necklace," she murmured. "You know, Grandmother—the Queen Dowager—has been asking after you lately."
Serenya's hand instinctively brushed the pendant. Her voice softened, melancholy creeping in. "I'll make sure to visit her when I return to Vayrana," she whispered.
Elarythn's smile sharpened. "Of course you should. Provided, of course, you remember that you were the one she hated most."
The words sank like stones in Serenya's chest. She bit the inside of her cheek, holding her composure as her sister's hand suddenly wrapped around hers.
"There's something I want to show you," Elarythn said, her tone deceptively light. Without waiting for agreement, she tugged Serenya toward the door.
Serenya followed, her mind clouded with unease. Her grandmother's coldness had always haunted her—an unexplainable hatred that made her feel like a curse among her sisters. She had long buried that wound, yet now it was being pried open again.
They walked down a dim corridor, away from the music and chatter of the soiree. Elarythn led her to a side chamber, its walls lined with old portraits. She pushed Serenya inside.
"Wait here," Elarythn said, her tone oddly clipped. "It's something Father wanted me to give you. I'll fetch it from the carriage."
Before Serenya could reply, her sister was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
The silence swallowed Serenya whole. Her pulse quickened, unease spreading through her veins like ice.
---
The grand hall of the Thompson mansion thrummed with music and laughter, Zareth sat like a coiled storm at the head of the table, the glittering feast before him untouched, his goblet of wine still trembling faintly where he had set it down. His eyes were moved to the two empty seats . Serenya and that of her sisters, he was aware they would probably be together but then he was going to let them but of course until his patience run thin .
When Cassian finally slipped into the room, his presence was like a blade cutting through silk. He moved with silent purpose, bowing slightly before leaning toward his sovereign. The words he murmured were too low for the nobles present to catch, but whatever he said carved into Zareth like steel.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed, cold as shards of obsidian. Without a word, he rose. The scrape of his chair against marble made the entire table jolt. Every noble present, trained by centuries of fear, immediately stood in unison, their heads bowing, their hearts thundering. The silence was suffocating.
Zareth turned, his gaze sweeping the hall like a predator taking stock of its prey. His eyes sought her—Serenya. But her chair sat empty. So did her sister's. A low, dangerous hum built in his chest, one that made the closest noblewoman flinch.
His gaze shifted, settling with venomous precision on Kael. The young prince sat still, composed, though Zareth could smell the faintest tinge of defiance bleeding from his aura. Their eyes locked, a silent war of dominance sparking between them.
Zareth's jaw clenched. He closed his eyes briefly, but not to retreat—rather, to sharpen his senses. His bond with Serenya pulsed like a living thing, faint but present, reminding him that she was near, alive, unsettled. It was both a balm and an irritation. She was not where she should be—by his side.
The Emperor turned, his cloak snapping sharply behind him as he strode for the exit.
"Your Majesty—" a voice dared to call after him.
He didn't slow. His reply was low and razor-edged, tossed carelessly over his shoulder. "Choke on your questions."
The hall fell into suffocating silence again.
Cassian fell into step beside him, his tone respectful but clipped. "Shall I ready the carriage?"
Zareth's lips curled in disdain. "Keep your horse. You'll need it." His voice dipped into that cruel amusement only he could master, laced with the arrogance of one who had never known limits. "Unlike you, I don't need reins to move where I wish."
Cassian merely inclined his head, well-acquainted with his Emperor's ability to tear through space itself.
And then, without warning, Zareth vanished. The air itself seemed to recoil, a ripple of displaced power disturbing the garden outside as though reality had been split open.
When he reappeared, the night was eerily still. He stood in the sunlit gardens of another noble estate, roses trembling in the breeze as if they, too, sensed the wrongness that clung to the air. The scent hit him first—copper, acrid and sweet. Blood.
Zareth's boots crunched against gravel as he crossed into the shadowed halls of the Lowsin mansion. The grand doors stood ajar, one hinge creaking faintly in the sun air. Inside, silence reigned.
And then he saw them.
Bodies sprawled across the marble floors, pale limbs twisted in grotesque positions. Blood pooled, sticky and black under the torchlight, staining silken gowns and embroidered tunics. The once-proud vampire household lay scattered like discarded dolls, their throats slashed, their eyes frozen wide in terror.
The Emperor's expression was unreadable, but his presence seemed to expand, filling every corner of the room with a suffocating weight. He stepped closer, his gaze raking over the corpses with the clinical sharpness of a predator surveying the aftermath of another's hunt.
"What happened here?" His voice, low and deadly, sliced through the silence.
The councilman waiting within bowed quickly, his brown curls falling forward as he lowered his head. Even his body seemed fragile beneath his gaze. "Your Majesty," he murmured, his voice trembling, "we received word this morning. The entire Lowsin family was found massacred. By the time we arrived, there was nothing left but this carnage. We have found no sign of forced entry, no traces of battle—nothing to explain it."
Zareth's eyes narrowed, black fire flickering in their depths. He crouched beside one of the fallen vampires, brushing the blood-smeared floor with his gloved fingertips. The crimson shone under the torchlight, and he lifted his hand, watching the thick liquid drip slowly, deliberately, back onto the marble.
"How interesting." The words left his lips like a taunt, cruel and amused, as if he had stumbled upon a riddle meant for his own entertainment.