The halls of the Marudas estate were unnervingly quiet at night.
Nerine wandered through them alone, the soft pads of her slippers nearly silent on the velvet carpet. The flickering candle sconces along the walls threw strange shadows—dancing shapes that reminded her of memories she tried too hard to forget.
The walls were lined with portraits of grim-looking ancestors in stiff collars and furs, their gazes cold and proud. She passed one painting of a woman whose hair was an exact mirror of her own—silver threaded with hints of ash. The resemblance was startling, and she paused.
"Was that… my grandmother?" she whispered to herself.
But the air gave no answers.
She continued walking, her hands lightly grazing the banisters as she turned into the west wing—less ornate, quieter, older. There was a chill in that part of the house. It sank into her skin.
By the time she returned to her room, the moon had risen high, its light casting pale streaks across the floor.
Sleep, however, refused to come.
She pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, then kicked it off. The mattress was soft, the pillows feathered, and yet it felt like she was lying on stone.
How does one sleep peacefully under the roof of their mother's killer?
Her throat tightened.
Sir Marudas's voice from the previous day echoed again in her mind—charming to others, but sharp and filled with veiled threats when no one else could hear. The more she thought of it, the more she was convinced: he hadn't brought her here out of love.
With a quiet sigh, Nerine got up and crossed the room. Her travel bag was still tucked beneath the bed. She knelt, unbuckled it, and pulled out a worn, leather-bound book.
It was a fantasy novel she had borrowed from a merchant in Velmire. She had barely finished half of it.
Curling into the corner chair near the window, she flipped it open.
It was a tale about vampires—elegant, cursed creatures cloaked in darkness and sorrow. She found herself drawn to the loneliness of the protagonist, a vampire prince who longed to reclaim his humanity. The drinking of blood made her stomach twist, but everything else—the ancient courts, the twisted politics, the forbidden love—it pulled her in like a siren's call.
I prefer fiction to this reality, she thought, turning the page. At least in stories, betrayal makes sense.
In a chamber lit by crystal lamps and warmed by a private hearth, Sir Marudas poured himself a glass of dark wine.
Lady Kate stood across from him, arms crossed over her velvet robe, brows arched high. Her blonde curls were still pinned from dinner, though they now looked slightly frayed—either from age or frustration.
"You haven't told her?" she asked, disbelief coloring her tone.
"She just arrived, Kate," he replied flatly, swirling his wine. "Let her settle first."
Lady Kate scoffed. "The council will not wait for her to adjust to her feather pillows. They've already sent word twice this week."
"She's still human," he said pointedly. "And she doesn't even know vampires exist. You expect me to drop it on her like a midday announcement?"
"I expect you to do what you promised," she snapped. "You brought her here to fulfill her role. If she refuses—"
"She won't refuse," Marudas interrupted, sipping the wine. "She has no other choice."
Kate narrowed her eyes. "She has a temper. And those eyes—Alicia's eyes. She may look quiet now, but she's watching everything. Don't underestimate her."
"I don't," he said. "Which is exactly why I haven't told her yet."
Kate's lips pursed tightly. "So when will you?"
"When I'm ready. The girl knows nothing of the court. She doesn't even realize she's being married off—to a vampire lord, no less. I need her compliant, not panicked."
Kate's expression shifted—distaste and disdain twisting her features.
"She's already odd-looking," she muttered. "That unnatural hair. And now we have to make her suitable for court life? She looks like a cursed child."
"She's unique," he said. "And uniqueness is rare currency in these games."
Kate moved closer, her voice lowered to a whisper. "Just remember—the council won't tolerate delays. Especially not from you."
He met her gaze, unblinking. "And they'll have what they want. But they'll have it my way."
*****
Council Chamber – The Following Morning
The Grand Council Hall was a vaulted chamber of dark stone and flickering torches, where carved thrones formed a half-circle around a central table.
At the center of it all stood Lord Kael Blackthorn.
He entered without ceremony, his long coat sweeping behind him, silver embroidery glinting with every step.
The council members sat stiffly, eyes flicking toward one another as he approached. Even those older than him seemed to lean back, wary.
Lord Theron cleared his throat, his voice echoing. "Lord Kael… we've gathered to receive your response."
Kael looked calm—too calm.
"I will accept the arrangement," he said, voice steady.
Silence fell like a blade.
Lord Nikos blinked. "You… agree?"
Kael's gaze swept the room like a slow storm. "I said I would comply. I didn't say I approved."
Lord Theron leaned forward. "You surprise us, Kael. We thought this would provoke more… resistance."
Kael smiled faintly. "Sometimes it's better to nod while holding the knife."
A few council members shifted in their seats uncomfortably.
"You understand," Theron said carefully, "this marriage is crucial for stabilizing the alliance. The girl is human—untrained, unaware. This won't be simple."
Kael gave a lazy shrug. "When have politics ever been simple?"
"And if she refuses?"
"She won't."
There was something in the way he said it. As if he already saw the end of the board before the game began.
Theron studied him. "We trust you're not playing at something more, Lord Blackthorn."
Kael's smile widened by a fraction. "Of course not."
The air outside the hall was brisk, scented faintly with iron and snow. Kael walked down the stone steps slowly, his boots silent despite their weight.
Kostas followed behind, expression tight. When they were out of earshot, he spoke.
"You agreed," Kostas said. "You actually agreed to marry the Marudas girl?"
Kael didn't look at him.
"I did."
"But… why?"
Kael finally stopped and turned, the wind catching his coat as it flared around him like wings.
"Because it's easier to throw out a candle than douse a forest fire."
Kostas frowned. "That makes no sense."
Kael smirked. "She's human. Humans get sick. They die. Easily."
A chill ran down Kostas's spine. "So… that's your plan? Marry her, and when she dies...?"
Kael began walking again, slow and deliberate. "I didn't say I had a plan, Kostas. But if a human pawn keeps the court from turning against me… then so be it."
"And if she's not just a pawn?"
Kael's gaze sharpened, glinting like cold steel.
"Then I'll break the board."