The castle doors yawned open with a groaning sound, ancient hinges straining as if awakened from slumber. At once, a flood of golden candlelight spilled into the night, illuminating the figures who stepped past its threshold.
Nerine's breath faltered.
The grand hall of the castle was unlike anything she had ever known. Vaulted ceilings soared into darkness, where chandeliers laden with hundreds of crystal teardrops shimmered like frozen constellations. Shadows pooled along the marbled floor, broken only by the glow of fire-fed braziers that lined the pillars. A tapestry of midnight and blood red draped the walls, embroidered with symbols so ancient their meaning hummed with power.
The music had already begun—low and lilting, strings and harps woven with a tempo that swayed like a heartbeat. The murmur of voices carried through the air, hundreds of them, all falling to a hush as the newcomers entered.
Kael Blackthorn walked at Nerine's side, his black attire regal and severe, marked with threads of silver that caught the light like slivers of moon. His aura was as cold as iron, vast and commanding, and the hush in the hall grew thicker because of it. Vampires knew him. They feared him. His reputation was not whispered but engraved into the marrow of their kind—Kael Blackthorn, whose name was carried like a warning in the league of lords.
Nerine felt the weight of every gaze.
Humans were here too, scattered few among the sea of pale, elegant faces. Their finery glittered like jewels, silks and velvets stitched with family crests, their posture stiff with pride. She realized with an ache in her chest that only those of the highest standing like the council members, lords, and blood-sworn allies were allowed among so many predators.
Penelope drifted gracefully behind them, her lilac gown stitched by Irene flowing like a whisper of twilight. Her presence was softer, gentler, though her crimson eyes glimmered with a quiet authority of their own. She moved close enough that Nerine could feel her silent reassurance, the delicate brush of her hand against her arm before she let go.
But Nerine's beauty eclipsed even the flames.
The sky-blue mermaid gown clung to her with the elegance of waves, pearls stitched into constellations across the fabric. Each step made the light shift across her silver-white hair, loose yet impossibly regal, as if starlight itself had been spun into silk. When she descended into the hall, her breath steady though her heart clamored, there was a ripple through the crowd—shock, envy, reverence.
Kael's eyes found her again. For a fleeting moment, the ice in them fractured, replaced by something unreadable, darker and deeper. He said nothing, only offered his hand, fingers steady as he guided her further into the blaze of gazes. She placed her own within his, and though his skin was cool, she felt the quiet burn of his presence tether her to him.
"They are watching you," he murmured, voice so low that only she could hear. "Do not waver."
"I hadn't noticed," she answered softly, her words sharp with quiet wit, though her pulse betrayed her.
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Liar."
She dared not look at him again.
Instead, her eyes drifted over the hall. The lords sat in elevated alcoves, their gazes predatory and curious. Whispers rose and fell like the tide, and Nerine knew they were not speaking of Penelope, nor the music, nor the glittering chandeliers above. It was her. The mortal girl who walked at Kael Blackthorn's side, cloaked in pearls and starlight, carrying a name that was not hers....well that was known to few.
And yet, as the crowd parted before them like water before a prow, she could not tell if she was walking into celebration—or a den of wolves.
Almost at once, the lords began to approach. Lord Theron with his silver hair, Lord Evander with his ever-calculating smile. Their greetings were deep, their tones reverent—not for Nerine, but for Kael. He was feared even here, among the purebloods. The kind of fear that was wrapped in respect, sharpened by the awareness that Kael rarely showed his full strength, yet all knew it existed.
" Lord Blackthorn," Theron intoned with a bow, his pale eyes flicking toward Nerine. For the briefest moment, courtesy softened his expression. "And my lady," he added politely, the words tasting foreign on his tongue yet not unkind.
Evander's smile lingered a fraction longer on her than was proper, though his words remained for Kael. "Your arrival brings weight to this gathering," he said smoothly, before inclining his head to Nerine as well. "Lady Sofia, it is… an unexpected honor."
Nerine felt her pulse tighten but forced her lips into a calm curve, dipping her head in return. Her voice, soft yet steady, carried the dignity of formality.
"The honor is mine, my lords. Your welcome is most gracious."
It was exactly what was expected of her—polished, restrained, without flaw. The faintest glimmer of surprise crossed Theron's eyes, as though he had not anticipated such composure. Even Evander's smile shifted, narrowing as though to reassess her.
Then she arrived.
The female vampire glided toward them, her movements liquid and graceful, her gown a deep crimson that clung to her like molten silk. She bore herself with the confidence of one accustomed to admiration, her beauty sharpened by centuries of awareness. Her name was Lady Selene Valerius, a daughter of one of the oldest vampire, her family known for their ambition and political reach.
"Lord Blackthorn," she purred, her voice smooth as wine. She moved closer than courtesy demanded, her hand brushing lightly along Kael's sleeve as though testing if the shadows would repel her. Her crimson lips curved into a smile that hinted at familiarity. "You never fail to draw the room into your orbit."
Her eyes flicked to Nerine at last. The smile remained, but its edges tightened, brittle as glass.
"And Lady Sofia," Selene said, her tone honeyed with just enough venom to curdle. "How… enchanting to see you here. One could almost forget how fragile mortals are in such halls."
Nerine inclined her head, her lips curving in a faint, cool smile. Her reply slipped out silk-smooth, but with a barbed edge hidden beneath its civility.
"Indeed, my lady. Yet one finds that fragility, when it endures, often outlasts even centuries of practiced charm."
The air tightened. Selene's smile froze, her crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly. For an instant, the hall seemed to pause.
Kael's gaze flicked sidelong at Nerine, and though his face remained a mask of composure, the faintest glint of amusement broke through the frost in his eyes. His lips twitched—silent approval, a spark of entertained surprise.
Even Lord Theron allowed the ghost of a smirk to tug at his mouth, while Evander's chuckle was low, sly, and meant to sting Selene more than Nerine.
Selene's smile recovered, but its edges were sharp now, brittle and strained. "How… quaint," she murmured, voice clipped.
Before the moment could sour further, a trumpet's clarion note pierced the air.
At once, the hall stilled.
"His Majesty, King Darius of the Gravenhold castle. Her Majesty, Queen Medea."
Every voice died. As one, the sea of vampires and humans alike bowed, their forms bending low as the king and queen entered the grand hall. Kael bowed his head, and Nerine followed suit, lowering herself into a graceful curtsy, heart thundering at the solemn weight in the air.
The king strode forward, tall and imposing, his crown wrought from black steel laced with ruby flame. The queen walked at his side, her beauty cold and distant, draped in a gown of midnight velvet. Their very presence seemed to draw the breath from the room.
When they reached the dais, King Darius lifted a hand, and the music fell silent. His voice boomed through the vaulted hall, steady as stone.
"Tonight," he declared, "we gather not merely to revel, but to remind ourselves of what binds us—blood, loyalty, and power. The kingdom endures because we endure. And though shadows stir beyond these walls, tonight we cast them aside. Drink, dance, and feast. Let this hall remember your laughter."
Applause swelled, a wave of approval rolling through the crowd. The music rose again, livelier this time, and the hall began to shift into motion—couples stepping onto the floor, goblets raised high, the chatter of power and envy weaving into the air.
Kael leaned closer, his voice low and precise against Nerine's ear.
"I must see the king."
Nerine glanced up at him, steadying her breath. Her lips curved faintly as she lifted her chin.
"Of course. I will be fine."
For the briefest second, his gaze lingered on her face, searching. Then he inclined his head once and turned away, his dark figure swallowed into the tide of nobles as he moved toward the throne.
The moment his presence withdrew, Nerine felt it....like a chill crawling down her spine.
She didn't need to look far. Across the hall, Lady Selene had gathered her circle of women, all sharp-boned and jeweled, their gazes like daggers wrapped in silk. They whispered behind fans, their laughter brittle, their eyes fixed mercilessly on Nerine.
Her pearls felt too light on her skin. The stares pressed against her like a weight she could not shake.
She proceeded to get a drink because this was going to be a very long party .....no ball,right... she was supposed to say ball as a lady.