The castle lay wrapped in a delicate hush, sunlight struggling through the tall, arched windows and spilling like liquid gold across the marble floors. Within its ancient stone walls, shadows clung stubbornly to the corners, as though reluctant to surrender to the intrusion of day. Alaric Blackthorn, the merciless king, the predator of countless kingdoms, stood in the quiet hall outside Lyanna's chambers, his expression unreadable, yet his mind was anything but still. He had waited longer than he ever cared to admit. The little bride—his bride in title, though not yet in spirit—was still locked in sleep, oblivious to the world, as though the castle itself bent its time around her.
His patience, which stretched thinner than spider silk, was finally fraying. "How can one person sleep so much?" he muttered under his breath, voice low, rich with restrained annoyance. Behind him, two maids hovered nervously, whispering hurriedly to each other, uncertain whether their king's patience—or temper—would outlast the morning.
"Your majesty, she has not yet stirred," one ventured, her voice tentative. "Perhaps we should—"
Alaric cut her off with a glance, a sliver of ice threading through the darkness of his gaze. "Perhaps?" he repeated, the word drawn out, curling like smoke in the chilly corridor. "Or perhaps you should do exactly as I say. Gently wake her, prepare her, and have her at the dining hall within thirty minutes. Understand?"
"Yes, your majesty," they chorused, bowing low, faces pale beneath the dim morning light.
Knocks echoed softly against the thick wooden door of Lyanna's chamber, the persistent rhythm a small drumbeat of frustration. Yet there was no reply. Lyanna Vale slept on, nestled beneath blankets that had yet to be stirred since the previous night, oblivious to the passage of time, the luxury of her bed now a haven she could not relinquish.
Alaric's footsteps, light yet deliberate, crossed the threshold of the corridor. He pushed the door open with a quiet, commanding force. There she lay, her golden hair splayed across the silken pillow, lips parted in serene repose, the rise and fall of her chest a measured, almost hypnotic rhythm. A smile, rare and private, touched the king's lips. So this is how she passed her days at the Vale mansion, he mused, amusement lacing his thought. A life of sleep, food, and a rare book or two. What a spoiled little creature—and yet, how endearing.
"Leave her," he instructed softly, voice carrying authority without malice. "Do not disturb her more than necessary. Prepare her for the day. She will be at the dining hall in thirty minutes. I shall return then."
The maids moved quickly, though their whispers betrayed excitement and nervous energy. One brushed a finger against Lyanna's shoulder; a gentle, imperceptible prod meant to rouse her.
"Father… please let me sleep a little longer," Lyanna murmured, voice thick with dreams, stretching and curling into the early light like smoke escaping a chimney.
"You are in the castle now, Miss Lyanna," the head maid said softly, almost coaxing, as she adjusted the blankets around the girl's shoulders.
Lyanna opened one eye, slow and reluctant, scanning the unfamiliar but opulent surroundings before tugging the covers back over her head. "Five more minutes, I promise. Just five…"
The maids exchanged anxious glances. Five minutes, in the realm of a vampire king, might as well have been an eternity. One of them whispered to another: Better carry her, or there will be consequences far worse than any scolding at the Vale mansion.
Before she could protest, Lyanna was lifted gently from the mattress, her protests muffled by the soft swish of her gown. "Oh my goodness! How dare you treat me so!" she cried, struggling lightly as the maids guided her toward the bath, her sleep utterly dissipated by the gentle but firm motions of her attendants.
The bath was a revelation. Warm water, fragrant soap, and soft sponges massaging her skin made her sigh in delight, her laughter mingling with the delicate clinks of glass bottles and the soft hum of flowing water. "It feels so good," she murmured, and the maids smiled, pleased that their work was appreciated. Yet even as they dressed her, applied delicate touches of makeup, and guided her to the dining hall, time slipped by faster than intended. By the time Lyanna stepped into the light of the dining room, forty-five minutes had passed.
Alaric waited, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking between the maids and the doorway. His lips curved slightly as he saw their uneasy faces, betraying their anxiety at the delay. Lyanna, catching the subtle exchange, laughed lightly. "If your majesty wishes to blame anyone for the delay, you may blame me," she said boldly, settling into her chair and not once glancing at him. "It is my fault—they only took so long because of my… instructions."
Alaric's lips twitched into a wry smile. "Who said I intend to punish anyone?" he replied, voice smooth, the danger beneath it wrapped in velvet. "My queen, you worry too much."
Lyanna, satisfied, dipped her fork into the food and began eating, her demeanor light and unconcerned. The maids, sensing relief in her defense of them, exhaled quietly, grateful. They exchanged glances, marveling at the way this young woman, barely nineteen, could command the presence of a vampire king without fear.
Silence settled between Alaric and Lyanna as the only sound in the room was the clink of cutlery on fine porcelain. Lyanna, noticing he did not eat, began taking bites from his portion as well, ensuring nothing went to waste. Alaric watched her, eyes narrowing, a faint smile tugging at his lips. So she adjusts… so quickly. Clever, clever little bride, he thought.
"My dear little one," he murmured finally, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, "I must leave. Matters unresolved seek my attention."
"You can go ahead," Lyanna said, mouth full, shrugging carelessly. "I never asked you to babysit me."
A flash of amusement crossed Alaric's face. Always has the last word. Good. Excellent, he mused, then vanished from the room, leaving only the scent of his presence lingering in the warm air.
Satisfied, Lyanna finished her meal and lingered a moment over her juice, savoring the calm and quiet before rising. She walked down the long, stone corridors, exploring with tentative steps, trying to imprint the castle's layout into memory. Marble floors echoed softly beneath her slippers, tapestries whispered ancient stories from the walls, and the sun, streaming through the high windows, highlighted dust motes dancing like suspended stars.
Her exploration came to an abrupt halt when she collided with someone... or rather someone deliberately hit her or not, a feminine figure intercepted her path. Lyanna froze, startled, eyes narrowing in surprise. She had only just arrived in this world of grandeur, and already, the implication of conflict made her pulse quicken. Enemies? she thought. In my first morning here? Impossible… yet, somehow, it feels inevitable.
The air between them crackled, subtle but charged. Shadows stretched along the corridor, curling like tendrils around the elegant lines of her gown and the figure before her. Lyanna straightened, defiance flaring in her chest. The castle, with its polished stone floors, towering ceilings, and whispering corridors, had yet to reveal its full measure of intrigue—but she knew, instinctively, that this encounter, this seemingly simple clash, was only the beginning. The game had begun in earnest, and the castle—its silent walls and hidden corners—was now a player in a narrative larger than herself.
Outside, the sun climbed higher, casting golden light over the spires and towers. Inside, the weight of centuries of secrets pressed against the young girl who had stepped into a world of darkness, mystery, and power she had barely begun to understand. And in that quiet, tension-laden corridor, Lyanna realized the castle would not only be her home—it would be her battlefield.