Her mother's sobs tore through the quiet room.
Lilah tried to gather them both, her own shoulders shaking, as though the three of them might bind together against the weight of fate.
But outside, the torches blazed brighter. The sound of hooves and armored boots carried on the night air.
The prince was coming soon.
There was no escaping it.
Aeryl wiped her face with the back of her hand and forced her breathing into something steadier. She didn't want her sister and mother to see how her ribs still shook with each sob.
"You're right, Lilah." she whispered finally, sinking back into the thin mattress. "I'll rest. I need my strength if I'm to survive him."
Lilah leaned down quickly, kissing her forehead as though she were still a child, whispering something soft about angels and protection.
Their mother followed, her lips trembling against Aeryl's cheek, her tears soaking into her skin.
"Sleep well, my heart," her mother whispered. "Even in darkness, don't forget—you're loved here ."
Aeryl laid down, closed her eyes and curled onto her side, her hands clutching the thin blanket. She let her breathing soften, let it mimic the rhythm of sleep.
When the door finally creaked closed and their footsteps retreated, she opened her eyes again. Silver moonlight bled through the cracked shutters, spilling across her face like a promise.
She wasn't going to wait for death to come knocking.
She would run.
†‡†‡†‡
The prince fastened the last clasp of his dark coat, the silk whispering against his pale skin.
Then, a thick moss of royal fur was placed to lay over his majestic shoulders.
His boots struck the floor like a drumbeat as he Walked down the castle's corridors.
Soon, he was pushing open the iron doors at the end of the far corridor.
The room reeked of sweat, wine, red and sex.
Red, black and beige silken cushions and naked bodies littered the chamber, some still writhing, some collapsed in a haze of exhaustion.
A dozen candles guttered in tall stands, their flames painting the walls with shadows that swayed like demons.
And there, at the center of it all, sprawled his brother.
The younger lord lay tangled in the limbs of a flushed, whimpering, thrusts-laddened woman, her neck streaked with blood where he'd bitten too deep. He barely lifted his head when the door creaked shut.
"My, my," the brother drawled, his voice thick with wine and pleasure. "Did you come to join us at last? Or will you keep drinking scared mutts in the kennels?"
A smattering of laughter broke out among the courtesans and lingering vampires, though none dared look directly at the prince.
He said nothing. His silver-red eyes swept the scene once, slow and cutting, before settling on his brother.
"I do not waste myself on trashpits," the prince said finally, his tone sharp enough to slice the air. "Nor do I waste the night. While you drown yourself in whores and blood, I go to claim what will be mine."
His brother smirked, baring fangs still wet with the girl's blood. "Ah, yes. The village gift. A hybrid lamb for your bed. Be careful, brother. Sometimes lambs bite hard. Real hard."
The prince's lips curved into the barest ghost of a smile.
"Then I will enjoy it all the more."
He turned sharply, the doors groaning as he pushed them wide, the night air rushing in.
Behind him, laughter, cries of erotic fleshes and moans tangled again, but he was already gone, his regal cloak devouring the light.
†‡†‡†‡
The movements went fast through the forest like a blade, horses snorting against the damp night, wheels of lacquered carriages rolling over roots and stones.
Guards rode in black armor, banners and candles and lanterns snapping in the wind, and the wagons groaned under the weight of gifts: bolts of velvet, barrels of wine, cages draped in cloth that rattled with restless wings.
It would look like a royal parade to anyone watching.
But to those who knew better, it was the march of a sentence.
Inside the leading carriage, the vampire prince sat alone, a book open in his pale hands.
The leather cover was worn from centuries of use, its pages inked with the histories of kingdoms long devoured by time. He read not only for pleasure, but also for discipline.
For patience.
The silver-red gleam of his eyes flickered over the words, calm and steady, while outside, his soldiers laughed and boasted of what they would do oncev an enemy intercepted their journey.
A wolfhound yipped from one of the cages, muffled under the cloth.
The prince's dangerously handsome gaze flicked upward for a moment, his lips curling faintly before he returned to his page.
To him, this night was not conquest.
It was necessity. He needed blood and wild sex like he needed breath, and this girl — this hybrid lamb his brother mocked — would be his nightly refresher.
Bite or no bite.
He turned a page with elegant fingers. "One must feed," he murmured to himself, "but one need not crawl too far and beg."
The lantern swayed with the movement of the carriage, throwing his sharp features in and out of shadow.
His men prepared for the hunt.
Their master read.
†‡†‡†‡
Aeryl's eyes snapped open in the dark. For a moment, she thought she'd dreamt it all — the torches, the weeping, the promise of being given away.
But the ache in her chest reminded her it was real.
She turned her head toward the cracked window. Moonlight slanted across the floor, catching the shape of the old clock in the corner. Four strokes of silence.
Four o'clock.
She swallowed hard, threw off the thin blanket, and slid into her gown.
The satin was wrinkled from being hidden away, but it was all she had now.
She pulled her mother's old coat over her shoulders, then bent quickly to drag the large cloth bag from beneath her bed — bread, a flask of water, and a knife so small it could barely cut fruit.
Her hands trembled, but her resolve didn't.
She opened the window slowly, careful not to wake the house with its groan, and slipped into the night.
The yard smelled of damp earth.
She needed to be quiet and she tried.
She tiptoed across the grass, heart hammering, when a soft mewling cut through the silence.
"Myrrh," she whispered, spinning around in shock.
Her little dog, his fur patchy and eyes too bright, bounded toward her, pawing and grabbing at her skirts.
Tears stung her eyes.
"No, no, no, dear… not now." She crouched, pushing him gently away, but he only pressed closer, whining, his paws locking around her legs.
"Please," she begged, choking on a sob. "Please, Myrrh, let me go. I can't take you with me. If they hear you. Sshh—"
Her voice broke, and the memory of holding him as a pup, nursing him at her breast like a child, tore through her.
The light in her room flicked on.
Aeryl froze, her blood running cold.
No time. She scooped Myrrh into her arms, hugging him tight against her chest as she ran for the short fence. Outside, her little donkey grazed, waiting with the quiet patience of an accomplice.
She swung one leg over the fence, glancing once at the house. That's when something clattered inside — a chair knocked over, or perhaps a jug broken.
Her father's roar shattered the night.
"Aeryl!"