The crimson moon hung over the spires of Noctara like a watching eye, its light bleeding across black marble rooftops. In the grand ballroom, vampires danced with the grace of shadows, their laughter soft as whispers, their smiles edged like blades.
Princess Seraphina Dravara stood at the balcony, glass of crimson wine untouched in her hand. The air smelled of roses and iron. Another night of pretense, another celebration drenched in blood.
Her mother, Queen Lilith, was announcing new campaigns-another victory over the werewolves. The crowd cheered, but Seraphina's stomach twisted. She had seen the battlefields. She knew victory was just another word for slaughter.
"Your Majesty," a voice said behind her.
She turned-and froze.
The young man who stood before her wasn't one of her kind. His scent was too alive, too wild. His presence set her nerves on fire.
He bowed slightly, his eyes gleaming a deep, burning amber. "Prince Kael of Lycaon," he said softly. "You're a prisoner for tonight."
Gasps rippled through the hall. The Queen smiled cruelly. "A gift from the last battle," she purred.
Seraphina's heart thundered. A werewolf prince... here?
And yet, when their eyes met, something ancient stirred-something that neither war nor hatred could silence.
Beneath the blood moon, two heirs looked at each other-and destiny began to turn.