Three days after the grand banquet, Hazel was summoned to the palace's waiting room. A renowned tailor from the capital had arrived, armed with bolts of silk, lace, and shimmering thread, ready to craft the wedding gown that would bind her to Lord Primus—Lucian—forever.
The measurements took longer than expected. Hazel stood on a small pedestal, arms outstretched, while the tailor's assistants fluttered around her like moths, pinning and noting every curve. When it was finally over, a servant approached with a polite bow.
"Lady Hazel, Lord Primus requests your presence in his private chambers for afternoon tea."
Her heart stuttered. She had never been inside his personal quarters before.
She glanced down at her simple yellow sundress, the one dotted with tiny cream-colored petals that danced along the hem like fallen blossoms. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, a few rebellious strands framing her face. There was no time to change. Taking a steadying breath, she followed the servant through winding corridors until they reached a heavy oak door carved with ancient runes.
The servant knocked once, then opened the door and announced her before retreating.
Hazel stepped inside and paused. The chamber was vast yet intimate—dark wood paneling warmed by flickering firelight, tall windows draped in velvet, and a massive four-poster bed visible through an arched doorway. But her eyes were drawn immediately to him.
Lucian lounged on a king-sized couch upholstered in deep crimson, one arm draped along the backrest, the other cradling a goblet of red wine. He wore a white shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth, hard planes of his upper chest. Black leather pants clung to his legs, accentuating his powerful build. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and those piercing crimson eyes locked onto her the moment she entered.
He didn't speak, only watched as she crossed the room, her footsteps soft on the thick rug. She chose the safest seat—the far end of the opposite couch.
"Come sit with me, little rabbit," he said, his voice low and inviting, patting the cushion beside him.
Hazel's cheeks warmed, but she obeyed, perching on the edge next to him, careful to leave a respectable distance.
A servant appeared silently, setting down a silver tray: delicate sandwiches, scones, and a crystal pitcher of fruit juice for her, more wine for him. Once the servant bowed and left, closing the door behind them, the room felt impossibly smaller.
"Did you pick a design to your liking for your wedding dress?" Lucian asked, swirling his wine.
"Yes, my lord," she answered softly.
He arched a brow. "Call me just Primus… or Lucian." A teasing smile curved his lips. "My true name is Lucian, but no one dares use it. You, however, are allowed. Unless you'd prefer something sweeter—like sweetheart."
Hazel felt heat flood her face. She reached for the glass of fruit juice the servant had poured, needing something to do with her hands. In her nervousness, she lifted it and drank deeply—too deeply.
Lucian's hand gently caught her wrist, stopping her. "Easy there," he murmured, eyes glinting with amusement. "You'll be my wife soon. Get used to these things."
She lowered the glass, mortified. "My lord—I mean, Lucian—do you enjoy talking so much?"
He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Perhaps. But I'd rather listen. Tell me about your childhood. How you lived with Duke Denzel."
Hazel hesitated, then began. She told him how the duke had informed her that her mother died the day she was born, how he had taken her in when she was barely six months old. How he had loved her in his own way—she had never wanted for food or shelter—but his own daughters always came first. How they resented her for even the smallest scraps of affection, whispering that she was favored more than she deserved.
As she spoke, her voice grew quieter, her eyes glistening. Lucian listened without interruption, his gaze never leaving her face.
When she finished, the silence stretched for a moment. Then he spoke, his tone softer than she had ever heard it.
"You are now my family, Hazel. I will love you, play with you, and make my home your home too."
The words struck her like sunlight breaking through clouds. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill. Could he truly mean it? Why did being near him feel so safe, so familiar—like a memory she couldn't quite grasp? It was as if some invisible thread had always connected them.
She blinked the tears away and turned the questions back on him. "What about you, Lucian? Your parents? How old are you? Why are you not on good terms with your cousin?"
He laughed quietly. "My little rabbit loves to ask questions."
Leaning back, he took a slow sip of wine. "My parents died more than six centuries ago. I took the throne from my father—vampire king, though I prefer 'lord.' Not everyone approved. They feared me. And rightly so." His smile turned sharp, almost fond. "I loved to kill. Especially humans. I saw them as meals. I was wicked, and I don't regret it—it was… fun."
Hazel's breath caught.
"I killed my uncle—Tobias's father. I killed Tobias's wife. I spared only him because I wanted someone to hunt, a game to play."
He watched her reaction closely, waiting for horror, for flight.
Instead, she whispered, "You must have had a reason."
Lucian stilled. Was she already falling for him? How could she sit there, unafraid, defending a monster?
In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, his hand sliding to her waist and pulling her gently against him.
"Little rabbit," he murmured, voice husky, "aren't you scared of this monster?"
She flinched as his cool fingers brushed her cheek, tilting her face up. Their lips were inches apart.
"You are not a monster," she said, the words trembling but sure.
"Are you certain?" His breath ghosted over her mouth. "Then kiss me. Prove I'm not."
Hazel's face burned crimson. She turned her head away.
"You see?" he said softly. "You're frightened. You can leave if you wish, Hazel. I won't force you."
For a heartbeat, she was still. Then, gathering every ounce of courage, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his in a shy, fleeting peck.
Lucian's eyes darkened with hunger and something tender. "Now," he whispered, lips brushing hers, "let me show you how it's done."
His mouth claimed hers—slow at first, then deeper, his tongue parting her lips, coaxing hers to dance with his. One hand cradled the back of her head while the other slid along her side, grazing the curve of her breast. He cupped it gently, then with growing confidence, kneading through the thin fabric of her dress.
Hazel's shock melted into a rush of heat she had never known. She kissed him back, tentative at first, then with budding passion, her tongue meeting his. A soft moan escaped her as unfamiliar desire pooled low in her belly. She pressed her thighs together, acutely aware of the damp ache between them.
Lucian inhaled sharply—he could scent her arousal, sweet and intoxicating. Smirking against her lips, he trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck, then lower to the swell of her bosom. His fangs extended, and he pierced the soft skin just above her dressline.
The sharp pleasure-pain drew a low, needy moan from her throat. His fingers slipped beneath her hem, gliding up her thigh to find her slick folds. He stroked once, teasingly, feeling her readiness.
But just as his fingertip threatened to breach her, Hazel's eyes flew open. Reality crashed in.
She jerked upright, scrambling back, face flaming with embarrassment. "My lord—we shouldn't… not yet."
Lucian withdrew his hand slowly, fangs retracting, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he licked a stray drop of her blood from them.
"You can go to your chamber, Hazel," he said, voice velvet and amused. "Your family will arrive at the palace two days before the wedding. You are dismissed, little lamb."
Cheeks burning hotter than ever, Hazel fled the room, the taste of him still on her lips and the echo of her own wanton response ringing in her ears.
Lucian remained on the couch, wine forgotten, staring at the closed door.
His little rabbit was far more dangerous than she knew. And he was already ensnared.