Chapter 9: The Gift

I found refuge in the eastern garden just as twilight fell. The roses had begun to close their petals, while night-blooming jasmine stirred, releasing its heady scent into the cool air.

This secluded corner of the estate had always been mine—my mother deemed it too simple, lacking the grandeur she desired. That was exactly why I loved it. Here, among plants rather than politics, I could almost forget the decision awaiting me tomorrow.

Stone paths meandered between neatly trimmed hedges and timeworn statues, their surfaces smoothed by decades of rain. Unlike the formal front gardens, designed to impress with their exact symmetry, this space possessed a controlled wildness. I had chosen each plant myself, favoring those with potent fragrances and useful properties—some medicinal, some not.

I sat on a marble bench beside a small reflecting pool. The water was still enough to mirror the first emerging stars. Tomorrow I would formally reject Connor's claim. The council was already convened and a carefully worded response had been prepared—a diplomatic denial of his presumptive advance.

So why did the thought make me uneasy?

The crunch of footsteps on gravel broke my reverie. A young servant, barely fifty years into his service, approached, carrying a small wooden box with clear reluctance.

"Princess Elizabeth," he said, bowing low. "I apologize for disturbing your solitude."

I straightened, resuming the role of princess. "What is it?"

"A gift has arrived for you." He hesitated, then added, "From Alpha Connor of the Moon Hunters."

My stomach tightened. "How did it get past the guards?"

"It was delivered by a human messenger, Your Highness. The guards inspected it thoroughly before allowing it through."

I stared at the box. It was made of dark wood, unadorned except for a strange symbol burned into the lid—a crescent moon with a drop of blood beneath it.

"Leave it," I commanded. "And go."

The servant placed the box on the bench and retreated, relieved to be rid of it.

I didn't touch the box immediately. What game was Connor playing now? Yesterday he had claimed me before the court, and today he sent gifts like a village suitor wooing with trinkets. The presumption was infuriating.

And yet...

I lifted the box carefully. It was heavier than expected. The wood was warm, as if it had absorbed the day's heat—or been carried close to a werewolf’s heated body.

I opened the lid slowly, prepared for anything—except what I found inside.

Resting on dark velvet was a dagger unlike any I had seen. The pure silver blade, deadly to werewolves, curved slightly with an edge that caught the fading light. The hilt was wrapped in deep red-dyed leather, accented with small moonstone and obsidian beads in an intricate pattern. It was both beautiful and lethal, an object where art met violence.

What caught my attention most was the silver wire wrapped around the junction of blade and hilt. It had been twisted into a perfect replica of the Blackwood family crest, with one subtle difference—a small wolf’s head integrated into the design.

I lifted the dagger carefully. It balanced perfectly in my hand, promising skilled craftsmanship and danger. Then, as I examined the flat of the blade, I noticed the ancient runes engraved on it seemed to shift. One flashed in silver, and a jolt passed through me; I recognized it from a warning sigil in an old vampire text, though its exact meaning escaped me.

A small piece of parchment had been tucked beneath the dagger. I unfolded it to find a message written in bold, angular script:

"For protection against enemies—even those like me. Among my people, we give weapons only to those we trust to use them wisely. I offer mine knowing it could find its way to my heart."

I read the message twice, trying to decipher what Connor meant by such a gift. A silver dagger capable of killing his kind, freely given? It defied everything I knew of werewolf culture, in which weapons were both personal and sacred.

He understood the art of twisted seduction all too well. This dagger was both weapon and promise, safeguard and invitation—to let him penetrate my carefully built defenses. I traced the wolf’s head worked into my family crest. It was a deliberate provocation, a statement of intent: our houses united, vampire and werewolf bound by something deeper. Even so, the craftsmanship remained exquisite, speaking of respect rather than conquest.

"I hope you intend to return that barbaric thing."

I nearly dropped the dagger at the sudden voice. Lord Gustav stood at the garden alcove entrance. His tall, lean frame was outlined against the garden lamps lighting the main paths.

I slipped the note into my sleeve before he could see it. However, he had clearly seen the gift. I had no way to escape from his inquisitive gaze.