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180


Upon returning to the palace, I was torn away from Hadrian. The King lay unconscious, and the fate of the kingdom needed to be decided without delay. I was ushered into the study, where I found Lucian, a group of lawyers, and Gareth waiting for me. I had no idea why I was there, nor did I care. All I wanted was to be by Hadrian’s side, waiting for him to wake up. But Gareth’s grip on my hand was firm, his silent plea unwavering. He insisted there was a protocol—one that, as the queen-to-be, I was obligated to follow.

Reluctantly, I gave in.

One of the lawyers stepped forward, holding a sealed envelope. He presented it to the room, ensuring we all saw the unbroken seal before carefully opening it. The moment he revealed its contents, my stomach twisted. It was an emergency protocol—meant to be enacted only in the event that something happened to the King. The weight of the realization hit me like a blow, making my head spin. My chest tightened, and I stumbled back, struggling for breath. This wasn’t happening. Hadrian wasn’t dead. I refused to act as though he were.

“It’s only temporary, Thalassa,” Gareth reassured me, steadying me with his grasp. “He will wake up.”

I nodded because I needed to believe that.

The lawyer continued reading, his voice steady as he delivered the words Hadrian himself had written. My heart pounded in my chest as the decree unfolded—I was to act as regent, ruling in his absence. The floor beneath me felt like it had vanished. Me? Rule the kingdom? My mind was already fragile from everything that had happened, barely able to process simple thoughts through the storm of emotions. And now I was expected to lead—despite half the nobility barely tolerating my presence on the throne. It felt like some cruel joke.

“I will help you,” Lucian said, his voice unwavering. “General Larkspur will handle administration. You can do this, Thalassa… You have to.”

I had until morning to collect myself.

The next day, I awoke not as Hadrian’s devoted love, but as the kingdom’s regent. I gathered my emotions, compressed them into a small, unfeeling sphere, and locked them away. I became numb. I painted over my grief with a mask of composure, ensuring no one could glimpse the turmoil beneath.

I wasn’t allowed to remain by Hadrian’s side, so I forced Caspian to provide me with detailed reports on his condition five times a day. I read them between tackling the endless crises left in the war’s wake. There were countless lands to rebuild, a kingdom in disarray, and problems that multiplied with each passing hour. In a way, I was almost grateful for the work—it kept my mind occupied, leaving little room for the agonizing worry that threatened to consume me.

But when night fell, my defenses crumbled.

As soon as my duties ended, I returned to Hadrian’s chamber, sat beside his bed, and clasped his cold hand in mine, whispering prayers into the silence. It was the only time I allowed myself to feel. The only time I let my emotions surface. I cried, and only Caspian knew just how many tears I shed.

Night after night, I drifted to sleep holding Hadrian’s hand. Caspian often arrived in the early hours to check on him, always draping a blanket over me before leaving. I usually woke when he did.

“Why won’t he wake up?” I asked him, my voice hollow with desperation. “He’s received so much blood. Why isn’t it helping?”

Caspian’s expression darkened, his frustration evident. He was a genius, the leading expert in vampire medicine, and yet even he had no answer.

After several days, he finally spoke. “Thalassa, can I take another sample of your blood? I have a theory I need to test.”

“Of course,” I agreed without hesitation.

I didn’t ask for details. It didn’t matter what Caspian needed it for—if there was even the slightest chance it could help Hadrian, I would do whatever it took.

After that, I barely saw him. Instead, a nurse under his charge came in his place, meticulously monitoring Hadrian’s condition. She was competent, professional, but without Caspian, the isolation settled in even deeper.

Then, one day, my body finally betrayed me.

After another grueling session in the throne hall, exhaustion overcame me, and I collapsed. When I woke, I was in my own chamber—a place I had barely set foot in since returning to the palace.

A familiar voice greeted me, sharp with concern. “Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing to yourself?”

I turned toward the sound, my heart clenching at the sight of Freya.

Her eyes were swollen from crying, fresh tears still brimming in their depths. But despite her own grief, she stood before me, arms crossed, her expression demanding answers.

The moment I saw her, the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face faster than I could stop them, my lips trembling as I managed to whisper, “I missed you, Freya.”

And then, I shattered completely.

A second later, she was in my arms, holding me as I sobbed.

We wept together for what felt like hours, not speaking a word. And when the tears finally ran dry, laughter took their place. It made no sense, given everything we’d lost, but in that moment, we both needed something—anything—to keep us from drowning in despair.

For just a fleeting second, insanity was our salvation.

“So… you’re a badass vampire now,” Freya chuckled, grounding us both back in reality.

“I guess I am,” I murmured, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

Granted an obligatory day off from my duties as regent, I spent the hours catching up with Freya, making up for lost time. She filled me in on everything—how she and Varen had been forced to flee the palace in the dead of night, fearing Selene’s wrath, and how they had gone into hiding at the Grimsby estate. But more than anything, she talked about Varen—his intelligence, his kindness, the way he treated her like a lady, always the perfect gentleman. Every time his name left her lips, her cheeks flushed with color.

It was painfully obvious—my friend had fallen hard for him.

Seeing her like this was a welcome distraction. For a little while, she almost managed to pull me away from the sorrow that had become my constant companion. Almost.

“Are there any good predictions for the King?” she asked suddenly, concern lacing her voice.

The question shattered the fragile reprieve, yanking me back to my grim reality.

“Caspian…” I swallowed, a knot tightening in my throat. “He’s trying something new. He took my blood—”

“That’s right!” Freya sat up, eyes widening. “Why didn’t you just give Hadrian your blood? It helped him before—”

Her voice trailed off as the realization hit. With my transformation, my blood was no longer the same.

“I think whatever’s running through my veins now is about as nutritious as water… with a nice scent,” I said, a dry chuckle escaping me.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s more than that,” she countered, nodding firmly.

“Really? Have you ever heard of a vampire who can sustain another vampire with their blood?” I challenged, arching a brow.

“No… but you could be the first,” she said with a grin.

I exhaled heavily. “I wish my blood could be the cure he needs…”

Before she could respond, the door to my chamber burst open with a loud slam. Caspian rushed inside, breathless, as though he had sprinted across the entire palace.

“Your blood can be the cure!” he exclaimed, making a beeline toward me.

I frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ignoring my reaction, he collapsed onto the edge of my bed, taking a moment to catch his breath. “There’s an old legend,” he began, voice slightly winded. “It says that, under certain circumstances, vampires can exchange blood to heal one another. In cases like these, only the blood of their significant other is strong enough to revive them.”

I blinked, cautiously processing his words. “…And what exactly are these ‘certain circumstances’?”

Caspian rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous chuckle escaping before he muttered, “They have to be destined for each other…”

“Like mates?!” Freya burst out, clapping her hands in excitement, practically bouncing where she sat.

“But vampires don’t have destined mates… do they?” I asked, my own laugh tinged with disbelief.

Caspian’s lips stretched into a thin, uneasy smile. “They don’t,” he admitted. “But the legend suggests there are… exceptions.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “And you—of all people—want to put your faith in a legend?”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Thalassa, nothing about you and Hadrian has ever been ordinary. Would it really be so impossible to believe that you might be the exception?”

His words struck a chord deep inside me.

I wanted to believe him—desperately. But false hope was a poison I wasn’t sure I could survive again. Still… if there was even the smallest chance this could bring Hadrian back, I would take it.

Drawing in a deep breath, I met Caspian’s gaze and said,

“Fine. What do I need to do?”