Chapter 22 Entrance
The heavy oak doors of the Grand Ballroom were tall enough to allow a giant to pass without ducking. They were carved with scenes of the First War—vampires drinking from the necks of fallen kings, wolves howling at blood-red moons.
I stood before them, my hand resting on Klaus’s arm.
Through the thick wood, I could feel the vibration of the music. It wasn't the light, airy strings of a human court. It was a deep, bass-heavy thrum that resonated in the floorboards, a heartbeat made of cello and drum.
"Cold?" Klaus asked.
He wasn't looking at me. He was staring straight ahead at the seam where the two doors met, his jaw set in a line of hard granite. He looked devastating in his formal blacks, the silver embroidery on his coat catching the torchlight. But I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace. The black veins on his neck were hidden by his high collar, but I knew they were there, pulsing against the starch.
"No," I whispered. My voice sounded small in the cavernous hallway. "I’m terrified."
"Good." he said. He covered my hand with his own. His glove was gone; his skin was ice against my knuckles.
"Do they know?" I asked. "About the dress?"
"Vespera expects you to be in rags," Klaus said, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand—soothing motion that I suspected was more for him than for me. "She expects a broken doll. She has likely positioned herself near the front to enjoy the show."
"And the Emperor?"
"The Emperor expects to be bored," Klaus said. "Disappoint him."
He nodded to the two guards stationed at the doors. They were massive, armored in black steel, their faces hidden behind visors. They gripped the iron handles.
"Ready, Little Fish?" Klaus murmured, leaning down so his breath brushed my ear.
"No," I said honestly.
"Too bad."
The doors groaned.
They swung open slowly, revealing the world inside.
The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was a physical wall of scent—heavy perfume, burning beeswax, roasted meat, and underneath it all, the metallic, coppery tang of blood-wine. It clogged my throat, tasting of iron and excess.
Then, the light.
Thousands of candles floated in the air, suspended by magic, casting a golden, flickering glow over the room. The ballroom was a sea of crimson, gold, and velvet. Hundreds of vampires stood in clusters, holding crystal goblets filled with thick, red liquid.
The herald, a man with a voice like a trumpet, slammed his staff onto the marble floor.
"Grand Admiral Lord Peregrine Klaus Falkenstein!" he bellowed.
The room quieted slightly, heads turning. Klaus was a power, a celebrity of war. They respected the name.
"And..." the herald paused. He looked at the parchment in his hand, then at me. His eyes widened. He faltered. "And... the Guest of the State. Princess Nerissa Thalassyne."
The doors opened fully.
We stepped into the light.
The music didn't just stop. It was strangled. The conductor, seeing us, let his baton drop. The cellist froze. The drummer halted mid-beat.
Silence crashed into the room. It was heavier than the ocean.
Every single eye turned toward the top of the grand staircase.
They were expecting burlap. They were expecting fishing nets and dirt. Vespera had promised them a beggar.
Instead, they got the Void.
My dress drank the light. The abyss-silk fabric rippled around me like living water, shifting from black to midnight blue with every step I took. It clung to my waist and flared out in a train that looked like an oil slick moving across the floor.
But it was the pearls that held them captive.
The constellations Leona had stitched onto my bodice glowed with a soft, ghostly luminescence. They weren't the polished, dead pearls of a jewelry store. They were raw. They were tears made solid. They caught the candlelight and refracted it, casting tiny, spectral rainbows across my skin.
I lifted my chin. I felt the weight of the Midnight Conch earrings swinging against my neck—sharp, jagged reminders of the deep.
"Walk," Klaus whispered.
We began the descent.
The staircase was long, curving down into the pit of the ballroom. Our footsteps echoed in the silence.
I saw them staring. Their red eyes were wide, their mouths slightly parted. I saw hunger. Not the hunger of a predator looking at a meal, but the hunger of a collector looking at a diamond.
I scanned the crowd.
I found her.
Lady Vespera stood near the bottom of the stairs, holding court with a group of sycophants. She was wearing a gown of violent, screaming pink silk, dripping in rubies.
She looked like a open wound.
Her face was drained of all color. Her mouth hung open. The crystal goblet in her hand tilted dangerously, red wine sloshing over the rim and staining her expensive glove. She stared at my dress and then at the pearls.
She knew. She knew exactly what they were.
I caught her eye. I didn't smile. I didn't glare. I just looked at her with the cold, indifferent stare of a shark passing a minnow.
Vespera dropped her glass. It shattered on the marble, the sound deafening in the quiet room. Wine splashed the hem of her dress, looking like fresh blood.
Klaus made a low sound in his throat. A vibration. A purr.