The court was alive with murmurs, voices hushed yet filled with intensity as nobles whispered among themselves. The grand chamber, adorned with towering columns and dark crimson banners, was filled to capacity. Every prominent vampire family had gathered, summoned by their king to address the scandal that had shaken their court to its core.
Azrael Valerion, the vampire princess, marked by the Lycan Alpha. It was blasphemy. An insult. A challenge.
In the hushed corners of the chamber, noblemen and women spoke in quiet, heated tones.
“She hides her neck.” A noblewoman sneered, eyes narrowed toward the entrance. “If the mark was gone, she wouldn’t need to.”
“Perhaps she cannot remove it.” Another whispered, leaning toward a fellow lord. “An Alpha’s claim is no ordinary bond. To sever it would take magic we may not even possess.”
“She cannot truly be bonded to him. A vampire princess—bound to a Lycan?” Lord Cassius scoffed, adjusting his gold-embroidered crimson robe. “Impossible.”
Others weren’t so quick to dismiss the implications.
“This was a calculated move. A humiliation meant to strike at His Majesty directly.” Lord Severin, a sharp-eyed strategist, stroked his chin. “The Lycan wishes to make a statement, and what better way than to claim what is most precious to our king?”
The doors creaked open, and at once, the whispers ceased.
Azrael entered.
Regal. Unwavering. Unbroken.
Her gown, woven from the finest black and crimson silk, flowed behind her like cascading shadows. Golden embroidery, shaped like winding thorns and blooming roses, adorned the fabric, catching the dim torchlight of the chamber. A magnificent creation meant to remind all of who she was—who she would always be.
Her braided hair, long and dark as the midnight sky, was woven with gold-threaded beads, adding to her commanding presence. But the most notable feature, the one that sent fresh murmurs rippling through the court, was the high collar of her gown—covering the place where the mark should be.
Eva walked beside her, her head held high, her presence a silent yet unwavering show of support. They reached their seats at the long, darkwood table where the ruling family sat. Eva took her place beside her father, Lord Avalon, while Azrael settled next to her twin.
Across from her, their father sat.
King Valerion, dressed in dark robes lined with silver embroidery, his white hair a stark contrast to the red-lit chamber. He was composed, his wine-colored eyes cool and unreadable—but the tension in the air was palpable.
Valerion’s voice cut through the silence.
“The events of the night of my heirs’ millennia celebration have disgraced this court.” His words were slow, deliberate. “A Lycan dared to mark my daughter. To lay claim to royal blood. This insult will not go unanswered.”
A chorus of agreement followed.
Azrael felt Raphael shift beside her. Unlike the others, his voice did not carry through the chamber but instead reached her ears alone.
“We fight,” Raphael murmured, his tone low and steady. “We can be at odds, sister, but I will not stand by while that beast humiliates you, humiliates our family. He will pay for what he’s done.”
Azrael did not look at him. Instead, she stared straight ahead, where Valerion commanded the court’s attention.
“Has the mark been removed?”
The question came from a noble seated further down the chamber.
All eyes turned to her.
Before she could respond, Lord Cassius spoke, his voice carrying a smug edge.
“It is obvious she still bears it,” he mused. “Otherwise, why would she go through such lengths to conceal her neck?”
Murmurs erupted.
Azrael’s grip on her chair tightened.
“Silence.” Valerion’s command rang out, his gaze sweeping across the nobles. The court obeyed at once.
Then another figure rose to his feet. Lord Avalon, Valerion’s brother and the one responsible for their alliance with the witches. His presence alone commanded respect.
“I have summoned the High Priestesses,” Avalon announced. “I have spoken with them. They will attempt to break the bond.”
A ripple of reaction passed through the court.
Raphael leaned forward. “Have the witches done this before?”
Avalon met his gaze. “Not with a Lycan Alpha’s claim.”
A brief silence followed.
A noblewoman frowned. “Then how can we be sure they will succeed?”
“We cannot,” Avalon admitted. “The Lycan Alpha is no ordinary wolf. Severing such a bond will not be easy. The ritual may come with risks.”
“Risks?” Cassius’ lips curled. “You mean to say it could harm the princess?”
“The witches will do everything to prevent such a thing, but there are no guarantees.”
The chamber erupted.
Debate and discord spread through the court like wildfire. Some demanded the ritual be done immediately, no matter the risk. Others hesitated, wary of harming Valerion’s heir. A few even questioned whether it was possible at all.
Amidst the storm of voices, Azrael suddenly felt something shift within her.
A strange sensation gripped her body. Her vision blurred, her head pounded, and a sharp pain tore through her chest. She barely registered Raphael’s voice beside her.
Her hands clenched the chair as she tried to steady herself, but the pain was growing—spreading through her like wildfire.
Her breath became shallow, her mind slipping from the present moment. She gritted her teeth, willing herself to ignore it, to fight it. She stood up.
The room spun.
And collapsed.
Gasps rang out through the court as she crumpled to the floor.
Pain ripped through her, burning from the inside out. Her body convulsed as she tossed and turned, fangs bared, her hands clawing at the stone beneath her.
She heard voices—distant, frantic, yet she could barely make them out.
“Azrael!” Raphael’s voice.
“Call the healers!”
“What’s happening to her?”
Eva was at her side, gripping her hand, shaking her. “Azrael! Speak to me!”
Her father’s figure loomed above, his eyes widened and his jaw tense.
Azrael screamed.
Her vision darkened, her body rigid with agony.
Then everything went black.