Azrael’s footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridors as she approached her father’s chambers. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, the ever-present fragrance of bloodwine, and the distant murmur of servants moving like shadows in the grand halls.
She barely hesitated before pushing open the doors.
The room was as lavish as ever—dark crimson silk draped the massive bed, a fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the walls. But her father was not there.
A faint sound—water shifting, quiet laughter—drew her attention to the adjoining bath chamber.
Azrael stepped forward and was greeted by the sight of Valerion reclining in a massive, steaming bath, his head laid back against the edge, eyes closed in apparent relaxation. Surrounding him were five naked women, their delicate hands trailing over his skin, washing him in slow, reverent movements.
She didn’t flinch at the sight. She had long since stopped being surprised by her father’s indulgences. But she still found the display distasteful.
Before she could say anything, Valerion, without opening his eyes, spoke.
"Leave."
The women obeyed instantly. Silent as wraiths, they stepped out of the bath, steam rising from their glistening skin. They wrapped themselves in thin robes, bowing their heads as they passed Azrael on their way out.
The heavy door shut behind them.
Valerion finally opened his eyes, reaching for his goblet of bloodwine. He took a slow sip before speaking.
"You summoned me," Azrael said, her voice calm but edged with impatience.
"Yes." Valerion swirled the dark liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught its deep crimson hue. "In a few days, I am hosting a ball."
Azrael moved toward a nearby chair, settling into it with one leg crossed over the other. She raised a brow. "And?"
Valerion’s lips curved slightly. "I’m sure you’ve heard of King Seraphim of Norrix."
At the mention of the name, Azrael straightened. "Yes, I’ve heard of him. The youngest vampire king in history." She met Valerion’s gaze, measuring his expression. "He’s older than me by a few centuries. Comes from immense power and wealth." She narrowed her golden eyes. "Why do you speak of him?"
Valerion set his goblet aside and leaned forward slightly. "I have invited him to the ball."
Azrael exhaled slowly, bracing herself. "And what does this have to do with me?"
A slow, knowing smile spread across her father’s face.
"You do not understand the full weight of your worth, my daughter." His voice was measured, almost indulgent. "You are a direct descendant of the First. The purest bloodline of vampires to walk this earth. That purity is power, and power is something all great rulers covet."
Azrael felt a chill creep up her spine.
"Seraphim is of pure blood as well," Valerion continued smoothly. "And he is searching for a wife."
The words settled heavily in the air between them.
Azrael’s fingers instinctively curled around the ruby pendant at her throat. A cold realization coiled in her gut.
She stiffened. "No."
Valerion’s expression didn’t waver. "It has already been arranged."
Azrael rose to her feet, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "You gave my hand in marriage," she repeated, her voice low with disbelief. "Without speaking to me?"
Valerion exhaled, as if she were being needlessly difficult. "You are my daughter. You represent this kingdom, this legacy. Your marriage is not about your personal whims. It is about securing the future."
Azrael’s hands trembled with restrained fury. "You think I am a bargaining piece? To be handed off like cattle?"
Valerion’s gaze darkened. "Do not be foolish, Azrael. You are far more than that. You are the key to uniting the strongest vampire bloodlines. You should be honored."
Her jaw clenched. "And if I refuse?"
Valerion’s silence was answer enough.
Azrael took a slow step back, her mind racing.
"Seraphim is not just any king," Valerion said. "He is powerful, intelligent. A fitting match for you."
A fitting match.
The words left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She was barely breathing now, her body taut with fury. But she kept her expression unreadable.
"I see," she said at last.
Valerion studied her, as if trying to gauge how much resistance he would face.
"Good," he finally said. "Then you understand."
Azrael swallowed back the scream clawing at her throat.
"I understand perfectly."
She turned and left without another word.
—
***\[FLASHBACK\]***
Draven reached out, fingers brushing against Azrael’s jaw, tilting her face toward him. For a brief moment, her resolve wavered. She hated herself for it. Hated that, despite everything, she still wanted him.
“I will find a way,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion.
Azrael exhaled sharply. She knew better than to believe in promises. But when he leaned in, closing the distance between them, she did not stop him. Their lips met in a desperate, lingering kiss, one that carried all the words they dared not speak aloud.
Unknown to them, high above in the withered branches of a dead tree, a raven sat in still silence, its beady black eyes fixed on the two forbidden lovers. It tilted its head, as if studying them—watching, listening, learning.
Then, as if satisfied, it spread its wings and took flight.
The raven cut through the cold night air with swift precision, a shadow against the darkened sky. It flew for hours, passing over war-torn lands and lifeless forests. It did not stop, nor waver, until it reached its destination—a towering fortress veiled in an eternal twilight, hidden from the eyes of the world.
It landed on the ledge of a narrow, arched window.
Inside the dimly lit chamber, a woman sat in an ornate high-backed chair, her fingers tracing patterns into the armrest as she waited. The air around her was thick with the scent of burning incense and aged parchment, the walls lined with shelves of ancient texts and strange artifacts. Shadows danced across her face, but her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile as she turned her head toward the window.
“You’re back.” Her voice was smooth, rich with amusement. She lifted her hand, and the raven obediently hopped onto her wrist. Her long nails trailed across its inky feathers as she brought it closer. “Now, what did you bring for your mistress?”
She tilted her head slightly, pressing her ear to the bird as if it were whispering secrets only meant for her. The room fell silent, save for the faint crackling of a dying candle flame.
Then, she pulled back, her smile widening. “Interesting,” she murmured. “So the Lycan Alpha and the Vampire Princess are mates.”
The raven let out a low, guttural sound—an affirmation.
Her expression darkened with delight, her fingers tightening around the bird’s fragile body. “And they completed the bond?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Another soft caw.
Her laughter erupted, rich and wicked, echoing off the stone walls. It was a laugh filled with delight, with dark amusement, with the satisfaction of a carefully laid plan beginning to bear fruit.
“Oh, this is delicious,” she purred. “Both sides will be furious when they find out.”
Her gaze flickered toward the window, toward the vast darkness beyond. Her fingers twitched, and a strange, unseen energy rippled through the air. The candle flames flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows along the walls.
She lifted her wrist, and the raven took off once more, vanishing into the night.
She remained still for a moment, her eyes narrowing in thought. Then, after a long pause, her lips parted, and she whispered—
“It’s time to set the world on fire.”
***\[FLASHBACK ENDS\]***