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Her fingers worked shampoos and conditioners into my hair, scrubbing away the pack of dirt from the roots, tinting the water brown. Her soaps smelled of lavender and powdered silk. Gentle hands glided over my skin before she drained the tub and refilled it to rinse away the rest of the soap. It calmed me… but only for a moment.

Once done, she wrapped me in a soft towel and helped me into a structured gown of silver silk, bordered with laced shadow. It was too fine for sleeping, too firm, too deliberate. The fabric was thick, lined with wool beneath to keep me warm. Yet its cut was elegant, sculpted to every curve. She dried my curls with care, massaging oils and creams into them to tame them. Once my moisture was restored, she gathered the front of my hair into a ponytail while leaving the rest to spill down my back. Then, she clipped a thin veil to the crown of my head and pulled the sheer silk down over my face.

“Thank you,” I said, offering a small smile as I glanced at my reflection for a final once-over.

“It’s always a pleasure, Lady Corpus,” Elaine replied, her voice warm. “You’re as beautiful as your mother. Every time I dress you, I feel as though I’m dressing her again… like I did so long ago.” Her hand rested gently on my shoulder for a breath before falling back to her side.

“That makes me happy to hear,” The grin on my face tinged with something heavier. Elaine was the closest thing I’d had to a mother these last few years. Her words meant so much to me, and I didn’t have time to talk with her the way I needed to in the last few days. Without her gentle guidance, my father’s teachings might’ve turned me cold. Rising from my vanity, I turned toward the door. “If you can, please leave a few blood bags in my room. I must meet our guests. I can’t appear ill-mannered, even at this hour.”

Vampires could last days without feeding, but it was always better to keep the hunger in check. We hadn't had a sip of blood in nearly twenty-four hours. It felt twice that long. Once reunited, I’d make sure they both were fed.

Elaine smiled politely and nodded. “As you wish, Lady Corpus. They’re in your father’s study.” She knew me well enough to understand that’s where I wanted to be. She never stopped me from seeing him. I sometimes thought she pitied me. If a girl couldn’t have access to her mother, then Elaine would make sure she had full access to her father, no matter the visitor.

Nodding to Elaine, I stepped out of the comfort of my chambers. Smoothing my dress with one hand, I began the walk toward my father’s office. Nobility never shook me. Not even with what I knew about Alexander. The rules, tedious as they were, were easy to follow when the stakes were this high. It wasn’t difficult to pretend in a pretty gown and the presumed safety of the Queen’s wrath.

Over the years, at high court, King Victor and Queen Eliza had paraded me alongside their daughters, Rosalie and Bloom. I was not their equal, but I was equivalent enough to status that I was expected. When we were younger, it was effortless to blend in. There were no veils, no wonder of marriage. Even then, the thought of being mated with someone besides the man my father had promised was out of my realm. I had no thoughts of privileged men in suits that wanted power… I knew I had it. But now that we all bled, women in the eyes of the court, things had changed. If I had to wear the veil, endure the flirtations of ancient vampire men, or be sewn into gowns that strangled my ribs, so be it.

This was different, though. These rules my father had instilled in me long ago had once felt simple. It had never felt so heavy before, knowing a secret like this. Especially one tied to the future, far-off and unseen. But when that secret sat just beyond your castle gates…

That was different.

My stomach twisted in unfamiliar ways, an unease that made everything feel a thousand times more real than it ever had in my imaginings. My father’s life had never truly felt on the line until this very moment. My steps carried me through the familiar halls of my home, but survival pushed me forward. Folding my hands neatly behind my back, the twin white doors came into view. They seemed to watch me, calling me forward, willing the courage from my belly to my chest.

I’d spent countless hours behind those doors. My father lectured me on how spiteful a court could be. How to never lie but always weave persuasion into your words. How to listen first and only reveal your hand when you know your opponent’s. Tedious lessons, all of them, but they had forged me for moments like this.

Bergamot and cinnamon laced the air, unfamiliar beneath the usual scent of my father’s citron and clove. But I could still smell him through the heavy wood, his warmth blending faintly with the strangers. Approaching the door, my fist knocked twice. “Father? It’s me. Valentina.” My voice was laced with quiet, clear charm. If they’d been speaking before, their words had fallen silent.

“Yes, Valentina,” my father’s voice called at last, muffled but unmistakably his. “What are you doing up so late in the morning?”

No footsteps. No shifting chairs. No movement.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied, carefully. “I heard the carriage. From the balcony, I saw the crest. It looked like someone from the King’s Guard. I couldn’t be so rude as to not offer my formal regards.” Naivety dipped into my voice, so Vaelric didn’t feel threatened. The Knights truly adored the attention of the unwed ladies, their egos easily stroked by a few batted lashes.

There was another pause.

Then a voice that didn’t belong to my father. “Ah, yes, Lady Corpus. It’s me, Vaelric.” The words rolled like thunder. Deep, rich, and smooth. The very door beneath my palm vibrated with its depth. It made the hair on my nape stand.

With a laugh that could have charmed a human, I asked, “Are you both going to be so rude and not let me in?”

Both joined in my laughter; it echoed behind the twin doors, deep and knowing. A second later, I heard my father’s familiar steps approach. They were light against the floor, but the way his cloak drifted behind him was the tell; its silks shifted over the rug with a hush, and then over the smooth wood like a stream in a lake.

Opening the door, he stood in his ceremonial garb as the Hand of the King. His suit was tailored blue with gold trimming, bearing a single pendant: the Eari family crest. His usual black cloak had been traded for a royal midnight indigo that spilled to the floor like liquid.

“Don’t you look honorable,” I said, offering a grin.

“Thank you, daughter. You always look beautiful, a spitting image of your mother.” His gaze lingered on my face, as if he were seeing her again through me. His hand gave my shoulder a small squeeze before he ushered me inside and closed the doors behind us.

Vaelric stood at the far end of the room, his attention fixed on the portrait above the hearth. It was another of John Dalemore’s works. That one was my parents and me. When he turned to face me, I met his gaze without hesitation.

He was tall, just under Alex’s height, perhaps six-three. His formal attire mirrored my father's in color but bore the unmistakable mark of a knight. Each of them carried the same tattoo of loyalty: inky vines coiling up the neck, a chrysanthemum blooming at the center, the petals spreading across the throat and down the shoulders. My father’s idea was to mark the faithful.

Armor wrapped his shoulders and shins, his boots worn but polished, the metal ticking faintly with each step. There was no chestplate, just a hardened animal hide stretched over a crisp white blouse and deep brown trousers. His hair was soft blond, cropped neatly above his ears, and his skin nearly matched my father’s pallor. He would have been pleasant enough to look at if I hadn’t already known what perfection looked like. He was no Alexander.

Vaelric moved smoothly across the room, his steps light, the faint scrape of metal following him. When he reached me, he took my hand, bowed low, and brushed his lips across my knuckles. The touch made my skin crawl. Looking up, still holding my fingers, he greeted, “I would never be so rude.”

Indulging him, a pleasant smile framed my lips as a breathy “Of course you wouldn’t,” escaped them. My eyes trailed deliberately down his face, past his throat, his chest, then back up again. I didn’t miss the smirk that tugged at his mouth. Gracefully, I slid my hand from his grasp and folded both hands in front of my hips.

His eyes flickered downward for a beat before darting back up to meet mine. No shame in that gaze of his. If anything, it gleamed with challenge.