C H A P T E R T H R E E
I can’t wait to go home. I can’t wait to see her.
C H A P T E R T H R E E
Olwyn
Eight moons later
I f Lord Dazeem dares to interrupt me again, I swear I'll try and cut his fucking tongue from his wretched head.
My gaze remains fixed on the vampire seated across from me.
His oily, sallow visage, framed by a perpetual sneer, embodies everything repugnant about his kind—an embodiment of the very rot I would love to eradicate.
The irony hangs heavily in the air, as the vampire lords gathered to discuss the very issues plaguing humans, when the plague is them . The escalating border skirmishes to the south between humans and vampires, fuelled by misunderstandings and territorial disputes, seem almost trivial in the shadow of their greed and arrogance. Though even in their chatter I can tell they’re holding back their words. I can’t help but roll my eyes at Lord Dazeem's simplistic and moronic assumption that humans were intentionally provoking the vampire s? —or instigating the issues in the first place.
Like that would happen.
Mortals with no powers of their own, poking vampire s? —creatures that were stronger, older, and some that magic.
He clings to the notion that these incursions are deliberate acts of antagonism, failing to understand the growing frustration among the humans. From what I’ve heard, they’re fed up with their crops being taken, fed up with their lands being ravaged every time the two vampire kings quarrel over territory. It’s a constant strain, and they’ve had enough. But the more I think about it, the more I realise that these pockets of fighting are mostly isolated to the south. The further north, the less it affects them, but in the south, where the tension is greatest, the human resistance is brewing. It's creatures like him—those who refuse to see the bigger picture—that have only driven our two peoples further apart.
“And do tell, Lord Dazeem, what do you think we should do?” I ask with a scathing tone, dismissing his ideas with a nonchalant wave of my hand.
As I speak, I notice Iolas leave the room suddenly, his exit abrupt and unannounced. My brow furrows in confusion, a quiet unease settling over me. It’s unlike him to slip away without a word.
But I push the thought aside, focusing on Lord Dazeem, still standing before me, eager to hear more of his pointless ramblings. I can’t afford to let distractions pull me from the task at hand. Yet, in the back of my mind, a part of me wonders if Iolas’s departure means something more. Perhaps I should be concerned.
“Dole out adequate punishments,” Dazeem responds, earning approving nods from several of the vampire lords and ladies. Adequate punishments, according to Dazeem, will be killings. Leaving the humans to hang on the borders as a warning.
“So, you think they should be slaughtered?” I ask, my voice laced with silk and steel.
“You are too soft-hearted.” Lord Damien grins.
“And My Lord is too bold.” I glare at him, and his grin falls.
My frustration wells up inside, wondering why I am even obligated to attend these tedious gatherings. I know why, of course. Iolas has told me. Altair has decreed that I must learn more about the kingdom I now live in, understand the politics, the power structures. But even as I sit through these meetings, I can tell the lords are keeping things from me. They avoid talking about anything of real importance, always skirting around the deeper issues.
I assume it’s under Altair’s orders—they don’t want me to know too much, to have too much power. It’s a constant reminder that I am an outsider here. They are no doubt questioning why Altair has allowed a human on the council, of course, a captive no less, but no one will outright ask him. Only Altair knows his true motives.
But while the king remains absent in another idiotic fight with the vampire king of the east, I am left to navigate this treacherous web alone, with only the echoes of scheming whispers for company. The isolation I feel is a constant reminder of my precarious position—a reluctant figurehead in a realm that resents me. My parents’ surrender to the king’s demands have left me stranded in a political purgatory.
Because I am a part of a kingdom I never asked for, taken by a man I hate, and surrounded by enemies on all sides. But, as my auntie once told me, the only way out of a storm is through it.
It had taken me a good few months to build up the courage to talk back to these lords, too terrified initially that they would rip my throat out. But the tall guard—Iolas—who had stood behind my mother on the night before I was taken had become my personal guard, and he ensured that they knew the king would make them suffer if that ever happened.
I haven’t laid eyes on the King in what feels like an eternit y? —eight moons, to be exact. If anything, I consider myself blessed for the respite from his presence.
The vampire king of the Daeva clan has torn me away from my parents, the reigning king and queen of Avantra, when they dared to hide me and allegedly started a rebellion against the vampires.
I harbour an enduring resentment toward my parents for their acquiescence, for letting him waltz right out of the palace, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, without putting up more of a fight.
Naturally, I resisted him vehemently at every juncture of that arduous journey back to his kingdom. Yet, he remained ominously silent, not uttering a single word directly to me that accursed night, and I hadn't heard a word from him ever since.
“Not to mention my cousin, Celeste is having issues in her court,” Dazeem says, talking about vampires that live in the faerie realm.
“Yes, Dazeem.” Lord Nilo interrupts. “But her issue is with the new High Queen . We have enough problems in our own realm to go worrying about anyone else’s right now. It’s a political nightmare if we involve ourselves.”
Their voices drone on. I sit here, my patience waning, as the other lords chatter on with their tiresome updates about the Faerie realm and distant cousins. Their words seem to blend into an indistinguishable hum, and I stifle a yawn behind my hand as my free hand scribbles across a piece of parchment.
Finally, I've had enough. “No more for today,” I declare, pushing my chair back from the ornate table. “You may go.”
They grumble but do as I say. After they shuffle out of the chamber, the soft footfall barely registers, but my senses flare in alarm. A cold draft sweeps through the chamber, prickling my skin, and my pulse races as I spin around, half-expecting an attack. The scent of old wood and the faint, coppery tang of blood lingers in the air, heightening my sense of unease.
“My apologies for startling you,” Lord Dazeem's voice drips with insincerity, his lips curling into a mockery of a smile as he performs an exaggerated bow. His thin, pale fingers twitch slightly, and his hooded eyes gleam with a predatory light as they drink in my discomfort, revelling in it. “But I couldn't help but notice your distress in the meeting. I just wanted to extend some advice, as one of the Lords. It is... unbecoming of a woman in your position to show such weakness.”
Excuse me?
“Your concern is noted, Dazeem,” I say, my tone like ice. “But what I do or do not show is none of your concern.”
The vampire's lips twist in a secretive smile that makes me uncomfortable. “I think you've played this game for far too long, don't you?”
“Game?” I stammer, taking an involuntary step back as he advances, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird. Panic claws at my insides as I glance around the room—a gilded cage with no exit behind me. My only escape is blocked by Dazeem, whose figure looms larger with every step.
Where is Iolas?
In a blink, Dazeem is upon me, moving with a speed that blurs in the centre of my vision. His deep blue eyes blaze with hunger, and a mix of desire and malice. A chill radiates from his body, seeping into my bones as his fingers clamp down on my chin, his grip like iron. I gasp, my retreat halted as my back collides with the unyielding wall behind me. His sharp fingers dig painfully into my skin as he holds my chin, keeping my face still.
“The king will have you killed if you do not release me,” I tell him without hesitation, my voice trembling, my eyes locked defiantly onto his.
Try not to show fear.
That had been one of my first lessons from Iolas. Early on, when he had seen how the lords treated me with verbal contempt, he had taken it upon himself to train me—how to hold my head high, how to mask the tremors in my voice, how to appear unshaken, even when everything within me screamed otherwise.
I have no idea if it's true what I had said about the king, but decide to play that card nonetheless. My hand slips down, heading towards my thigh.
He scoffs, his grip on my face uncomfortably tight.
I hiss as he squeezes my cheeks. “The king is heartless. He left you here all alone,” he hisses, his voice dripping with disdain. “He doesn’t want you. He doesn't care who has their way with you. And besides…” His words trail off as a sinister smile curls at the corners of his lips. “Who will believe you?”
His weight is suddenly lifted from me, and I gasp for breath, pressing myself even harder against the wall. My eyes widen as Dazeem is brutally slammed against the table, the wood cracking along its middle.
My gaze moves beyond Dazeem's terrified eyes and the large hand that holds him by the throat, tracing over the hard, muscular form beneath a finely tailored set of black leather armour. My eyes snag on the face I have been praying never to see again.
The king.
His shades are like a dark tide washing into the room. His gaze is a cold mask, and he speaks with a chilling calmness, “ I believe what I see with my own eyes.” His voice is a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the very walls.
Amidst Dazeem's futile struggles and apologies, I spot the king's second in command, Ailith, leaning casually against the door frame. A sly smirk plays on her dark full lips, and her curved blades remain sheathed at her sides. Her hands are crossed over her chest, clearly relishing the spectacle before her.
Ailith is almost as terrifying as Altair, general to his Ombresang —an elite group of female warriors in his army. Legendary and fierce.
“Do you have anything else to say?” Altair asks.
Dazeem's eyes widen impossibly further, his head shaking in sheer terror as his fingernails scratch futilely at the king's hand. The king, without a word, extends his free hand toward Ailith, who steps forward with a casual flick of her wrist, offering one of her gleaming blades.
Dazeem’s fangs snap down.
Shit.
The atmosphere in the room chills, the shadows flickering from around the room. The king, who has been relatively calm up until this point, lets a dangerous silence fill the space as a flicker of darkness surrounds him, his cold, steely gaze enough to freeze the blood of anyone who dares to meet it.
“You dare. To me ?”
Fear slithers along my veins. My legs wobble and it takes all my energy not to slide down the wall.
“No, please! Your Majest y? —” The pitch of Dazeem’s voice raises, hurting my ears.
The sound of Dazeem’s scream echoes in my ears, mingling with the sickening crunch of flesh and bone as the king brings the blade down on Dazeem’s wrist. I instinctively cover my ears, my first movement since they entered the chamber. But I can’t tear my eyes away from the blood splattering across the table, staining the wood a deep crimson. My breath catches in my throat as I realise, seeing him in the flesh again, just how easily the king could turn that same violence on me.
“Touch her agai n? , touch my wife agai n? , and I shall remove your head. Do I make myself clear?” The king's voice is sharp like a knife, cutting through the chaos of Dazeem's cries even as goosebumps erupt all over me at him acknowledging our linking. I feel a flush of anger and fear at the possessive claim, but also an unwelcome hint of security in his words. In vampire culture, such a declaration isn’t just a warning—it’s a binding vow.
Dazeem, his tears still flowing, nods fervently in response. The king releases his grip on the trembling vampire lord, and Dazeem falls from the table and collapses to his knees as the king steps back, his sobs now muted.
The king turns his attention to Ailith. “Get rid of that for me, will you?” he asks with a nod towards the lord, as if he were a speck of dirt on the floor.
Ailith’s lips press together in what looks like an attempt to suppress a smile, taking her sword back and sheathing it before helping Lord Dazeem to his feet. She escorts him out of the room and closes the door behind them, leaving behind a chilling silence in the wake of their departure.
I struggle to remove my gaze from the blood that now drips off the edge of the table, and my heart thunders within my chest as the king finally turns his attention toward me.
“Altair,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
Every muscle in my body tenses as he storms in my direction, his imposing presence casting a long shadow over me. As the king’s warm bronzed fingers brush against my skin, I fight the urge to flinch. My heart pounds in my chest, not just from the fear that has taken root during Dazeem’s attack, but from the disorienting mix of emotions swirling within me—relief, anger…
Altair’s eyes are cold, but they travel over my chin before snapping back to meet mine.
When I first met him, I had expected a monster. And while he certainly was one, his beauty had caught me off guard. Now, as his fingers trace the line of my jaw, I am reminded of the dangerous allure he possesses—a charm that could just as easily be a weapon.
His sharp eyes are pools of darkness, so deep they seemed to border on black. The one time I had dared to look closer at them it looked as if smoke wisped around his iris. But I quickly looked away once he caught me staring. But the shadows disperse, flickering out of his blue eye, leaving it shining.
To most humans, his appearance would be mesmerizing—his angular features and piercing eyes framed by hair the colour of midnight. But as my gaze drifts to the sharp, glistening fangs peeking from his lips, my stomach churns. I can't shake the image of how many innocent throats those fangs have torn open, how much blood they have spilled. It’s maddening that something so outwardly beautiful can embody such cruelty and darkness. His tongue brushes over a fang before he retracts them.
“Is that the first time anyone has dared lay a hand on you within these walls?” His voice is deceptively calm, but there’s an undercurrent of something darker—possessiveness, perhaps. I hesitate, caught between fear and defiance, sensing a trap in his words. What does it matter to him, this pretence of concern?
I stutter in response, his warm scent overwhelming me, “Wh-what?”
“Is that the first time he, or anyone , has touched you?”
With a trembling nod, I admit, “Yes.”
He lets out a low, guttural growl, a sound that makes the air around him vibrate with his rage. “I am sorry you were treated with disrespect,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. His eyes narrow, the fury in them unmistakable, and I wonder if he’s angrier at the defiance of his court or at the mere fact that he now must address it.
“And I apologise for my court,” he utters with what sounds like regret in his voice. “It seems that my warning before I left was not taken seriously enough. It won't happen again.”
A warning?
He seems genuinely annoyed.
But then, I am his property .
And if he is to remain king, he must keep control over his playthings. Gods forbid news of any weaknesses would get back to Altair’s biggest threat: the vampire king of the Damu clan.
Besides my parents, apparently.
At the time of the King’s violent intrusion into our palace in the middle of the night, I had no idea of their treacher y? —only that I had to pay the price for it.
After a moment, I find my voice and ask, “How long are you back for?”
His head tilts, but the lack of expression on his face unnerves me. “Already eager to get rid of me?” he asks, his tone calm but dangerous.
My fist clenches at my side. “Well, I've been attending most of the council meetings without you, so I might as well continue it,” I snap, my tone laced with a hint of annoyed sarcasm.
His eyes slightly widen, clearly taken aback by my bold response. It shouldn’t surprise me; after all, our last meeting was the night he tore me from my family’s grasp, dragging me to this cursed place. That night is a blur of fear and rage, a makeshift wedding under a full moon with a vampire priestess who recited vows in a language I didn’t understand. It is a union forced upon me, not one born of choice, but one that has bound our kingdoms together, effectively extinguishing my parents' rebellion almost as quickly as it had begun.
I haven’t heard from my parents since Altair took me, and there is no way he’d allow me to visit them. According to Iolas, he believes they’re too unpredictable, and he’s convinced that seeing them would only put me in danger, or at risk of running away.
I have no idea if there have been any repercussions from the Damu clan. If there has been, I haven’t heard about it.
Our union had been a strategic move, a chess piece in the grand game of politics and power. The king gains control over me because of my place in the prophecy—the woman foretold to play a pivotal role in the balance of power.
By holding me, he secures leverage over King Sovran. I have no illusions about where I stand in Altair’s heart, and he knows I feel similarly. We are bound by circumstance, not by choice, and that fact hangs between us like an unspoken truth.
And he knows that if I can bury a dagger in his back, I will—not that it would do much. You can kill a normal vampire by cutting off their head or staking their heart with a silver dagger. But those vampires stand out. Instead of two sharp canines, they have a full mouth of sharp fangs.
But only a witch-made silver blade can kill a pureblood vampire. And Altair has ensured all the ones here have been hidden from me. That doesn’t stop me from carrying a plain dagger now though.
But Dazeem is also a pureblood, so the blade wouldn’t have killed him. And I had been frozen, caught off guard by being manhandled for the first time since I arrived in the vampire kingdom, the shock of it leaving me momentarily paralyzed.
The king finally breaks the silence. “I'm staying for a while,” he states matter-of-factly.
I blink, startled by his words. “Staying?” The single word slips from my lips, heavy with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. His prolonged stay could mean anything—a new plot, a deeper scheme, or perhaps something worse. A chill runs down my spine as I wonder what new role I will be forced to play in whatever drama is about to unfold.
He nods, his expression serious. “Yes, I have matters to attend to, and it seems there's much to be done here as well.”
I can’t help but feel a mixture of emotions at this announcemen t? —relief that he will hopefully now take over the council meetings, and a lingering apprehension about the implications of his extended stay.
A torrent of questions and concerns swirl within me, threatening to escape my lips. Have my parents told the people of my existence? Are my people, my family, fighting to reclaim their kidnapped princess? Are the vampires waging war against my kind? But I hold my tongue firmly behind my teeth, my doubts about the truth of his words rendering me reticent. My mind whirls with the possibilities, each more sinister than the last. But could I trust any a word that falls from his lips? Doing so would likely be dancing on the edge of a blade. For every truth he tells, there could be ten more lies hidden beneath.
“Very well,” I murmur, dipping my head slightly, a gesture meant to be neutral. I avert my gaze, not in submission, but to mask the storm brewing behind my eyes.
“I have to leave, but I shall see you in the dining room this evening,” he says, his tone deceptively light.
My head snaps up. “Why?” The word escapes my lips before I can stop myself.
“For dinner,” he replies, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, as if we had ever sat down to a meal as husband and wife. His smile is thin, almost mocking. “You are my wife. It’s only natural we for us to dine together.” His voice is calm, but the command is unmistakable. There’s no denying this isn’t a request. Yet, there’s a flicker in his eyes, something almost… curious, as if he’s waiting to see if I will dare to defy him.
I feel the protest rising in my throat, but I bite it back, my teeth clenching painfully. I know better than to give him the satisfaction of my resistance, especially when he seems so amused by it, a glimmer of dark delight dancing in his eyes. I’ve fought against him before, tried to resist when he took me from Avantra, but it was futile. He picked me up like I weighed nothing, throwing me effortlessly over his shoulder as if I were a mere burden. The memory stings, the helplessness still raw, but I don’t let it show. I won’t give him the power of seeing me struggle, not again.
And every time I push back, it feels like he’s taking notes, learning, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I need to be smarter than that, more careful. So, I swallow my defiance, forcing a smile.
Taking a deep breath, I lower myself into a shallow bow, my gaze fixed on the floor. “May I retire to my suite, Your Majesty ?” The words are formal, measured, but beneath them, my defiance simmers, as I look up at him. His lips press into a thin line, his gaze lingering on my chin as if considering whether to let me go or not. My heart drums against my ribs as I wait for his response.
His lips thin slightly, but he simply nods, his eyes lingering on my chin before darkening. I walk past him, maintaining a safe distance as I traverse the sprawling palace. In the early days, when I had first arrived many months ago, it had been all too easy to become lost within the labyrinthine hallways and the multitude of rooms branching off in every conceivable direction. But, with time, I have grown familiar with the palace's intricate layout, perhaps even more so than my own home.
I’ve spent countless days wandering these halls, followed closely by the ever-watchful eyes of my personal guard, never questioning me or stopping me as I entered each, looking for something—anything—that might give me an edge, a piece of information, a hidden door, a weapon. I’ve found little more than lavish tapestries and gilded corridors, yet these quiet explorations are my only semblance of control, my only way to carve out a space in this place that belongs to him.
The only place that has offered solace beyond my chambers has been the water gardens and grand library, where I seek refuge among the ancient tomes and the hallowed silence, escaping the relentless pressures of my newfound role as queen of the Daeva clan.
It’s not just living around the vampires who weigh on me. My heart aches for the humans—those who suffer under the tyranny of the vampires, their lands ravaged, and their lives controlled by creatures who only see them as pawns. I want to protect them, to find a way to stop this endless cycle of bloodshed and oppression.
But here, in this court, I am surrounded by nothing but the cold, indifferent faces of the vampires, many of whom I couldn’t care less about. The lords and ladies who are nothing but bloodthirsty manipulators, eager to see the balance of power shift in their favour—they are the ones I would gladly watch fall. The others, the ones who simply want to survive in this world of cruelty, they are the ones I want to fight for. But in this place, I feel more and more like a prisoner than a queen.
The vampire palace defied every grim tale I'd ever heard as a child. Instead of a dark, foreboding fortress, it stands bright and magnificent, like a jewel set against the mountains. I had gasped when I first saw it, struck by the brilliance of the grey stone that seemed to glow under the sun's rays, the slender towers reaching heavenward, their spires adorned with intricate filigree. But even then, beneath my awe, a chill had settled in my bones. For all its beauty, I believed I knew the truth—this place was a gilded cage, a facade hiding the horrors within.
Horrors I haven’t witnessed yet. I wonder if the violence is real, if it’s happening behind closed doors, in places I can’t go, or if it even happens here, in the heart of the Daeva clan. Are the humans truly safe, or is their suffering merely concealed by the beauty and opulence of this world? The more I learn, the more I realise how little I know of these creatures—of their true nature. And though my growing distrust of them grows with each passing day, part of me is still compelled to seek the truth. What are they really capable of? Where are they hiding the horrors I have been told of?
When I had entered the palace, I was greeted by an expansive courtyard, bathed in the warm embrace of sunlight. Exotic flora I had never seen cascaded from marble urns, their vivid blooms releasing a delicious mix of scents into the air. The palace's interior was no less enchanting, with sweeping, arched windows that framed picturesque vistas of lush gardens and serene water features.
The palace’s splendour is a cruel mockery of the hardships my people have endured since the vampires seized control. While we scrape and struggle to survive, this place gleams with luxury. Every polished stone and silken drape is a reminder of what has been taken from us—of the homes we’ve lost, the freedoms stripped away. I cannot help but wonder if the king understands this, or if he cares at all. But I doubt it; to him, we are nothing more than tools, commodities, and perhaps that is why this place, in all its beauty, feels so unbearably cold.
There had once been peace, fragile and fleeting, but it held for a time—fractured only by small disagreements, petty rivalries, the sort of squabbles that never should have escalated. But that peace ended when Altair murdered his king and took control of the Daeva kingdom. The air still tastes of blood from that day. No one knew what he had against King Sovran, but the animosity was fierce and personal. Whatever history there was between them, Altair’s betrayal shattered the delicate balance, starting a war that would drag on for years. And that war… it changed everything.
I find myself thinking back to a time when vampires and humans walked side by side, long before war and treachery shattered that fragile peace. As a child, I attended a learning academy where we shared our classrooms with vampire children, learning, playing, and growing together under the same roof. I recall a boy with inky hair and eyes as blue as summer skies, a girl with dark skin and a laugh that could light up a room, another boy whose infectious grin made him friends with everyone. Those days seem like a lifetime ago, memories blurred like a dream I can barely grasp. Now, all that remains is the bitter aftertaste of betrayal and loss.
I shake my head to dispel the memories, my focus sharpening on the sound of soft footsteps trailing behind me. My heart leaps, a mix of surprise and recognition coursing through me. Iolas Thorne, my ever-watchful shadow, is there, his presence like a gust of fresh air in the otherwise stifling palace. I glance up at his tall frame, his curls catching the dim light, and find him grinning down at me.
“I heard there was a commotion? The one day I’m not there with you, and you go and get yourself into trouble.”
“You can shut up,” I grumble under my breath, my footsteps hastening as I move toward the spiralling staircase that will lead me to my suite.
Iolas’s curly honey-brown hair, neatly cropped on the sides but left just unruly enough on top, gives him a look of effortless charm. His face is all sharp angles, softened only by the rugged handsomeness that seems at odds with the disciplined grace in his movements. Where the king is all brooding intensity, Iolas is the light-hearted counterpart—a playful presence that brings a rare ease to my life in this palace. Yet, beneath the easy smiles and teasing words, I wonder how he’s earned the king’s trust despite their stark differences.
Iolas is… fun.
He makes me laugh, something I hadn’t realised I needed so badly until he came along. But I also can’t ignore the way he watches me, his playful banter a cover for the deeper concern in his eyes.
For I am just a little human in a palace full of vampires who probably want to drain me.
Not that any of the members of staff have ever expressed an interest it that. I think they know they would suffer at the hands of the king if they did.
No. Most of them have been… pleasant. Even granting me small acts of kindness. Extra morning rolls for breakfast. A small smile. A vase of flowers for my room.
I can’t deny it—sometimes, I wonder if all the rumours I’ve heard about vampires, the stories of their cruelty, their bloodlust, are true. Or perhaps they’ve been twisted, exaggerated over the years to make them seem like monsters when, in truth, they might be more like us than I ever imagined. These little acts of kindness... could it be that there’s more to them than I thought? Perhaps the vampires aren’t all bloodthirsty tyrants, or maybe their violent nature is a product of the war, of the manipulation that twists everything. If they were allowed peace, could they coexist with us?
But then again, who am I to question the way things are? The vampire kings wage war, and we, the humans, are caught in the middle—pawns in their battle for power. Is this all part of their grand scheme to manipulate us, to make us see them as monsters so we’ll be too afraid to rise against them? Or are we the ones who have been manipulated, our perceptions shaped by years of suffering and hatred?
I wish I knew the answers. Part of me feels the tension in the air, the way the war has divided us, made everything so strained. There could be peace, if only someone had the courage to seek it. But every time I think about it, I wonder if I could ever trust any of them enough to build something new. Can there be peace between vampires and humans? Or have we already reached a point where the divide is too wide to cross?
But whilst here, Iolas is a presence I don’t mind spending time with. It is a comfort to have someone who felt more human than vampire by my side.
But…
“Why did you leave?” The irritation in my voice is undeniable, though I try to keep it light. “I could have used your sword there.”
Iolas’s grin only widens, clearly unfazed. “I heard the carriage arrive outside and wondered who was approaching. We weren’t expecting Al’s return today. And my sword? During a meeting? I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.”
“Shut up,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “Lord Dazeem was being his usual charming self.”
His smile fades, eyes narrowing. “What did he do?”
“The king dealt with it,” I say quickly. “It’s fine.”
“Fine? You look like you’re ready to kill someone.” His voice drops, losing its playful edge as he steps closer. Suddenly, he’s so near that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. There is no need for me to respond; his eyes carefully scan my face, focusing on my chin before flaring. “What did he do, Olwyn?”
I pause, then let a small, grim smile cross my lips. “Grabbed me. Altair removed his hand.”
Iolas blinks, then lets out a low whistle. “Good. I’m sorry. I should have been there.”
“It’s fine,” I repeat, softer this time. “You had to greet the king.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not fine. I’m your guard, Olwyn. And it’s a job I take seriously, I shouldn’t have left you unguarded. Even though nothing’s happened before today, I shouldn’t have trusted the men around you. I did send a replacement, but Al got there first. I’ll apologise to the king.”
I open my mouth to protest, not wanting him to get into trouble for something beyond his control, but he raises a hand again.
“Don't worry, little witch. The king’s had me around so long, he wouldn’t know what to do without me. I'm too valuable for him to get rid of. And not just because I keep you in line with my stunning looks and sharp wit. Now.” He leans down, head tilting. “Want me to kiss it better?” He avoids my slap, and then the bastard winks, before turning and continuing down the corridor.
I let out a huff, trying to cling to my irritation, but it’s hard when he’s looking at me like that, all mischievous and confident. He has a way of turning everything into a joke, but I know he means what he says.
I think over his words and wonder exactly how long he has been around. He realises I’m not walking and turns back around.
“How old are you?” The question slips out before I can think it through.
His eyes widen in mock horror. “Bit rude to be asking a vampire’s age, don’t you think?”
My cheeks flame instantly. Shit. I’ve offended him. But before I can stammer out an apology, he bursts into laughter, the sound rich and warm.
“It’s all right, Olwyn,” he says with a teasing grin. “I turned twenty-seven, ten moons ago. One moon after the king.”
Huh.
So, Altair is young.
They’re the same age as me.
“Twenty-seven?” I echo, blinking. “That’s it?”
He catches the perplexed expression on my face and raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“I just… thought you were both older,” I blurt out, realising too late how that sounds.
He scoffs, feigning offence. “Well, thanks . Didn’t think I looked that rough.”
I shake my head quickly, my blush deepening. “You don’t! You look… good. Really good.”
He leans in with a wicked grin. “Good enough for you to ask me how old I am, huh? Careful, Olwyn. A few more compliments, and I might start thinking you’re interested.”
I roll my eyes, trying to suppress a smile as I start walking again. “You wish.”
“Oh, I know,” he replies with a playful wink, falling into step beside me. “But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Secret?” I scoff, side-eyeing him. “You’re delusional if you think I’m harbouring any secrets.”
He chuckles, the sound light and teasing. “Maybe, but you can’t blame a vamp for hoping. I mean, you did just call me ‘good’—‘really good,’ in fact. That’s practically a declaration of love in some places.”
I snort, shaking my head as we continue down the dimly lit corridor. “You’ve got quite the imagination, Iolas.”
“Got to keep things interesting around here somehow,” he says, giving me a mock-serious look. “After all, when you’ve been alive for as long as I have, you’ve got to find ways to entertain yourself.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, still amused. “All twenty-seven years of your eternal existence?”
“Hey, don’t knock it,” he replies with a grin. “Some of us age like fine wine. Not that you’d know anything about that—being the innocent little thing you are.”
“Innocent?” I arch an eyebrow. “You really are delusional.”
We reach the corridor leading to my chambers, the air between us crackling with the easy banter.
“So, Olwyn,” he leans against the wall with that familiar smirk. “Do I get a goodbye kiss, or are you just going to leave me hanging after all this flirting?”
I roll my eyes, but the smile pulling at my lips is genuine. “I think you’ll survive the night without one, you rake.”
He sighs dramatically, hand over his heart. “Ah, the cruelty of a queen, leaving a poor vampire wanting.”
I shake my head, pushing open my door, but the warmth in my chest lingers as I glance back at him. “Bye, Iolas.”
“Bye, Olwyn,” he replies, his voice softer, carrying a note of something almost tender. “Take a nap, and dream of all the things you’re too shy to do while you’re awake.”
I step into my chambers, shutting the door in his wicked face, the wood clicking shut, but the playful energy he’s left in his wake lingers, wrapping around me like a warm cloak. For a moment, I wonder if that was his intention all along—to pull me from the dark thoughts clouding my mind. If so, it worked. I find myself smiling, despite everything.
My room is nicer than my own back in my parent’s palace, a sanctuary of light and luxury, but the opulence feels like a mockery of my captivity. The light from the windows filters through sheer drapes, casting a gentle radiance across the space, but I can’t help but feel suffocated by the very walls that trap me. The intricate carvings on the four-poster bed are beautiful, but each night I lie awake, wishing the carved wood could splinter under my fists and give me a way out.
A richly textured rug covers the polished wooden floor, its muted hues complementing the soft, pastel colour scheme of the room. A delicate chandelier hangs gracefully from the ceiling, its crystal beads chiming softly whenever a breeze sneaks through the barely open windows. The scent of fresh flowers from the gardens below mingles with the lingering aroma of burning candles, a mix of sweet and smoky that clings to the air.
Against the wall opposite the bed, there’s a door, solid and unyielding, its presence a constant taunt. It has been locked ever since I moved in, and I’ve spent countless hours trying to pick the lock. But the door remains steadfast, a barrier between me and whatever lies beyond.
To one side, a door leads to my ensuite bathroom. The bathroom is as luxurious as the room itself, with marble countertops, a deep soaking tub, and gold-finished fixtures that gleam.
It’s an incredibly pleasant prison for a little witch.
Little witch.
The term echoes in my mind, a reminder of one of the reasons the vampire king has chosen to claim me. When I was young, one of the remaining magic-wielding witches from Aesteria had told my parents of a prophecy.
The prophecy spoke of a witch born with extraordinary powers, one who would bring about great change in the realm. My parents feared this change more than anything—they knew that great power could be both a blessing and a curse. To them, the prophecy was a death sentence, a target painted on my back from the moment I was born.
When I was young, I lived with my aunt while attending the academy. I remember the sound of distant bells, the crisp parchment under my fingertips, the way the sun used to catch on the stained-glass windows. But those memories are vague, shadows of a time I can barely grasp.
The day my powers first manifested, there was an incident—a brush with death when vampires descended, drawn by the scent of magic in my blood. I nearly died that day, and I bear a four-inch scar above the outside edge of my right eyebrow that ends in my hairline, as a reminder.
I remember the touch of the young vampire’s hand on my skin—how it felt like fire, as if his touch burned right through me. The sensation was so intense that it sent my body into shock, and I thought I would melt under the heat of it. My skin seared with the kind of agony I couldn’t describe. And then, as I gasped for breath, there was a flash—a brilliant, white light that blinded me, swallowing everything in its path. I could feel the magic within me, surging uncontrollably, wrapping around the vampire like a vice, pushing him back. It was as if the very air itself was fighting to protect me.
I don’t know how I survived, but I did. And now, with that scar and the memory of that blinding light, I know something within me is different—changed. What I don’t know is whether that light saved me… or if it marked me.
After that, my parents brought me back to the palace, and I never returned to the academy. They told everyone I had died, weaving a lie to protect me and my magic. From that day on, I was hidden from the world, an unknown daughter in a wing of the palace where only the most trusted servants were allowed to serve me. Some of those servants disappeared over the years, vanishing without a trace, and I couldn’t help but wonder what they had seen or heard that sealed their fates.
I suspect—though I’ve never had the courage to ask—that my parents had them killed. The thought unsettles me, twisting my insides into a tight knot. Why else would they vanish, erased from existence as if they had never been here at all? If they knew too much, if they were a threat to my safety, that would explain their fate. And if that’s true, then my parents really were willing to go to any lengths to protect me.
But why? How dangerous are my powers if they would resort to such extremes? The idea that my very existence could put others in danger—especially those who serve me, those who try to help me—makes my blood run cold. I can’t help but wonder if the blood in my veins is more of a curse than a gift. It’s a chilling thought that keeps me awake at night, the unsettling suspicion that if my own parents would go so far to keep me safe, maybe I’m more of a weapon than I ever realised.
My parents feared that my magic would make me a target, a tool for those who wished to control or destroy me.
They whispered of dangers lurking beyond the palace walls, of vampire kings who would come for me if they ever learned the truth. They were right. Draven found me anyway. And now I’m here, in this beautiful cage, because of a prophecy I never asked for, under the watchful eyes of a man who views me as both a prize and a threat.
But I’m not powerless, no matter how much they want me to believe I am. Every day, I collect scraps of information, piecing together the secrets of this place. I listen to the servants’ idle chatter about the political climate and which lords hold grudges. I watch the guards’ shifts and note their moments of distraction or fatigue. I study the movements of envoys, courtiers, and visiting dignitaries, taking note of who they speak to and what expressions they wear when they leave Altair’s chambers. I overhear mentions of trade routes, border conflicts, alliances that are strained or strengthened, and whispers about hidden rebel factions in the south.
I gather these fragments like weapons, storing them away, waiting for the moment when I can turn them to my advantage.
Or find a way out before this place becomes my tomb.