C H A P T E R F I F T Y
I need her to keep her fire.
C H A P T E R F I F T Y
Olwyn
T he stranger steps out from behind a blossom tree and…
Oh.
I don’t recognize him, and with his striking features, I’m certain I’d remember if we had crossed paths before.
His pale hand glides through short, spiked silver hair—just a shade darker than my own—a few strands falling back into place without care. His red eyes—bright, intense, and fixed on mine—burn with a sharp, almost unnerving interest, as if he’s studying my every move. Yet the rest of his face remains emotionless, frozen in a calm, unreadable mask.
Actually, he looks rather bored.
His lips are set in a neutral line, and his angular features show no hint of expression, as though the intensity in his gaze is the only part of him truly alive in the moment.
If his eyes weren’t so obvious, I would have known what he is immediately from his pointed ears. Plus… no human could be that beautiful.
My hands instinctively clasp together, and I force myself to look away—one of Iolas’s lessons.
Show them you’re not afraid.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” I say firmly, my voice steadier than I expect.
“Neither are you, by the looks of it,” he replies dryly, his gaze trailing lazily over me before locking back onto my face.
I tilt my head, glancing over my shoulder at the locked door behind me. The only other door in is locked. Unless…
“Did you pick the lock?” I ask, suspicion lacing my tone.
A pale brow arches. “Do I look like a locksmith to you?”
I ignore the hint of amusement in his voice, focusing instead on his impeccable appearance. He doesn’t look like someone who should be skulking around in the shadows. His tailored black suit fits him so perfectly it might as well be part of him. No, he doesn’t look like a locksmith. He looks like he belongs in the ballroom with the other lords and dignitaries, not here.
“Then how did you get in?” I press.
“It was unlocked,” he says smoothly, his tone casual.
“Unlocked?” I frown, glancing at the door behind him on the far wall. The guards had told me the gardens were locked for the evening, but… could they have been mistaken?
I bite my lip, confusion swirling in my chest.
The stranger notices. His lips quirk upward, just enough to suggest he’s holding back a smirk. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“I—” I pause, shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Clearly it does,” he says, stepping a fraction closer, and I feel his gaze burning into me. “You look like someone who always wants answers.”
I bristle, my fingers brushing the fabric of my skirt where my witchsilver dagger is hidden in the thigh slit. “And you look like someone who gives too many questions instead of answers.”
“Touché.” He dips his head slightly, almost like a bow, though the mocking edge in his crimson gaze undercuts the gesture.
I let out a small, frustrated sigh and turn my attention to the garden, desperate to focus on something—anything—other than the stranger in front of me.
“I just needed some air,” I mutter under my breath, half to myself.
His sharp ears catch it. “Ah, something we have in common then.”
I glance back at him. His expression remains impassive.
“I hope you’re enjoying it, then,” I reply coolly, gesturing vaguely toward the blossoms around us.
“Oh, I am.” He smirks, his gaze sliding back to me.
I narrow my eyes at him, irritated by his cryptic tone. “And you are?”
He doesn’t answer right away, taking a moment to survey the garden as though the conversation is beneath him. Finally, he leans slightly closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine.
“Someone who’s enjoying the view.”
The double meaning doesn’t escape me, and I shift my weight, my fingers itching toward the slit in my dress where my witchsilver dagger is hidden. His crimson gaze drops briefly, as though he knows exactly where it’s hidden, but he doesn’t react.
I force myself to step away, putting more distance between us. “I hope you enjoy your air, then. I’ll be returning to the ball.”
“Of course,” he says smoothly, bowing as I step back. But as I move down the path, his voice follows me, low and laced with amusement. “Have a lovely evening, Your Majesty. I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
I don’t turn around, but my pace quickens, my pulse racing. There’s something about him that sets me on edge, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. When I slip back into the palace corridor, the guards waiting for me, the dim light filtering through the high windows feels cold and detached. My mind lingers on his words, and for a moment, I glance back toward the garden door.
The guards must have been mistaken.
And yet, there’s a small, nagging voice in the back of my head whispering that they weren’t.
I make my way to the ballroom, trying to shake off the encounter with the mysterious vampire. As I enter, Iolas immediately approaches me, nodding to his guards who take a few steps back but remain close. “There you are. Where have you been?" he asks.
I shrug, attempting to sound nonchalant, though my heart is still racing from the encounter. “Just needed some air.”
He doesn’t seem convinced, his gaze flicking over me as if searching for any sign of distress. “Are you sure you're all right?” His voice softens, his usual teasing demeanour absent.
“I'm fine, Iolas.” I force a smile, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know he doesn’t buy it. The flicker of concern in his hazel eyes makes my stomach twist, a familiar ache of guilt curling deep inside me. It’s not like I want to lie to him.
Not in the middle of this ballroom, not with every vampire lord and lady watching, waiting for the human queen to make a fool of herself.
Iolas studies me for a moment longer, then gives a small nod. “Come on, we should get back before Altair notices. Casius has arrived.”
I feel a pang of apprehension at the mention of the king's name, but I nod in acknowledgment. “Lead the way,” I say, following Iolas as he guides me towards the dais which overlooks the entire dancefloor.
Altair’s voice cuts through the tension as he sees me approach. “Olwyn,” he says, his voice firm yet composed. His presence is impossible to ignore, regal and intimidating in the way only Altair can manage. His eyes flicker with a shadowed intensity that makes my stomach tighten. “We need to greet our guests.”
I nod, trying to steady my breath as he takes my hand and we take centre stage at the front of the grand hall, on the raised dais. The room falls silent, all eyes drawn to us like moths to a flame. Lords and ladies stand in clusters, their opulent attire glittering under the chandeliers, the air thick with the hum of intrigue and expectation. I can feel their stares—some curious, others judgmental—and it takes everything in me not to shrink under their scrutiny.
One of the first lords steps forward—one not on Altair’s council—bowing slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with interest. “Your Majesties,” he greets, his voice smooth and practiced. “A pleasure to finally meet the famed Queen of Noctura.”
I manage a small smile, murmuring a polite reply as Altair acknowledges him with a nod. One by one, more lords and ladies’ approach, their words polite but laced with curiosity, their sharp eyes scanning me as though searching for cracks. Each introduction feels like a test, a quiet, calculated effort to gauge if I truly belong in this room.
But I’m ready. I’ve spent the last few weeks poring over endless names, titles, and faces, committing them all to memory. As each lord or lady bows or curtsies, I greet them not just with politeness, but with something stronger—recognition.
“Lord Drezan,” I say smoothly, inclining my head. “And Lady Isolde. How was your journey? I understand the southern roads were difficult after the storm last week?”
Lady Isolde blinks in surprise before her lips curve into a genuine smile. “They were, Your Majesty. But the roads cleared just in time. Thank you for asking.”
A flicker of satisfaction blooms in my chest as I catch the subtle shift in her demeanour, the slight softening of her sharp gaze, and Altair’s hand squeezes my waist in encouragement.
“Lady Varyn,” I say to another woman who steps forward, her partner by her side. “I hear your vineyards outside Elderglen are producing a particularly fine vintage this year. I hope I might sample it one day.”
Lady Varyn’s eyes light up. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll see to it that a case is sent to the palace. It’s an honour to know you’re aware of our work.”
One by one, I address each lord and lady by name, remembering small details I’d learned about their families, their lands, their challenges. Several of them smile, their stiff expressions relaxing as they realise I’ve taken the time to know who they are.
It doesn’t escape me that Altair and Iolas watch closely from either side of me, their presence steady and reassuring. Though Altair says little, I can feel his approval in the brief glances he casts my way.
Still, not all are impressed. Some faces remain cold, their eyes wary as they study me, their words clipped and careful. The doubt lingers in the air, but I am trying.
But I stand tall, meeting their scepticism with composure. This is their test, but it’s also mine. If they’re waiting for me to falter, to shrink under their scrutiny, they’ll be waiting forever.
When another lord bows before me—a tall, gaunt man with icy eyes—I greet him just as confidently. “Lord Asrik, I’ve read about your efforts in fortifying the southeastern border. Your work has been critical in protecting the region. Thank you for your service.”
His sharp gaze narrows, clearly startled that I know anything about him. But after a brief pause, he dips his head lower than before. “You honour me, Your Majesty.”
As he steps away, I catch a flicker of pride in Altair’s expression, his lips twitching as though holding back a smile.
And so, I keep going. Name by name. Detail by detail. Some respond warmly, others coolly, but each moment solidifies my presence here.
I’m no longer just the human queen they’ve come to gawk at.
I’m someone they’ll have to take seriously.
Then, just as another lord bows and steps back, the crowd parts, and a figure steps forward, his silver hair catching the light, his eyes glowing like embers in the dim room.
The vampire from earlier.
My heart skips a beat as his gaze locks onto mine.
Before I can formulate words, the vampire is standing before us, his presence magnetic. “Your Majesty,” he greets with a respectful bow…
To me first.
And not to Altair.
Who is a living statue. Saying nothing. Doing nothing. And those around us stare with held breath. The man before me finally straightens, tipping his head towards Altair.
“I was wondering if your wife would do me the honour of a dance?”
What?
I blink a few times as if I have misheard him.
Altair’s scarred eye twitches, and it is the only show of expression on his face before he masks it with a smile, turning towards me as he presses his hand to the small of my back.
“Olwyn.”
Fuck.
Confusion blasts through me as I look between my husband, and this vampire I met moments ago. Why does he feel like he can ask for a dan c? —
Double fuck.
It’s because he can.