Crowned by the Dark Vampire (Ravenous Royals #9)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Hazel

I am about to commit a midnight pastry crime.

Yes, it’s true.

In my defense, I haven’t eaten since lunch, which means I’m very hungry. I ended up missing dinner because I didn’t check the schedule. My bad.

Cook went to bed hours ago, but I’m ninety-nine percent certain there’s a leftover chocolate croissant calling my name somewhere in the kitchen.

Summer rain patters against the ancient windows of the castle and my fuzzy white slippers whisper against the cool stone floor.

My blue, linen pajamas with very short, shorts aren’t a great look for the nanny of Princess Lily Elara of House Draven, the heir to the throne of Krovenia—but darn it, that pastry keeps calling my name.

And I don’t want to bother with a full-on redress and makeup just to go down and grab a quick snack.

It seems silly. I’m certain I can sneak downstairs and get what I need and make it back to my room with none the wiser.

I round a corner softly, trying my best to keep quiet.

Jeez, this estate is enormous. I guess this is normal for a Krovenian royal residence, but I’m still stunned by all the opulence that looks centuries old and yet is kept in tip-top shape.

Tall ceilings with stone arches are everywhere, as are tapestries I’m not allowed to touch.

Sconces cast warm pools of light in the hallways.

Honestly, the place looks like the inside of a vampire’s Pinterest board, but in the best way possible. Cozy gothic? Moody, but lived-in.

I shouldn’t love it here as much as I do.

I do, though.

Yes, I’m employed by the Dark Prince of Krovenia as the nanny for his only daughter, which means I’m the only human on this entire estate. Most people would be terrified of this situation and yet I’m intrigued.

I’ve been working at this castle in the small, European country of Krovenia for five days now.

This is a country for Krovenians, a species that humans refer to as “vampires”.

The setting here is gorgeous, the staff is kind and the food is incredible.

And Lily, the four-year-old princess in my care, is the sweetest, smartest, most heart-cracking little girl I’ve ever met.

Her mother passed away two years ago and she’s still suffering from the loss.

Lily is very quiet and doesn’t speak at all to strangers.

Lily lost her mother when she really needed her mother’s pheromones to imprint upon and progress in development and without it, she’s become fearful and depressive.

They’ve taken her to Krovenian Doctors who diagnosed that this is not permanent, but she does need a new female figure to imprint upon.

They started with Krovenian nannies, of course, but those haven’t worked.

So now they are trying out a novel idea- a human nanny.

I’m honored to be the human that was chosen to try and help this child.

Lily has tiny baby fangs. I cannot get over it.

And now I live in a castle with a species of vampires.

An actual castle.

Really, this is a terrific job and I’m so very lucky to be here doing this work.

I pause in a hallway and gaze up at the row of portraits on the wall I’ve already memorized.

I can’t help but be stunned by the luxury, the culture and the antiquities.

So much history and ancestry. It’s amazing.

My whole life I’ve been a small-town girl from Ohio.

My idea of “fancy” was going out to the Olive Garden for a birthday dinner.

I’m highly impressed if something is a hundred years old.

Here, there are portraits of ancestors from centuries ago.

When my friends discovered I was taking this job on another continent, some thought I was crazy to want to move so far away to live amongst actual vampires. But others thought it sounded like an adventure. I think it’s pretty cool. I don’t know much about the Krovenians, but I’m learning fast.

I pause in front of my favorite portrait.

It’s of a vampire in formal Krovenian regalia, all black with silver detailing across the shoulders.

He’s tall and lean, with sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass.

Dark hair and darker eyes. He isn’t smiling and in fact, he looks like he’s never smiled in his life and would frankly resent being asked to.

This is Crown Prince Viktor of House Draven.

My employer and Lily’s father. He’s a widower and we’ve never actually met.

I’ve been here for five days, but he’s been gone the entire time, either in the main city, at the King’s Castle or at the Ministry of Defense.

Or so I’ve been told. He’s a very busy man, with lots of responsibility, which is exactly why he needs a nanny for his daughter.

I tilt my head, studying the portrait the way I’ve studied it eleven times this week. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen friendlier mug shots. I snort, laughing at my own joke.

But the staff loves him, in that quiet, fierce, Krovenian way they have. Madam Petrova, the housekeeper, tears up at the mention of him. The groundskeeper says he’s “a good male, the very best.” The cook said something in Krovenian that I’m pretty sure was a blessing.

So, either the staff is wrong, or the portrait is wrong, or I’m wrong.

I shrug and keep walking, remaining intent on that chocolate croissant.

I shouldn’t be this curious about my employer, anyways. The Bellamy Group, my Nanny Agency, made it crystal clear during onboarding: no fraternization, no personal involvement, professional distance at all times. They had me sign a contract as thick as a brick.

I’m here for a full year as Lily’s nanny, plus a completion bonus, which in the end will mean I pay back every penny of my student loan debt. Twenty-three thousand, four hundred, and sixty-one dollars and thirteen cents. I have it memorized down to the cent.

When I got fired from my prestigious preschool job for speaking out of turn —a long story involving a four-year-old who was being mislabeled as a behavioral problem when he was clearly something else, and a school director who didn’t appreciate being corrected in front of parents—I should have crumbled, given up and called my brother to ask for help.

Instead, I had a fuck it moment.

I sat on the floor of my tiny studio apartment, eating cereal straight out of the box, and I opened my laptop and applied to The Bellamy Group.

I decided what I really needed was to think out of the box and take on an entirely different kind of job.

They place elite nannies with high-net-worth families.

Royalty. Celebrities. Billionaires. I had no business applying.

My résumé was solid but not Bellamy solid.

But I guess I had something most candidates don’t.

In my undergrad for Early Childhood Education, I’d taken a series of electives in childhood grief and trauma, then I’d kept taking workshops in it.

I’d quietly become the teacher at my private preschool who got pulled into every difficult conversation with families dealing with loss.

I didn’t think of it as a specialty, I just thought of it as what I knew, because I’d lost my own mother too when I was young .

The Bellamy Group thought differently. They called me three days after I applied and a week later, I was on a plane to Krovenia.

My head is still spinning.

I still don’t really know how it happened, except that the head housekeeper at a Krovenian royal estate had specifically requested a candidate with grief and trauma training, and apparently, I matched the profile.

Their previous three Krovenian nannies hadn’t been able to reach the little princess.

So, they’re now so desperate to find someone who will bond with Lily that they’ve widened their search to human nannies.

I’m Lily’s first human nanny and she does find me super interesting, which helps.

So I’m digging in, trying my best to let her know I’m here for her and she can count on me.

Lily is still very quiet, as if she’s expecting me to leave, too, but I’m taking baby steps, working on gaining her trust and showing her that I care and I’m staying.

This will take time, more of a show than tell. But I’m patiently focused on success.

I walk into the kitchen, which is on the ground floor.

Cook produces miracles here three times a day.

The kitchen is the only room in the estate that feels truly modern with stainless steel ovens, marble countertops and copper pots that hang from a rack above the central island.

There’s a walk-in pantry that I’m pretty sure has more food in it than my entire hometown grocery store.

The lights are off, but the moon and the rain glow through the windows cast enough light to see.

I slip into the pantry like a thief and let out a sigh of relief.

There, on the third shelf is a small white box labeled Kuchen in Madam Petrova’s handwriting.

I open it carefully and let out a tiny gasp of joy.

Three buttery, sugar-dusted pastries. Leftover from dinner.

I take one and emerge with my prize and pad over to the fridge for milk.

I pour myself a tall glass and lean my hip against the marble island and take the first bite.

The crust shatters delicately against my teeth and I instantly hit the perfect chocolate.

I make a small, undignified sound of pleasure.

This is the best part of my day.

I take another bite, brushing crumbs off my chin.

And then I hear footsteps in the corridor outside the kitchen. Heavy. Slow. Coming this way. Oh hell. I freeze, pastry halfway to my mouth.

Cook is back? No, Cook went to bed at ten.

A burglar? In a vampire castle? Bold choice.

Suddenly a man stands in the doorway, and I know, somehow, in the bottom of my chest, before my eyes even fully adjust to the dark?—