Daniella's breath hitched in her chest as she stepped into the Grand Hall. This wasn't merely architecture; it felt like a space lifted from myths, a temple to the gods. High above, the dark night sky was visible through a vast ceiling constructed of shimmering glass triangles framed in polished silver. The deep purples and burnt oranges of the night mingled with the darting light of distant stars.
A sudden draft caused the hood, which had been hiding her damp, dark green hair, to slide back. She quickly grasped the fabric, pulling the hood back into place, careful not to expose the subtle, almost magical mechanisms of her disguise. She tore her eyes away from the celestial spectacle. The room itself, however, did not pale in comparison. The vast space was bathed in a beautiful, soft light emanating from torches that floated unassisted high above. Elegant archways, reminiscent of a grand opera house, framed the seated kings and queens of other kingdoms. Their banners, bearing each kingdom's proud sigil, hung on vibrant display.
Unlike the other royal families, King Elderon sat on the main floor, positioned beneath a magnificent archway, with his wife by his side. His family's sigil was displayed larger than any other—a bold show of dominance, pride, and unyielding power.
The scores of princesses swarmed around the central feature of the room: a vast, circular pool. Its surface was so clear and still that it perfectly reflected the glass ceiling above, appearing to be a mirror image of the night sky itself. Daniella felt a peculiar sensation, as if she were standing among the stars even while on solid ground. This sight was truly special, enough to rouse her interest. After so many lifetimes, she never thought she would look upon something and find it genuinely beautiful again. It had been a long time since she had slowed down enough to simply look.
The princesses eventually took their places, each settling proudly by a large stone pillar that held a heavy chalice. This setup was for the Declaration Ritual. Each princess was required to slice her palm and allow a few drops of her blood to enter a chosen chalice, a symbolic show of devotion towards the prince who was her top choice.
As the last of the princesses finished gliding into the hall—moving with the precision of a well-practiced platoon of manicured debutantes—a chorus of hushed, reverent "Your His and Her Majesty" left their throats. All bowed deeply in respect.
Unlike the others, whose eyes remained fixed on the ground—whether from shyness, fear, or forced etiquette—Daniella had the benefit of her hood. Though her head was bowed, her eyes flickered upwards. She watched the faces of the various kings and queens, trying to take their measure, wondering if they had already unofficially chosen brides for their sons. Beneath each sigil hanging from the balconies sat a prince, save for Prince Eric, whose elevated seat was positioned just forward of his father's, his own sigil proudly displayed behind both father and son.
Daniella's gaze couldn't help but linger on Jasper's sigil. The demon sigil—a shadow offering a rose—was unexpected. She knew it spoke of darker things, of being lured through false beauty, but it didn't sway her in the slightest. So far, she was sure Jasper would be her best option. She understood that being chosen by a prince wasn't just about marriage; it was about protection, power, and vengeance. In all her previous lifetimes, she had been unable to pay back the one who tormented her. This life, however, could be different. If she could be chosen by a prince, she would ensure his kingdom rained hell upon Eric's. She would kill him with her own hands, watching his eyes fill with fear as she choked the life out of him. And she would enjoy it—at least half as much as he had enjoyed killing her in every life.
Jasper felt the sudden, distinct shift in the air. His eyes tracked the violent, alluring torrent that perfumed her soul. He couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to. Her eyes, unlike the others lowered to the floor, were fixed on someone, and she looked ready to devour them. He was pleased; his little princess was already well on the road to corruption.
A distinct part of Daniella's soul pulsed, a shard as black as coal. It didn't blend into the other layers of her soul that had been stitched together; this piece was unique. Jasper watched as the once light purple hue of her spirit turned to the darkest of blacks. He had to press his hand over his lips to conceal his growing smile. Unlike the other princes, who would need to slowly corrupt their princesses, his was doing the work all on her own.
Eric wore a soft, possessive smile as he mentally scented Daniella and heard the strong, consistent beat of her heart. His eyes shifted toward Jasper, a prickle of unease running down his spine. If Daniella chose to declare for Jasper, it would be a complication. Each prince would get to decide which princess they would take on a private, one-on-one walk to get to know each other better. He wanted Daniella to declare for him. It was the simplest path. After all, he knew her best.
"Rise!" King Elderon commanded, his voice echoing. The young ladies immediately lifted their heads and straightened their backs.
Daniella managed a softly compliant smile as she raised her head, quelling the vengeful thoughts that were desperate to be made real just beneath the surface. As her eyes wandered, they met Eric's, and the residual affection still imprinted on this body responded instantly. Her face curved into a smile against her will. She felt a flash of disgust at how naive and ridiculous this form was. She couldn't wait for it to realize how stupid it was to be drawn to him. In every life, the previous version of herself always left behind echoes of who they were and how they lived. Daniella always ignored it, knowing better; she knew what the future held and had lived the past too many times.
Eric's smirk blossomed into a full grin at Daniella's eager smile. She was still his. He had nothing to worry about.
Deacon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His thin body felt stifled with the extra padding beneath his suit. As a shade, his naturally thin, gaunt build was a defining trait he wore with pride, but on the marriage market, it was best not to show anything too "concerning" to the princesses before they had been truly won over. The padding was warm and made his usually pale, almost gone-white skin look ruddy and flushed.
As he moved, he noticed something peculiar. The cripple! She was drawing the attention of both Jasper and Eric. Jasper he barely knew, only that he was a psychotic freak who loved turning anything and everything into his toy; no one was safe from that kind of sadistic joy. But Eric was different. Deacon knew him well, as both their families dominated the political scene—Eric's for their blood magic, and his for their knowledge. Why would a powerful vampire blood-wielder like Eric be intrigued by the cripple, especially one with a formidable sister already off the market? Deacon still felt sour about losing the opportunity to court Kayla because of Hector's unrelenting eagerness. His eyes flicked up to the second-floor balconies to see Hector sitting next to his soon-to-be Queen. At the completion of the marriage market, all the marriages would take place shortly thereafter. He could only hope their union wouldn't take place.
Looking over his shoulder, he spoke to his shadow in a low, soothing voice. "Attach yourself to the cripple." He commanded the dark mass.
Deacon merely smirked as he watched his shadow slink in the darkness, hiding in every deep corner of the room until it reached Daniella. But before it could latch onto her shadow, a burning sensation rippled over his body. His shadow couldn't attach. Worse, it was being actively attacked and pushed away.
Jasper's sharp gaze easily caught the peculiar movement beneath Daniella's cloak. For a moment, he considered sending a piece of his soul to destroy the encroaching shade, but he watched as it shuddered, circling her but unable to make contact with her shadow. He was pleased. Beneath that large cloak, she must be wearing his pendant, or at least have it on her person. His gift wasn't as simple as she probably thought—a pretty piece of jewelry. It held his power, the ability to keep her safe, but also allowed him to find her anywhere and easily recall a part of himself back to his power. As long as she had that necklace, she would never escape his eyes.
"On the right of each Prince is a chalice. Cut your palm. Make your choice." Patrick, the Master of Ceremonies, spoke with his usual clear and crisp tone before banging his staff twice. There were no rules; whichever princess wanted to go first could.
Daniella watched as princess after princess walked over to the various chalices, cutting their hands and drawing their blood. She disliked the very idea of it. This place was about fantasy and magic; the last thing she wanted was someone to have a piece of her, like her blood, to use in any way they wished—to poison her mind or her body. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she would not be spilling her blood.
Gianna proudly stepped forward, her wide-skirted gown—a vibrant white, like marble—creating distance between her and everyone else. She was a Wind Mage. Her dress looked as if it were a wedding gown, as if she wasn't just declaring her affections but walking to the altar. Her brown hair was pulled up in a loose style, her small curls bouncing with every confident step. Her heels clicked against the stone floor.
She maintained no pretense of shyness. She went straight to Prince Eric's chalice. In a display of dominance, she used her wind magic to lift the blade, slice her hand, and let the drops of blood fall into the cup. She stood there longer than necessary, hoping Prince Eric would grace her with a kind glance, some indication that he appreciated her interest. She let multiple drops fall into the chalice, watching him from the corner of her eye. It only took a moment for him to offer her a grateful smile before quickly looking away. She felt dizzy with triumph. Prince Eric smiled at her. She knew she had done something right. With a triumphant stride, she returned to the other princesses. With her back towards the kings, queens, and princes, she gave the other women a challenging look, attempting to intimidate those who might also draw blood for Eric. He was hers.
The ritual continued like that. Princess after princess drew blood, using the moment to smile at the princes. Some were so bold as to speak to them, singing the princes' praises. Daniella was displeased to note that out of a few hundred women, more than fifty had decided to bleed for Prince Jasper. She had hoped his less-than-favorable public image would lessen his popularity, but it had done nothing. Unsurprisingly, Prince Miguel and Prince Eric had captured the most princesses' attention, then Jasper a little behind the two, and Deacon a close fourth, with Landon and London lagging behind.
When all the other princesses had made their declaration, only Daniella was left standing. Her hood was still poised on her head. Her maids were already standing behind her seat, waiting for her to make her declaration.
She had to choose her words wisely. Too aggressive, and she could offend the wrong people. Too passive, and she would look unsure.
She plastered a sultry smile on her face—one that no other lady on this marriage market could produce in the same way. They feigned a sexuality they had never experienced, trying to invoke a lust they didn't even understand. But Daniella was different; she knew what it meant to seduce and to be seduced.
Her lowering eyes, lined with expertly applied black eyeliner that gave them the appearance of a cat's eye, caught the attention of the princes and the kings of the kingdoms. Her lips were painted in an unusual plum-red tone for most well-bred ladies. Her thick lashes fluttered once as her eyes met each prince's gaze. Her bow was deep and gracious.
"Your Majesties, I offer my apologies."
Bowing once more, she straightened again, showing the correct level of deference.
Whispers immediately broke out among the gathered court.
"What is she doing?"
"Does the cripple finally understand she's not supposed to be here?" Another sneered.
"Quick, someone get her chair!" One princess mocked.
"Do you know what the princess is up to?" Josephine anxiously asked the other maids. Both Lola and Ida shook their heads, completely in the dark about their princess's plans. All three women held their breaths, hoping whatever her plan was wouldn't affect them negatively.
"Unlike my enthusiastic companions, I find myself unable to make a declaration on such shallow acquaintance."
Ida could hear a few gasps along with some words of outrage from the other princesses, who were more than a little disgruntled about being labeled tactless and shallow.
"She's going to get herself killed!" Lola squeaked, her eyes darting to either side of them, finding the other maids giving them looks of utter shock. All they could do was shrug back in complete confusion.
"I did not want to come to the altar simply to throw my blood onto the nearest chalice." Her lips curved up into a pleasing smile, her eyes lowering as if she felt sympathy for her companions. "Like the Princes, I seek for us to know each other better first." Her eyes roamed over each prince, even Eric, though she despised every moment of contact.
Miguel was unreadable; his eyes could barely be seen, his face completely covered by the bone mask that hid him from the world, yet he leaned forward in his seat as if he wanted to know more. Deacon looked equal parts offended and intrigued as he crossed his arms. Landon and London both seemed completely at ease, as if the ceremony in general wasn't something they were overly bothered by. She had not captured their attention.
Jasper was a whole different scenario.
Unlike before, this time when she spoke, she looked at Jasper alone. Though it may be hasty, she decided that Jasper was her ultimate target. He was dispassionate and cruel, but in every lifetime, he was formidable. And his level of cruelty would get her the revenge she was looking for. She didn't care about living happily and peacefully; she wanted blood. "A prize so quickly won holds little worth. I prefer a different game, and I promise you, a victory that takes time and effort always tastes far sweeter."
King Elderon was enamored. This seemingly unremarkable woman was doing the impossible, reminding him of his wife. When it was her time on the marriage market, she had been unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. And no one ever told her how she had to play the game. If only she wasn't crippled.
With his staff raised, poised to stomp it on the glimmering tiled floor, he held it in the air just a few inches above the ground, wondering if this was the end of the declarations. Was the princess allowed to refuse?
He watched as the bold girl glided over to her seat, her cloak billowing behind her, her hands hidden inside, holding the ends together. She was unwilling to display her garments to the awaiting room.
Patrick was at a loss. One moment this marriage market was exactly as he expected. The next, he was rewarded with the biggest uncertainty he had yet to face: a princess with her own mind and agenda. What a dangerous thing she would be.
Looking towards his king, he awaited the signal. With a subtle wave of his fingers, Patrick felt the breath in his chest finally release. With two long, decisive thuds of his staff against the floor, the declaration ceremony was closed.