The ballroom pulsed with laughter and music, violins carrying a rhythm that sounded too light for the shadows coiling around Kael's heart. He returned through the arched doorway, adjusting his cuff with the kind of control he had always been known for, his gaze instantly sweeping across the sea of silks and jewels. Every instinct sharpened, every thought narrowed to one question.
Where was she?
He saw Penelope near the corner of the ballroom, her usual smug smile tempered by the glass in her hand. He strode to her with a predator's calm, though his tone betrayed the edge beneath.
"Where is she?" Kael asked, voice clipped.
Penelope blinked, lowering her glass. "She?"
"Do not play games, Penelope." His eyes glinted dangerously. "Lady Sofia.Where is she?"
For once, Penelope seemed at a loss. She tilted her head back, recalling the last time she had seen the girl. "It's been a while… she was watching me drink. She teased me like some nagging sister and then told me she'd be fine on her own. I thought she was still here, Kael."
The words hit him like a curse. His gaze cut toward the crowd. He couldn't see the silver white hair, the quiet face that always seemed half-hidden from the world. She was gone.
The atmosphere of the hall shifted when Kael's expression hardened. The music wavered, faltered, until the violins fell silent entirely. The chatter dulled to whispers. Every noble in the room felt the weight of him—his growing irritation was a storm pressing on their throats.
The King and Queen, perched on their thrones at the far end of the hall, were informed almost immediately. The captain of the guard leaned in, whispering in the King's ear. The Queen straightened, fanning herself more out of nerves than vanity.
The King rose, his voice loud enough to reach the farthest marble wall. "The Lady Sofia seems to have strayed. Guards! Search the castle. Every corridor, every chamber. Leave no door unopened."
At once, soldiers in polished breastplates spread out like shadows, their boots echoing on the marble floor.
Kael remained seated, the tendons of his hands straining against the armrest of his chair. The whole room could feel it—that simmering, dangerous energy threatening to crack. Even the chandeliers seemed to tremble under its weight.
Selene saw an opening. She always did. Her silken gown swayed as she glided toward him, her lips curved in that smile meant to soothe and ensnare at once. She touched his shoulder lightly.
"My lord," she purred, "surely you need not worry so much. A young woman wandering off at a ball is hardly cause for alarm. Perhaps she seeks to play coy, to test your attention." She leaned closer, her perfume heavy. "If you tire of such games, you know you need not look further than me."
The ballroom seemed to collectively inhale, waiting for his response.
Kael turned his head slowly, his gaze pinning her with such cold disdain that even Selene, proud and calculating, faltered.
"Step away," he said. Just two words. But in them was the bite of steel, the chill of winter, the command of a lord whose patience had ended.
Her painted lips parted, ready with another line of charm, but the force of his glare silenced her. Embarrassment burned across her face as she withdrew, the snickers of other noblewomen cutting sharper than knives.
Penelope tossed her glass aside with a clink and stood. "I'll look as well," she announced, her tone sharper than usual. She did not wait for permission, striding out with an unusual urgency.
The Queen clapped her hands together, trying to soothe the gathering. "Please, do remain calm. The guards will find her soon. No one must leave the ballroom until we know where Lady Sofia has gone."
But Kael was already standing. His movements were measured, too calm, and that unsettled the lords and ladies more than rage would have. He drew a cigarette from his coat, lit it with a flick of flame from his fingertips, and exhaled a thin trail of smoke that curled like a serpent toward the ceiling.
Then he strolled—unhurried, deliberate—out of the ballroom.
"Lord Kael!" the King called, half command, half plea. "No one must leave—"
The slam of the doors drowned his words.
The corridor beyond was quiet, lined with candlelight that cast long, flickering shadows against the stone. Kael walked, smoke trailing him, his boots echoing on the floor. He thought, not of Selene, not of the Queen's orders, but of Nerine. The girl who had once, in a moment of fragile rebellion, stepped outside for air during their engagement.
His memory sharpened like a blade. She hated crowded rooms, hated the press of eyes. If she had disappeared now… she would have sought air again.
He turned down the passage that led away from the great hall, following instinct as much as recollection. Then he stopped. His sharp eyes fell on something glinting faintly on the floor.
Glass.
He bent and picked it up, rolling it between his fingers. It was the shard of a broken goblet, the stem jagged.
"She was here," he murmured, almost to himself, a flicker of unease breaking through the iron mask.
His gaze lifted. Doors lined the corridor. One by one, he tried them, his senses stretching into the silence. Then—he froze.
A smell.
Thick, coppery. Blood. Too much blood.
His hand pressed against the door. The wood was cold beneath his palm. He pushed it open. Darkness met him.
Kael stepped inside, snapped his fingers, and flames flared to life in every sconce.
The sight that greeted him twisted something deep inside.
Nerine.
She was crumpled on the floor, her blue gown soaked until it looked like the sea itself had turned to blood. Her hands were slick, red up to the wrists, and the liquid still dripped between her fingers onto the marble.
Another body lay beside her—a man, half-vampire by the stench of his blood, his chest blasted or digged open, lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Nerine groaned, stirring. She lifted her head slowly, groggily, as though waking from a nightmare. Her gaze drifted to her hands. The blood. Too much blood. She blinked at it, disoriented, then lifted her wide, horrified eyes to Kael.
"I—" her lips trembled. "What… what happened—"
The horror struck her fully then. The blood soaking her. The body beside her. Her own hands painted crimson.
And she screamed.
The sound ripped through the chamber, sharp and raw, echoing against the walls until it seemed the castle itself shuddered.
Kael stood in the doorway, smoke from his forgotten cigarette curling around his face, the firelight burning in his eyes.
The night had turned. And nothing would be the same.