Ela was a study in controlled resentment. Her movements were sharp, precise, and entirely lacking in human warmth. The next hour was less a preparation for a presentation and more an initiation into a cold, beautiful hell.
Mia was stripped of the silk robe—a humiliating exposure under Ela's emerald gaze. The dressing process was brutal, devoid of courtesy. The garment itself, a floor-length gown the color of deep, frozen wine, was tailored to perfection, hugging her curves with oppressive rigidity. The low-cut neckline and the severe, pulled-back hair transformed Mia from a desperate girl into an unwilling, exquisite exhibit.
"Stand still, human," Ela hissed, yanking the corset laces tight enough to steal Mia's breath. "The Prince demands perfection. And perfection does not come with flaws."
"I am not one of your dolls," Mia gasped, pushing weakly at Ela's hands.
Ela's thin lips curled. "You are less. A necessary trinket. You will stand, you will be silent, and you will obey. Your sole purpose is to reflect the Prince's glory. Do not forget that."
The contempt in Ela's eyes was a mirror of the disdain Mia had felt from the rest of the Court. It was a suffocating realization: she wasn't just hated by the vampires; she was scorned for her humanity, viewed as weak, breakable, and wholly unworthy of Asher's proximity.
"Now," Ela commanded, stepping back to deliver a final, clinical assessment. "You will wear these." She lifted a pair of gloves, long and black, extending past Mia's elbows. "And this."
The jewelry was obsidian and silver, heavy, cold, and wickedly sharp in design. The necklace was a dark collar that settled just above the neckline, and the bracelet, a cuff that rested precisely over the faint, warm pulse of the crimson mark on her wrist. The moment the cuff clasped shut, the bond flared. The metallic pressure against the mark seemed to amplify the connection, sending a dizzying rush of Asher's impatience and dark pride directly into her chest.
Ready, kitten.
The voice wasn't auditory; it was a thought, cold and firm, wrapped in a layer of absolute certainty. It stole her breath, making her clutch the edge of the vanity.
"The Prince is waiting," Ela announced, her voice snapping Mia back to the present.
The walk from the private chambers to the Grand Hall felt like a descent into the maw of a beast. The corridors were endless, lit by torches that cast menacing shadows. With every step, Mia felt the Court drawing nearer—hundreds of cold, powerful vampires, all waiting to judge the human who dared to claim the Prince's attention.
Her anxiety peaked, a suffocating wave of pure panic. She stumbled, her borrowed heels clicking loudly against the polished marble.
Control it. The thought struck her like a whip, sharp and immediate. It was Asher, through the bond.
Then, the true sensory overload hit. As she reached the double doors of the Grand Hall, the bond slammed open, exposing her to the collective, unnerving reality of the Court. It was like walking into a massive, telepathic echo chamber. She didn't just feel her own fear; she felt the layered emotions of every vampire present: icy judgment, ancient hunger, scorn, curiosity, and vast, unreadable power. The air tasted of copper and charged electricity. Her head swam.
Focus on me. Asher's mental command was the only anchor in the swirling chaos of foreign emotion.
The heavy, ornate doors swung inward.
The Grand Hall was immense, impossibly old, and dripping with opulent darkness. Tiered balconies overlooked a main floor where hundreds of vampires were gathered, dressed in silks, velvet, and tailored suits, their eyes glowing faintly, fixed entirely on her. She was the only human, and she was entirely exposed.
She felt the hunger—a cold, clinical desire to taste her, to test the claim Asher had placed upon her. It was so potent it made her knees buckle. She instinctively lowered her eyes, a gesture of submission.
Suddenly, a massive hand settled on the small of her back. Asher.
He had materialized at her side, silent and terrifyingly commanding. The mere contact sent a jolt of raw power and possessiveness through the bond that silenced the peripheral noise of the Court's emotions. It was a sudden, intense flood of his presence—dominant, protective, and unmistakably carnal. He was angry at her momentary surrender and thrilled by her vulnerability.
"Raise your head, Mia," he murmured, the name a possessive growl against her ear. "You do not bow to these creatures. You stand beside their Prince."
His thumb pressed into her lower back, a searing point of heat through the heavy fabric of the gown. It was a touch that was both a command and a threat—a silent promise of what her resistance would cost, amplified by the raging, possessive pleasure she felt flaring through the bond.
She obeyed, forcing her chin up. Her eyes, wide and terrified, met his. His gaze was dark, smoldering, and entirely focused on her.
Don't look away. Look at me. Only me. The command was a silken chain, pulling her focus, making the surrounding Court fade into a blur of cold faces and glowing eyes.
He began the slow descent down the grand staircase. Every step was a calculated performance. His hand shifted, slipping to her waist, his long, cold fingers resting just beneath the curve of her ribs. The intimacy of the touch in such a public setting was breathtakingly dominant. He was not merely guiding her; he was displaying his ownership, his confidence so absolute it bordered on cruelty.
Halfway down, a tall vampire with hair the color of midnight and eyes the shade of pale silver detached himself from the crowd. He approached the base of the stairs, his attention fixed on Mia, his lips curving into a slow, mocking smile.
His name is Kael. He is testing the bond, Asher's thought sliced through her mind, a lethal warning.
Kael stopped directly below them. His pale eyes flickered down to her chest, then up, challenging Asher. "The human is… small, Prince. Will she even survive the Valerius traditions?" His voice was smooth, edged with malice.
Mia felt a sudden, aggressive mental probe, like a shard of ice pressing against the edges of her mind. Kael was trying to breach the bond, to taste her fear, to find a weakness in Asher's claim.
A sickening wave of nausea hit Mia. She gasped, trying to pull away, but Asher's fingers tightened, digging into her side.
No, you don't. Asher's silent fury was a cold, terrifying storm that crushed the invading mental probe instantly.
Before Kael could react, Asher delivered his public reprimand. He didn't speak to Kael; he spoke to Mia, but his words were meant for the entire Court.
"You look distressed, my bride," Asher said, his voice carrying the calm authority of a god. He lowered his head, pressing his lips to her exposed collarbone, right above the heavy silver collar, making the gesture intimate and utterly possessive. The contact sent a bolt of pure, unbridled desire and menace through the bond—a flash of his true, unrestrained hunger for her.
He lifted his head, his eyes burning with controlled fury. "She is still adjusting to the scope of my protection. Some, like Kael," he articulated the name with icy precision, "forget that every vein in her body belongs solely to me. And if one drop of her blood is shed, or one thought is stolen, the price will be extinction."
His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against his side, forcing her to feel the immense, rigid strength of his body. It was a brutal display of dominance, a clear statement that Mia was not merely a bride, but a weaponized asset.
Kael's silver eyes flashed with shocked fury, but he stepped back, a single, sharp bow of forced deference. "My apologies, Prince. I merely sought to welcome her."
Asher's response was a cold, silent glance. He then continued the descent, his hand never leaving her.
When they reached the main floor, the sense of threat remained, but the hunger had retreated. Asher had made his claim absolute. Mia felt the cold sweat on her skin, her heart hammering against his chest. She was shaking, terrified, but something primal had shifted. The bond, hot and fiercely possessive, felt less like a chain and more like a fortress against the rest of the world. He had just protected her in the most terrifying way possible.
You performed adequately, Asher's thought brushed her mind, a silent, dark praise that felt terrifyingly close to a caress. But you still tremble. We must fix that.
He steered her toward the center of the room, her every movement dictated by the slightest pressure of his hand. She hated the submission, the complete lack of control, and yet, the fierce, protective heat radiating from his side was the only thing keeping her upright. She was a captured prize, paraded for the monster who claimed her. And she knew, with terrifying certainty, that this was only the beginning of her servitude to the Prince of Vampires.