"Are you okay?" Betai asked softly, her fingers tugging the waist cincher tighter around Eira's stomach.
Eira winced, just a little. The fabric was stiff, ancient, foreign, and smelled faintly of dust and rose oil.
"Yeah" she murmured, her voice strained as she tried to breathe through the pressure. "Just feels like I'm being gift-wrapped for a funeral."
Betai chuckled, the sound light, but edged with nerves. "That's the spirit."
The room was large and ornate, tucked deep within the palace grounds. Candles flickered in iron sconces, casting long shadows across the polished stone floor.
The dancers moved about in their attires, adjusting their gowns, fixing their hair and painting their lips with crushed red berries to look like they had just drunk blood.
Outside, the celebrations had already begun.
Eira could hear the low, rhythmic drums that pulsed like a slow heartbeat; the eerie strings that wailed like spirits in mourning.
There was laughter too. It was cold and aristocratic. The kind that obviously didn't sound human. Nobles and royals from every bloodline in the realm had gathered for this night.
All except the Red King.
No one knew why he wouldn't be attending. No one dared ask.
But Eira had to.
After all, the Red King, the proxy of this realm, was her target. He was the one she had to destroy to sever the data vein and move on.
Since arriving in this world, she'd kept her mouth relatively shut, blending in with the other dancers under the Furries troupe. Asking too many questions would raise suspicions from people around.
But tonight was different. She had to ask.
Eira turned slightly, leaning toward Rya, one of the few dancers she'd grown close to.
"So, what's this ceremony really about?" she whispered, keeping her tone casual.
Rya glanced around, then whispered, "It's called the Moon Requiem. It happens once a year when the twin moons align perfectly over the palace."
Eira nodded, goading her further. "Hm. Really?"
"Yes. It's a blood rite." Rya continued. "The nobles and the royal houses gather to honor the goddess who birthed vampirism. They call her the Crimson Mother. They celebrate the draining of humanity and the rebirth of immortal flesh."
Eira's stomach turned. "Sounds… charming."
Rya nodded. "It's very sacred to them."
Eira hesitated before asking. "If it's that important, why isn't the Red King coming?"
Before Rya could answer, Letha, the troupe's manager, cleared her throat and walked over. She pinched Eira's waist playfully and leaned in. "You've got guts, girl. Don't you know the walls have ears?"
Eira flushed, and straightened. "Sorry. Just curious. As you know, I'm new."
Letha sighed as she looked between the two girls. "Curiosity kills more than cats around here, Eira. Be careful."
Eira simply nodded, scratching her head.
Then came the call.
The heavy doors creaked open, and the dancers lined up in perfect formation. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the sound of their synchronized footsteps as they began their procession out.
Eira's heart pounded in her chest. It was her first performance in the palace grounds.
They stepped into the courtyard, and she nearly forgot how to breathe.
The place was magnificent—hauntingly so. It was a massive gothic courtyard washed in the eerie light of two moons, both full, and unnaturally vibrant.
Marble pillars lined the space, made with reliefs of screaming angels and kneeling humans. Statues of winged beasts guarded the perimeter, their eyes faintly glowing in the light.
The nobles sat in arranged rows, draped in robes that screamed crazy wealth. Their faces were pale, elegant, and utterly still as they drank thick red liquid from golden chalices shaped like human skulls. The air smelled of incense, burnt myrrh, and something metallic beneath it all.
Blood no doubt.
At the highest of the land stood the throne. It was massive, sculpted entirely from iron, and wrapped in black chains.
It was empty.
Eira immediately knew it belonged to the Red King.
The Furries began.
The music shifted—slow, ritualistic, pulsing like a heartbeat. The dancers moved aggressively, their bodies twisting and turning in perfect harmony. Their gowns shimmered in the light, and their steps sharp and haunting.
Eira danced like her life depended on it. Which was kind of true, given that was the reason she was saved.
She felt the rhythm in her bones, the energy in her veins. The courtyard throbbed with power. The vampires watched, drinking, laughing, and chatting among themselves.
Then the air suddenly shifted.
A sudden chill licked at her skin, crawling down her spine. The chill got thicker, growing sharper, more electric.
Someone or something was coming.
Despite the dark aura pressing against her skin, she kept dancing.
The drums faltered for a heartbeat, then fell silent. The laughter ceased. Even the wind seemed to stop.
Then he appeared.
The Red King.
He walked slowly into the courtyard, his presence swallowing the light. The crowd bowed in unison, and even the air seemed to bend beneath his presence.
He was tall—unnaturally so. His long red robe shimmered like blood under the moonlight. His hair was black as ink, and fell loose around his shoulders. His face was flawless and inhumanly cold. His eyes were unreadable, dark enough to drown in.
Behind him came two figures. One, armored in dark silver, his face obscured by a helm. The other one, a man taller than even the King, walked in silence beside him. His hair was pure white, his eyes like shards of onyx. In his hand, he carried a scroll bound in sinew.
The Red King reached the throne and sat.
The silence shattered as everyone bowed lower. Even the dancers.
Eira followed suit, her head bowed, but her heart pounding so violently she was sure everyone could hear it.
When the King lifted a single hand, the ceremony resumed.
Music returned, softer this time, almost reverent. Eira rose with the others and began moving again. But every muscle in her body trembled.
The King's aura pressed against her like invisible claws. It was heavy and dark.
Her steps faltered for half a second, and she nearly lost her balance. But Rya's hand caught her wrist, steadying her.
"Focus." she whispered to her, never breaking formation.
Eira nodded and pushed through, forcing her body to obey even as her mind screamed to flee.
When the final note struck, the courtyard fell into silence once more, and the dancers froze in their last pose, their breaths sharp and shallow.
Feeling bolder now, Eira lifted her head slowly.
The Red King was speaking to the white-haired man with the scroll. They looked to be engaged in serious conversation.
But then, without warning, the white-haired man turned sharply. His haunting gaze landed on her, locking hers into place. She suddenly felt weightless and extremely weak.
His eyes were pure darkness—ancient, knowing, and infinite. They pierced through her skin and mind. She felt as though he could see everything about her.
She tried to look away, but she physically couldn't. She felt her body and mind burning wildly, but without the pain. Panic soared in her
What had she just done??