Beth and I stood frozen, our bodies aching with exhaustion and fear, as the vampire trader approached the gate guards. He spoke briefly, the words too low for us to catch, before one of the guards gave a curt, almost bored nod.
The massive gates groaned open, a sound like a giant sighing, and a gust of cold, sterilized air washed over us, so different from the humid, dusty air of the market. The courtyard stretched ahead, a grand expanse of polished black stone and gold filigree, alive with unseen eyes that seemed to follow our every slow, painful step. My feet felt rooted to the ground, heavy and hesitant to move forward into the heart of the predator's lair.
"HEY!" the trader shouted, his voice rough, urging us along with a threatening gesture of his whip.
Red vampire eyes pierced me from every angle—from the guards, from the windows of the lower palace wings, from the shadows between the columns. I felt like prey, a mouse trapped in a wide, brightly lit arena, surrounded by silent, assessing predators. Every nerve ending screamed at me to run, but the chains and the fear kept me shackled.
Suddenly, a thunderous pounding shook the very ground beneath my worn shoes. The rhythm was sharp, fast, and uniform—the sound of well-trained warhorses. Hooves clattered in perfect unison, drowning out all other sound.
Guards shouted, their voices sharp with urgency, shoving us—the slave procession—violently aside against a cold stone wall. "MAKE WAY! His Majesty is returning from the hunt!"
I pressed my face into the cold stone, trying to disappear.
Six horses charged forward in a tight formation, their riders clad in gleaming, dark armor that reflected the fading light. One horse, a magnificent black stallion, carried the kingdom's standard, a dark flag fluttering proudly in the slipstream of their charge.
And then I saw him—the King.
He rode slightly ahead of the others, mounted on a steed even larger and more powerful than the rest. Cloaked in dark, heavy fabric that glinted faintly with threads of silver in the low light, he radiated a terrifying, magnetic authority that silenced the entire courtyard. He wasn't merely powerful; he was power made manifest.
His dark red eyes—the terrifying, unmistakable eyes of a Pure-blood—swept the crowd. They were deep, cold, and ancient, missing nothing. They paused, moving slowly across the line of terrified slaves, and then, for one paralyzing moment, they landed on me.
The world seemed to shrink and grow simultaneously. All sound faded. I felt his gaze pierce me to my core, not with lust or anger, but with a cold, terrifying indifference—the way a person observes a troublesome insect. It was a gaze that instantly reduced my entire existence to nothing.
"Bow, girl!" whispered the trader sharply, his voice a panicked hiss, snapping me out of my trance.
I sank instantly to the floor, scraping my knees on the unforgiving stone, bowing low until my forehead touched the cold pavement. My pulse raced, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs, threatening to burst through my chest. The King was so close I could feel the residual heat and power from his passing.
The horses passed, leaving behind echoes of rolling thunder and a silence thick with awe-struck terror. I stayed low, breathing in the smell of dust, cold metal, and a faint, sharp scent I couldn't place—perhaps the scent of the hunt.
When the trader finally hauled me up by the chain, I could barely stand.
We followed the trader through the rest of the courtyard, into the palace's inner structure. It was a place of impossible grandeur. Towers spiraled skyward, golden spires catching the last rays of the sun. The outer walls were adorned with intricate carvings of hunting scenes and vampire iconography. Massive, obsidian doors were polished to a mirror-like sheen.
Inside, the opulence was overwhelming. Servants moved silently, fluidly, almost like part of the palace itself, their presence barely disturbing the air. They were mostly turned vampires, judging by their faintly glowing eyes. Occasionally, a curious, fleeting glance was cast our way, a silent assessment of the new goods, before they disappeared behind the towering marble columns.
The trader ushered us down a secondary corridor, away from the main halls, and through a small, nondescript wooden door into a storage room. It smelled faintly of cleaning solution and something metallic.
A vampress stood there, waiting. She was not a noble, but a high-ranking servant or functionary, her red eyes gleaming with professional detachment. She wore a dark, severe uniform.
She inspected us silently, running her gaze over our bound forms. She took my hands and turned them over, examining the calluses and the raw marks left by the chains, as if evaluating the quality of livestock.
"Quality goods," the trader said proudly, wiping sweat from his brow. "Strong, still young."
"Strong," she murmured approvingly, her voice dry and rustling, like dead leaves. She threw a heavy bag of coins at him, a dull clink that sealed our fate and her ownership of us. The transaction was quiet, cold, and utterly final. The chains were removed from our wrists, leaving our skin burning where the metal had pressed.
"You," she said, gesturing to Beth, "You will work in the kitchen. Heavy labor. Do not cause trouble."
She then turned her sharp, assessing gaze on me. "You will work in the royal wing,. You will be a personal maid to serve the King."
My breath hitched. The royal wing? The King?
A younger girl, a nervous-looking human with a plain dress, arrived to take Beth away. Beth and I exchanged a quick, despairing look—a silent farewell that felt final. Then, I was left alone under the vampress's continued, chillingly scrutinizing gaze.