In the hushed opulence of her chamber, Hazel stirred from the haze that had claimed her after the garden's horrors. The faint scent of lavender from the bedside diffuser lingered, a futile attempt to soothe her frayed nerves. She was already dressed for the evening's banquet, the maids having tended to her while she lay unconscious. Her dark auburn hair was intricately braided and swept to one side, cascading over her shoulder and exposing the graceful curve of her neck. Golden accessories gleamed within the plaits—delicate pins shaped like vines and leaves that caught the candlelight. The ball gown was a masterpiece of midnight blue silk, its low neckline daringly plunging to hint at the soft swell of her cleavage without fully revealing it. At her throat rested a necklace bearing a single, deep blue ruby that pulsed like a captured star, drawing the eye inexorably downward.
She looked beautiful—ethereal, even—and the maids could not contain their admiration as they made final adjustments. "My lady, you are a vision," one whispered, fastening a bracelet. "The lord will be enchanted," another added with a shy smile.
But Hazel's mind was far from compliments. Her thoughts circled relentlessly back to the garden: the servant's pleas, the crimson spray, Primus's casual cruelty as he wiped his hands clean. A shiver ran through her despite the warmth of the room.
"My lady, is everything alright?" asked one of the younger servants, concern etching her features.
"Is the dress not to your liking?" another ventured, mistaking her distraction for dissatisfaction.
Hazel met their eyes briefly before asking the question that burned within her. "Is Lord Primus always… eating and killing people?"
A heavy silence fell. The maids exchanged fearful glances, their hands freezing mid-task. None dared speak until the head maid stepped forward, her voice low and cautious. "My lady, I am sorry, but we servants of low lives are not allowed to talk about the master."
Hazel nodded slowly, swallowing her frustration. "Never mind. Let's get ready to leave. And the dress is lovely—thank you."
She rose, smoothing the silk with trembling fingers, knowing she would find no answers here.
In a distant wing of the palace, within Tobias's dimly lit chamber, tension coiled like a serpent. Lady Morwen, aunt to both Primus and Tobias, sat rigidly in a high-backed chair, her crimson gown pooling like blood on the floor. Her sharp features were drawn tight with impatience as they awaited news of their ill-fated spy.
The door creaked open, and Kira, Morwen's loyal maid, slipped in, her head bowed in deference—and fear.
"My lady," she whispered, "the servant I paid to spy on Hazel was killed by Lord Primus."
"Nonsense!" Morwen barked, her eyes flashing with fury. She slammed her hand hard on the nearby table, the impact rattling a crystal decanter. "How incompetent you are becoming, Kira!"
"Calm down, Aunt Morwen," Tobias interjected smoothly, though his own expression betrayed a flicker of unease. He lounged in his seat, ever the picture of composed elegance, but his fingers drummed subtly against the armrest.
"Don't tell me to calm down! What if he confessed that we sent him?" Morwen hissed, leaning forward.
"My lady, I made sure not to let him know you were involved," Kira assured quickly, her voice quivering.
"Leave," Tobias commanded curtly. Kira bowed and fled, closing the door softly behind her.
Alone now, Morwen's gaze bored into Tobias. "That bastard will kill us if he finds out what we did. We need to eliminate him."
"It wouldn't be that easy," Tobias replied coolly. "If it were, we wouldn't have needed the help of the slayer family centuries ago. We need to find out who Hazel truly is—and eliminate her."
"Yes, you are right," Morwen conceded, exhaling sharply. "Let's get ready to leave. It's almost time for the banquet. Wear your fakest smile."
Tobias smirked as he rose. "Always, dear Aunt. Always."
The grand ballroom thrummed with life, a glittering assembly of aristocratic vampires from far-flung domains and their human counterparts from high society. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, deceptive glow over the dancers swirling across the marble floor, their laughter mingling with the lilting strains of a string quartet. Goblets clinked—some filled with rich wine, others with something far more viscous.
The butler's voice boomed through the hall: "Lord Primus!"
All movement paused as he entered, moving with predatory grace down the sweeping staircase. Women blushed and whispered behind fans, their eyes devouring him—his black suit tailored to perfection, the red embroidery a subtle nod to spilled blood. Some ladies wore gowns so sheer and revealing they bordered on scandal, blatant attempts to seduce the returned lord. But Primus spared them no glance, his crimson eyes scanning the room with detached amusement as he ascended his throne at the head of the hall.
Moments later, the butler announced again: "Lady Hazel!"
She entered, a vision in dark blue that silenced the murmurs. The gown hugged her form, the low neckline and ruby necklace accentuating her delicate beauty. Jewelry adorned her like stars on a midnight sky, and as she descended the stairs, men stared openly, admiration lighting their faces. The women, however, regarded her with thinly veiled hatred and jealousy, their smiles brittle as glass.
Primus, for the first time that night, was transfixed. His gaze locked on her, intense and unwavering. She is so beautiful, he thought, a possessive heat surging through him. I will pluck out the eyes of any man who dares look at her too long. The territorial urge surprised even him, raw and primal.
Hazel approached the throne as instructed by the head maid, extending her hand with practiced poise. Primus took it gently, his cold lips brushing her knuckles in a kiss that lingered, his eyes boring into hers as if seeking to claim her soul. A slow, predatory smile curved his mouth as he helped her settle into the seat beside him—close, almost intimately so.
Rising to address the assembly, his voice carried effortlessly over the crowd. "This banquet is to welcome my return and to correct some errors I failed to address centuries ago. I am back, and I apologize for all you must have endured in my absence. Lady Hazel, daughter of the human Duke Denzel, will be my wife by the next new moon. Please show her the same respect you would show to me."
He raised his goblet. "Now, enjoy the party."
The music resumed, the dancing and drinking swelling once more. But beneath the revelry, shadows stirred—jealous glances, whispered plots, and eyes that watched the new lady with far more than mere curiosity.
Hazel sat beside her monstrous fiancé, her heart a storm of fear and unresolved questions, wondering if this glittering cage would ever truly feel like home—or if it would become her tomb.