BLAIR'S POV
Day four began not with the tolling of the castle bells, but with the cloying, suffocating scent of jasmine.
It was a sharp contrast to the aroma I had grown accustomed to—the scent of rain-drenched cedar, ancient parchment, and the cold, metallic tang of Damien's power. I sat up in the massive bed, my skin tingling. The lace gown Damien had dressed me in felt like a second skin, but as I looked at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I noticed something new. There was a faint, ethereal glow beneath my skin, as if my veins were filled with liquid moonlight instead of blood.
The heart palpitations were gone, replaced by a steady, heavy thrum that felt more like a machine than a human organ. I felt strong—dangerously so—but the silence of the castle felt heavy with secrets.
I walked toward the East Wing's grand dining hall, expecting to find Damien brooding over a glass of dark wine. Instead, I found a nightmare dressed in silver.
A woman sat at the head of the obsidian table. She was the definition of predatory elegance. Her skin was the color of fresh cream, her hair a waterfall of spun starlight that fell to her waist. But it was her eyes that stopped my breath—they were solid orbs of polished silver, devoid of pupils, reflecting my own stunned expression back at me.
She was sipping from a crystal flute, her movements fluid and hauntingly graceful.
"So," she began, her voice a soft, melodic hum that felt like a razor blade against my skin. "This is the 'vessel' that has caused our Prince to lose his mind. I expected something… more substantial. Not a flickering candle waiting for the wind to blow it out."
I didn't flinch. I had spent my entire life being looked down upon by my family; a silver-eyed vampire wasn't going to make me tremble. I pulled out a chair opposite her, the screech of wood against marble echoing in the silent hall. I sat down, crossing my legs and leaning back with a confidence I didn't truly feel.
"I have a name," I said, my voice steady. "And who are you? The palace decorator? Because the jasmine is a bit much."
The woman paused, a cold, jagged laugh escaping her blood-red lips. "I am Lady Seraphina, daughter of the High Clan of the North. And if it weren't for a thousand-year-old betrayal, I would be the woman sitting on the throne this castle was built for. I am the bride promised to Damien before your ancestors even learned to walk upright."
She stood up, her silver silk gown shimmering like snake scales. She walked around the table, her steps silent. As she approached, the air grew colder, the jasmine scent turning sharp and acidic. She leaned down, her face inches from mine. Up close, she smelled of old graves and expensive perfume.
"You feel powerful, don't you, Blair?" she whispered, her silver eyes scanning my face with clinical disgust. "You think the blood he forced into you is a gift. You think you're being healed."
She reached out, her long, sharp nail tracing the line of my jaw. I wanted to slap her hand away, but I was frozen by the sheer weight of her aura.
"Damien's blood is a curse for a mortal," Seraphina hissed. "It doesn't heal; it colonizes. It's turning you into something that is neither alive nor dead—a ghoul tied to his will. And the moment he stops feeding you his essence, or the moment the Council decides to erase his mistake, you won't just die. You will rot in a matter of seconds. You are a biological ticking time bomb, little bird."
"He protected me from the Council," I spat, findng my voice. "He chose me over the Tithe."
"He chose a distraction," Seraphina countered, straightening up. "The Council didn't come for war, Blair. They came for a deal. And the price for Damien's full restoration—for his crown and his true immortality—is your head. Or his soul. Do you really think he'll choose a dying girl over a kingdom?"
The heavy oak doors of the hall slammed open. The shadows in the room suddenly surged, climbing the walls like ink spilled in water. Damien stepped in, his military tunic obsidian-black, his eyes glowing with a suppressed, lethal rage.
"Seraphina," he growled. The floorboards beneath his boots seemed to groan under the weight of his power. "I did not give you leave to enter this wing."
"I don't need leave to visit my intended, Damien," Seraphina said, her voice shifting into a sultry, manipulative purr. She walked toward him, her hand gliding over the silver embroidery of his chest, her touch possessive and familiar.
My stomach lurched. Damien didn't push her away. He stood rigid, his gaze shifting to me. There was a wall in his eyes—a mixture of warning, guilt, and that suffocating denial he wore like armor. He looked at me as if I were a problem he hadn't yet solved.
"Blair, go back to your room," he commanded. His voice was cold, devoid of the heat we had shared just hours before.
"Why?" I challenged, standing up so quickly my chair toppled over. "Am I interrupting the wedding planning? Or are you afraid I'll hear the part where you trade my head for your crown?"
"Now, Blair!" he roared.
The shadows in the room erupted, snapping at the air like vipers. The glass on the table shattered, shards flying everywhere. One grazed my cheek, a tiny sting that felt like a betrayal.
I didn't wait for him to say it a third time. I turned and walked out of the hall, my heart—his heart—pounding with a fury that felt like fire. I wasn't just fighting a disease anymore. I was fighting a thousand years of history and a woman who looked like she owned the soul of the man I was starting to crave.
As I stormed down the hallway, I passed Valerius, who was leaning against a statue with a serpent-like grin.
"Careful, little sacrifice," he whispered as I passed. "Seraphina isn't just his past. She's the only one who can make him a King again without burning the world down. In her world, you're just a stain on his legacy that needs to be bleached out."
I didn't stop. I locked myself in my room, my hands shaking. I looked at the black rose on the vanity—the one Damien had given me. I picked it up and crushed it in my fist until the thorns drew blood.
The blood wasn't red. It was a dark, shimmering violet.
Seraphina was right about one thing. I was changing. And in this castle full of monsters, I was beginning to realize that the man who saved me might be the most dangerous one of all. Not because he wanted to kill me, but because he didn't know how to love me without destroying me.