The excitement in Lady Vivian’s eyes could not be hidden. She bowed her head toward King Zyren the instant he announced the match, then lifted her chin again with the careful poise of someone trying too hard to look unaffected.
She resumed her meal, slicing delicately at her meat, sipping her wine with the elegance of nobility—but the gleam of triumph in her expression was unmistakable.
Aria, on the other hand, felt her appetite wither and die. The moment Zyren’s words left his lips, the food on her plate seemed tasteless, her throat tight. She set her utensils down, forcing herself to keep her face blank, though her gaze cut sharply toward Vivian. Then, reluctantly, toward Harriet.
Harriet sat stiff-backed, her movements strange—mechanical. She didn’t react to Zyren’s decree, didn’t even flinch. Her eyes were fixed on her plate, the spoon in her hand scraping, scraping, as though she didn’t notice the mess she was making. It was almost childlike, a mind disconnected from the body.
So the match is really going to happen, Aria thought bitterly. Her gaze slid to Zyren, who continued to drink from his goblet, the dark red liquid staining his lips. He barely touched the food laid before him, as if it wasn’t worth his time. She wanted to ask him why, wanted to pry into his thoughts, but she had bigger problems. Problems with flesh and blood consequences.
Aria kept still until Zyren finally rose to his feet. The scrape of his chair was the signal for the entire hall. As he strode toward the doors, cloak trailing, every noble and servant bowed their heads. Once the door shut behind him, silence loosened its grip and the room seemed to exhale.
Aria wasted no time. She pushed back her chair and crossed the distance to Harriet, ignoring the stares. Her boots clicked sharply against the polished floor, her expression tight with restrained frustration.
"You’re aware, aren’t you?" she said sharply, lowering her voice just enough to keep it from ringing through the hall. "I’m as strong as a vampire now. You can’t defeat me."
The words were direct, meant as warning, meant to pierce through whatever fog Harriet was drowning in.
But Harriet didn’t even blink. Her eyes stayed locked on her plate, on the food she hadn’t eaten. The spoon turned idly in her hand, scraping at broth, swirling bits of bread until it was nothing but mush. She didn’t acknowledge Aria at all.
The lords at the far end of the table exchanged glances. Nobles leaned toward one another, murmuring in disapproval at Aria’s boldness.
Lady Vivian was already on her feet, sweeping closer with a predatory grace. She positioned herself neatly at Harriet’s side, her smile as sharp as the flash of her golden rings.
"Lady Aria," she said sweetly, her voice carrying through the hall with the perfect balance of civility and venom. "Whatever you have to say should be said on the battle floor. It is clear Lady Harriet has no words for you."
Her snicker afterward was soft, but deliberate.
Aria held Harriet’s blank stare for a moment longer, searching for some flicker of humanity behind those dead eyes. Nothing. The void was worse than anger—it was like speaking to an empty shell.
Her frown deepened. She turned her gaze on Vivian, eyes narrowing, but said nothing. Not here. Not with so many eyes watching.
Spinning on her heel, Aria strode out of the hall, her expression thunderous. Her heart hammered in her chest as the doors shut behind her, the cool corridor air brushing her face. I could crush her in seconds, she thought. But I can’t bring myself to kill her. That’s what Zyren wants. That’s what he is. I won’t become him. I won’t stain my hands like that.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself forward, relieved by the single thought that steadied her: This time, I have a choice.
Back in the food hall, Harriet remained in her seat, spoon scraping against porcelain, broth spilling over the edge. She was making a mess of the plate but didn’t seem to notice.
Vivian didn’t care. She laid a hand on Harriet’s arm with practiced gentleness, her voice honey-smooth. "Harriet. Follow me."
Harriet’s body jerked slightly at the sound, then moved as if pulled by invisible strings. Vivian wrapped her arm around hers, practically guiding her out of the hall. She ignored the stares, the whispers, the curious looks from both nobles and servants. All that mattered was moving Harriet into her web, one step at a time.
The door shut behind them.
Silence lingered only a heartbeat before Lord Virelle spoke, his voice sharp and dismissive. "Vivian’s plan is stupid."
His tone wasn’t hushed—he didn’t bother. The nobles still seated quickly scrambled to their feet, leaving the hall in a nervous tide. No one wanted to be caught lingering when the lords began to speak.
"You think?" Lord Noctare scoffed, his translucent eyes glinting with amusement. His voice dripped sarcasm. "Zyren is the strongest vampire alive. His bloodline eclipses even his father’s. After completing the ritual, his power will have grown further—more dangerous than any of us can calculate. And the human he bonded with?"
He tilted his head toward the empty seat Aria had abandoned. "Weak before, perhaps. But now? Her body would rival even the elite units of the royal guard."
Virelle’s brows drew together. Even he couldn’t refute that.
To their surprise, Lord Drehk spoke then, his deep voice cutting through the air. He had been eating quietly, detached as always, but now he lifted his gaze. "Zyren would not have agreed to the match unless he was certain she would survive. That much is obvious. He likes her. Why else would he bond with a human?"
The implication hung heavy in the air. Everyone here knew what it meant: a ritual bond could not be severed, not unless one partner died.
"Exactly," Lythari purred from her seat, her long lashes lowering as her gaze slid over Drehk’s muscular arms. She leaned close to him, whispering in tones meant only for him but loud enough to be heard by the rest. "So all of Vivian’s scheming is meaningless."
She sighed theatrically, lips curling into a sly smirk. "She’ll weep in the end. That is, if she even realizes when she’s beaten."
Her eyes lingered on Drehk a moment longer, filled with unashamed desire. Unlike Vivian, Lythari didn’t let obsession drive her to madness. She understood her own hunger—her own infatuation—and she had patience. Drehk treated all women the same, showing no favor, no weakness. But she remembered the nights she’d shared his bed decades ago.
If I bid my time, I’ll be there again, she thought with serene confidence. She was immortal. Patience was her greatest weapon.
Virelle ran a hand through the red tips of his hair, an old habit when he was troubled. "Vivian won’t let go. She knows this is her last chance. She’ll use it. She has to."
"Perhaps," Noctare murmured, his smirk returning. "But that only matters if she has a choice. If there is no way to change the outcome, then she was doomed before she began."
He concealed the flicker of disappointment that tugged at him. Vivian’s obsession was partly his doing. Long ago, he had planted a seed in her mind—no control, just a suggestion, a nudge that had grown in the shadows of her heart. Zyren’s presence, his distance, had done the rest.
"If she can’t rid us of Aria, then she’s useless," Noctare finished coldly. His words were like blades hidden in silk, but the other lords understood well enough.
Breaking the bond would weaken Zyren. It was the only opening they might ever have. But so long as Aria lived, Zyren’s strength was untouchable.
And that meant Vivian’s games would either deliver them an opportunity... or seal her own ruin.