Chapter Six — A Proposal of Shadows
Dawn broke over the forest in muted gold, the kind of light that seemed too gentle to touch the world Leroy Donovan belonged to.
Christin woke to the faint hum of silence — no crackling fire, no bird song, just the chill that always followed him.
She turned and found him standing at the edge of the clearing, his dark cloak rippling faintly in the morning wind. He was impossibly still, the sunlight struggling to touch him, as though it, too, feared his presence.
"You're awake," he said without turning. His voice, deep and smooth, carried easily through the air — calm, detached.
Christin pulled her cloak tighter around her. "You didn't sleep."
"I don't," he replied. "Sleep is a weakness of the living."
She frowned, brushing the dirt from her skirt. "You say that as if it's shameful."
"It is… inconvenient." He finally looked at her, his crimson eyes catching the faintest glimmer of dawn. "And for what it's worth, Princess, you should be grateful you still can."
Her heart skipped. "Grateful?"
"For dreams," he said simply. "They belong to mortals — the luxury of hope."
Christin didn't answer. He turned away again, mounting his black stallion in one smooth, effortless motion.
"Come," he ordered. "We're returning to your father's castle."
Her throat tightened. "I thought you said you'd let me go."
"I did. But your kingdom's walls are where this conversation belongs — not in the wild."
"Conversation?" she echoed, suspicion sharpening her tone.
He met her gaze, unreadable. "You'll understand soon enough."
They rode in silence. The forest thinned, giving way to the silver towers of the royal palace. Every step closer made her pulse quicken. Christin wasn't sure which she feared more — her father's wrath, or the cold certainty in Leroy's eyes.
When they arrived, the castle guards nearly dropped their spears. The Vampire King was a myth to most — a story used to frighten disobedient soldiers. Yet here he was, astride a horse as black as midnight, his aura thick and oppressive.
The courtyard froze. Servants and nobles alike bowed instinctively. The air itself felt heavy, saturated with the unspoken truth — this was not a man they could command.
Christin dismounted quietly, the weight of dozens of stares following her every move.
"Your father waits in the throne room," Leroy said. "Do not speak until I have finished."
Her brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"
He turned to her fully then, and for the first time, she understood why even kings hesitated before him. His expression remained composed, but there was a gravity in his gaze — ancient, absolute.
"In my realm," he said softly, "when I speak, the world listens. Do not mistake courtesy for equality, Princess."
Christin's breath caught.
There was no arrogance in his tone — just fact.
The throne room fell silent when the great doors opened. King Fredrick Sinclair stood from his seat the moment his daughter entered — his expression a storm of relief and fury.
"Christin!" he exclaimed. "By the gods, we searched every—"
"She was attacked," Leroy interrupted. His voice cut through the room like a blade — calm, sharp, leaving no room for rebuttal. "By something not of your realm."
The king's eyes widened. "Attacked? By what?"
Leroy's gaze was steady. "A shadow from the ancient woods. Your guards would not have survived. She would not have, either."
Christin flinched slightly at his bluntness.
King Fredrick's tone softened, gratitude flickering across his features. "Then I owe you a debt, Your Majesty."
Leroy's lips curved slightly — not quite a smile. "A debt easily repaid."
The tension in the room shifted.
The king's advisor, a thin man in gold robes, stepped forward. "Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "it is an honor to host the King of—"
"Silence," Leroy said without raising his voice.
The man stopped mid-sentence.
It was as if the command carried physical weight; even the guards stiffened.
"Your court speaks too freely," Leroy continued. "In my presence, only truth or necessity will do."
The air crackled. Christin stared at him, stunned by the quiet dominance that needed no shouting, no violence — just presence.
King Fredrick cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. "Then… perhaps you will tell us the truth of why you came."
Leroy stepped forward, his boots echoing softly against the marble floor. "I came to offer something no human king has ever been granted."
The tension in the room thickened.
"I wish to marry your daughter," he said simply.
Gasps rippled through the court. Christin's heart stopped.
Fredrick blinked, utterly lost. "You—what?"
Leroy didn't blink. "A union between our realms. Between blood and light. It will bring balance — and peace. Your kingdom will be under my protection."
"And if I refuse?" the king asked slowly.
Leroy's eyes darkened. "Then your borders will remain unguarded when the shadows come again."
The meaning hung heavy. It wasn't a threat — it was a fact, as immovable as stone.
Christin found her voice at last. "You can't just—decide my fate like this!"
He turned to her, his tone as cold as the moonlight spilling across the throne room. "Fate is not decided by mortals, Princess. It's recognized by those who see beyond it."
"Then you're no better than the monsters they say you are!"
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes — a brief glint of emotion before it vanished. "Perhaps," he murmured. "But monsters don't ask. They take."
He turned back to her father. "I'll await your answer at sundown. Do not waste my patience."
And with that, he walked past them, the scent of cold iron trailing behind him.
Every person in the room felt the same truth settle into their bones: The Vampire King's will was law — even here.
Christin's knees threatened to give way. She gripped the edge of a marble pillar, her breath coming shallow and fast.
Marry him? He must be mad.
And yet… that look in his eyes — it wasn't cruelty. It was certainty.
Her father called her name, but she barely heard him. Her pulse drowned out everything.
Why her?
Why now?
And why, beneath all that fury, did her heart ache with something that felt dangerously like longing?