Chapter Nine — The Choice of a Heart
The rain had stopped by morning, leaving the castle washed in silver mist. Drops clung to the ivy-covered walls like scattered pearls, and the air smelled faintly of wet stone and roses.
Christin stood by her window, her reflection blurred in the glass. Her thoughts were heavier than the storm clouds that lingered over the distant hills.
I never asked for this bond.
I never wanted to be anyone's destiny.
Yet the words Leroy had spoken the night before refused to leave her.
"You mistake restraint for cruelty."
"You think I chose to feel my blood burn every time you look at me?"
Those words had shaken something in her — something she couldn't quite name.
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Come in," she said, expecting a maid.
But when the door opened, it was her younger stepbrother, Prince Elliot. Barely twelve, with messy blond hair and the same hazel eyes as their father, he slipped into her room clutching a small wooden sword.
"Sis," he said, his voice small but earnest. "You look sad again."
Christin smiled faintly. "Do I?"
He nodded. "You always stare out the window when you're thinking too much. Father says you get that from Mother."
Her chest tightened at the word Mother. The ache of a love she never knew still lived deep inside her — quiet but endless.
Elliot climbed up onto the edge of her window seat. "Are you scared?"
Christin blinked. "Of what?"
"The Vampire King."
She let out a slow breath. "He's… complicated."
Elliot tilted his head. "Father says powerful men are always complicated. But he also said even powerful men need someone who tells them the truth."
Christin smiled gently. "He said that?"
He nodded proudly. "He told me to remind you that running away from hard things doesn't make them disappear. It just makes them harder when they find you again."
Her heart softened at her brother's wisdom — childish yet pure. She brushed a strand of hair from his face. "Thank you, Elliot. You always know how to say the right thing."
He grinned. "I just listen to Father."
She ruffled his hair playfully. "Then tell Father I'll come see him soon."
As Elliot skipped away, she stood there a while longer, staring at the distant towers of the west wing — where Leroy resided.
Maybe her brother was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.
The King's Chambers
Her father sat by the fire, his hands clasped around a cup of tea gone cold. His crown rested on the table beside him — a symbol of authority he suddenly seemed too tired to wear.
When Christin entered, he looked up with quiet relief. "Christin. I was hoping you'd come."
She knelt beside him, resting her hand on his. "Father, you look pale."
He gave a weak chuckle. "I'm growing old, my dear. And lately, it feels as though time itself has turned against me."
They sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again. "I've failed you in many ways, Christin. I should have protected you more from this court, from your sister's envy, from this burden you never asked to bear."
"You didn't fail me," she said softly. "You did what you could."
He smiled sadly. "And now, a man not of this world demands your hand. I can see why you resist him — he is cold, distant. But I've seen the way he looks at you, and it's not hunger or conquest."
Christin frowned slightly. "Then what is it?"
"Recognition," her father murmured. "As if he's been searching for something… and finally found it in you."
The words struck something deep within her.
Her father continued, voice gentler now. "Love isn't always born from warmth, my dear. Sometimes, it begins in fire and silence — two souls learning to understand each other's storms."
Christin's throat tightened.
"You don't have to love him today," he said. "But perhaps you can start by not fearing what could become."
For a long moment, Christin said nothing. Then she leaned forward and embraced him, whispering, "Thank you, Father."
When she left his chambers, her steps felt lighter. The uncertainty hadn't vanished — but her resolve had begun to take shape.
The Garden Confrontation
She found Leroy later that evening in the rose gardens, speaking quietly with Duncan. The air was cool, the scent of rain still fresh.
Before she could speak, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"So it's true."
Christin turned — and there stood Isabella, her crimson gown gleaming like spilled wine under the moonlight. Her expression was a mask of perfect rage, and behind her, the Queen watched silently, her face pale and unreadable.
"I hear you've finally accepted the monster's proposal," Isabella said, her lips curling. "How fitting. The maid's daughter marrying a beast."
Christin exhaled slowly, refusing to let her temper rise. "Better a beast who knows what he is than a woman who hides her cruelty behind a smile."
Isabella's eyes widened. "You dare—"
"Yes," Christin interrupted, her voice firm, calm, and cutting. "I do. Because I'm tired of you pretending that your hatred makes you royal. All it does is make you small."
Leroy had turned now, silently watching the exchange with Duncan at his side.
Isabella's voice trembled with fury. "You stole what was meant for me!"
Christin met her gaze without flinching. "No, Isabella. Fate simply refused to listen to your vanity."
The Queen stepped forward then, her tone cold as steel. "You've brought nothing but shame to this family, Christin. If not for your father's weakness, you'd have been forgotten long ago."
The words stung — but Christin didn't bow her head. She looked straight into the Queen's eyes. "If being forgotten means living without cruelty or greed, then I would've welcomed it."
The Queen's mouth tightened, but before she could reply, Leroy's voice sliced through the air — low, even, and unmistakably commanding.
"That's enough."
All three women turned. His crimson gaze locked first on the Queen, then on Isabella. "You will not speak to my chosen in such a way."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the wind seemed to still.
Isabella's face twisted. "Chosen? She— she's not even—"
"She is mine," Leroy said, his voice sharp as a blade. "By blood, by fate, and soon by vow."
Christin's breath caught. Even now, his authority sent a shiver down her spine — not fear, but something deeper.
Isabella's face paled. The Queen bowed stiffly, lips pressed tight. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
They both retreated, their dignity cracking like glass underfoot.
When they were gone, Christin finally spoke — quietly, almost trembling. "You didn't have to do that."
Leroy turned his gaze to her. "Didn't I?"
She looked down at the roses near her feet, the thorns glistening with dew. "You make it sound so final."
He took a slow step closer. "Because it is."
Her heart pounded as his voice softened — not warm, but honest. "I won't force you, Christin. But I won't let fear decide for you either."
For once, she didn't argue. She just nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then I choose."
His eyes flickered, just once — the faintest sign of surprise. "You choose?"
She met his gaze, steady and clear. "Yes. I'll be your queen."
The wind stirred then, as if the world itself had heard her words. Somewhere in the distance, thunder murmured again — not in warning this time, but in acknowledgment.
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