The room was dim, lit only by the last streaks of evening light bleeding through the small, grimy window. Shadows lengthened across the cracked stone floor, curling around the edges of the single rickety bed where Evelyn sat, her back pressed against the cold wall.
Her fingers trembled faintly in her lap, clenched together as if they alone held her shattered composure in place. She stared ahead, not at the wall, but through it—into nothing. Her breaths were shallow, every inhale caught between her ribs like it was trying to turn into a sob. And eventually, it did.
A soft, broken sound slipped from her lips as she tilted her head slightly, her shoulders curling inward as if to protect herself from a blow that had already been delivered.
She had done it. She had succeeded. The mission they had sent her on—the impossible task of sneaking into the vampire kingdom and stealing the Relic of Severan—had been completed. The glowing crystal, humming with ancient fae magic, had nearly cost her her life. And for what? For them to cast her away like something worthless?
For an uncountable time, she re-read the letter that had been passed to her by their royal spy. The letter that had a royal seal and words that pricked her already too tender heart.
"By the order of king Austin.. you are not to return back to the kingdom..."
The other words remained a blur to her teary eyes.They had struck her like ice plunged into her her heart.
She lifted one hand slowly, as if it weighed a thousand stones, and touched her face. Her skin was damp—she hadn't even realized she was crying again. Her tears were quiet and constant now, like her body had accepted grief as part of its rhythm. Each one held the sting of betrayal, the burn of worthlessness.
At eighteen, her magic should have manifested. The age when, in the Fae Kingdom, a princess was expected to bloom, to display the vibrant, innate connection to nature and illusion that was their birthright. But Evelyn had waited for anither whole year. She'd performed the rituals, whispered the incantations, prayed to the ancient forest spirits. Nothing. Only silence. Only the agonizing, ever-present emptiness where her power should have been and other than that, her own family never liked her.
She was a stain on the royal lineage, a reminder of a shameful affair that no one ever spoke of. A servant's child. An accident. A mistake that the king had committed by sleeping with a servant.
Maybe her life would have been much easier with her mother by her side, but even she had walked away while leaving her behind to face all the pain that this cruel world had to offer.
And now here she was. No longer a princess, but a girl with no name, no one to run to.
Her gaze drifted to the dusty corner of the room where a spider clung to the wall, unmoving. She envied it—its stillness, its certainty of place. Unlike her, it belonged somewhere.
Evelyn pulled her knees to her chest, pressing her forehead against them. She couldn't remember the last time she had truly slept. Every time her eyes closed, she saw the crystal, the light it gave off, the hope she had wrapped around it like a cloak.
But it was all gone now.
A silent sob shook her frame as the darkness in the room deepened. Night was creeping in, and with it came the familiar, hollow ache in her chest. She had nothing now. No family. No kingdom. No identity.
A faint rustle in the corridor pulled Evelyn from the fog of her thoughts. Footsteps—light, hurried—approached her door. In an instant, her body tensed, and the vulnerability that had gripped her moments before vanished behind a practiced mask. She wiped the tears from beneath her reddened eyes, fingers trembling as she smoothed down her simple linen dress. Whatever sorrow she bore, it could not be worn on her sleeve.
The wooden door creaked as she opened it, revealing a girl with ash-brown hair tied back in a harsh braid. Her roommate. She said nothing, just shot Evelyn a blank glance before walking past her with the faintest hint of distaste. The silence between them had always been thick, not with tension but with disinterest. Most girls her age here kept their distance, and Evelyn had never tried to bridge that gap. There had been no need—until now, she believed she would be leaving soon.
But now, she belonged nowhere.
She stepped out into the corridor, the cool evening air brushing against her cheeks like an indifferent caress that dried the moisture of her tear streaked cheeks, but it couldn't erase the red rim that now framed her eyes; a stark beacon of her recent dispair.
Evelyn made her way down the winding servant halls until the familiar hum of the kitchens wrapped around her like an old, worn shawl. Heat, voices, and the aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread hit her at once. The kitchens were always alive at this hour—pots clanging, maids darting between counters, commands thrown over the fire's roar.
As Evelyn entered the warmth and chaos, a hand gently clasped her arm. It was Martha an older maid with kind, tired eyes and a perpetually flour-dusted apron, looked at her with concern. "Where have you been, dear? The head maid has been asking for you."
"I wasn't feeling too well," Evelyn said softly, the lie sliding from her lips like a reflex. She forced a faint smile, though her throat still burned from the tears.
Martha frowned but said nothing more of it. She merely reached out, brushing a hand over Evelyn's arm. "Come on, then. I asked for you to join our group serving tonight. It'll keep the head maid off your back."
Joining a small group of other selected maids, Evelyn followed Martha, her heart thrumming a nervous rhythm against her ribs.
They moved through increasingly opulent corridors, the rough stone walls giving way to polished marble and rich tapestries. The air grew colder, more refined, carrying the faint, metallic scent of blood – not the stale, cloyiing smell of the servants' quarters, but something fresher, deeper. Each step took her further from the familiar misery of her room and deeper into the unknown perils of the vampire kingdom, into the very den of her enemies. She was no longer just a spy; she was a forced guest, a potential meal, utterly unprotected. And that knowledge settled over her like a shroud.