The long corridor they were escorted through was silent except for the click of boots and the occasional flicker of torches lighting the dim stone walls. Historia kept her eyes ahead, chin high, but the moment the grand doors closed behind them and the court faded into silence, her body sagged slightly.
Kelly walked beside her, still limping. She hadn't said a word since they left the court, but her eyes were alert—flicking to each vampire escort as though expecting an ambush at any second.
They were taken to the east wing of the palace, where the air smelled less of blood and smoke and more of cedarwood and lilies. A pair of towering double doors were opened by two vampire guards, revealing a luxurious guest room bathed in warm golden light.
The room was massive—larger than any chamber Historia had seen even in the Silver Moon Pack's territory. Velvet drapes framed towering windows. A massive canopy bed stood at the center with black and silver sheets, and to one side, a claw-footed tub steamed invitingly beside a roaring fire.
"This is yours for the night," one of the guards announced. "The king will summon you for dinner."
Without waiting for a reply, the guards vanished, closing the doors behind them.
A few moments later, a soft knock echoed.
Two women entered—both graceful, both clearly not human. One had long silver-blonde hair and a serene face that contrasted her piercing crimson eyes. The other, with chestnut curls and a haughty smirk, carried herself like royalty rather than a servant.
"I am Iris," the calm one said with a slight bow. "And this is Eva. We are your ladies-in-waiting for the evening."
Eva didn't bow. She crossed her arms, eyes scanning the werewolves as if inspecting livestock.
"You stink of blood," she said coolly. "And wet dog."
Kelly's upper lip curled, her canines poking out faintly.
Historia narrowed her eyes but didn't rise to the bait. She was too tired to waste energy on petty jabs—at least for now.
"First," Iris said gently, cutting off the tension, "you will bathe. The doctor will attend to you afterward."
Eva gestured with two fingers toward the copper tub near the fire. "One at a time. Unless wolves have no modesty."
Historia ignored her, moving toward the tub. Steam rose in gentle swirls, filling the air with a soothing blend of lavender and something sharper—clove oil, maybe.
The heat melted into her skin the moment she slipped in. Her sore muscles thanked her with aching relief. She leaned back, exhaling slowly as warmth seeped into her bones. Blood had dried along her thigh and arm, and her neck throbbed faintly from Victor's earlier grip.
Across the room, Kelly sank into a second tub that Iris had swiftly filled. She winced slightly, but let out a relaxed breath as she stretched her injured leg.
For a brief moment, everything was quiet. Safe. Warm.
"I almost forgot what this felt like," Kelly murmured, eyes half-lidded as her wet red hair floated in the water.
"Don't get too comfortable," Historia replied softly. "This place has teeth."
The knock returned—soft but firm. The doctor entered once they'd stepped out of the bath and wrapped themselves in thick black robes offered by Iris. He was tall and angular, with a clinical gaze and the scent of bitter herbs clinging to his coat.
He examined Kelly first, redressing the wound on her thigh with sterile hands. She barely winced this time.Her leg would have been amputated if she hadn't get the silver arrow out and tried cleaning her wound after she got shot herself.
Then he moved to Historia.
"You've bruises," he noted, dabbing salve on her neck and arm. "No broken bones. But your body's stressed."
"I don't need your concern," Historia muttered.
The doctor didn't argue—just finished and nodded once before silently leaving the room.
"Sit," Iris said gently, guiding Kelly toward a velvet-cushioned stool beside the ornate mirror. The large guest room glowed in golden tones, lit by elegant sconces on the stone walls. It was luxurious but cold, the kind of beauty that lacked warmth, like everything else in this castle.
Historia sat before a second mirror, her silver hair cascading wet down her back. Eva approached her, a box of combs and pins in hand. "You should be grateful, you know," she said, her tone lightly mocking as she separated a strand. "Not everyone gets a second chance after barging into a royal court smelling like wet dog."
Historia stiffened, her patience already worn thin. "Say that again," she said, her voice low and sharp as a blade.
Eva blinked, clearly not expecting pushback. "Excuse me?"
"I said," Historia repeated coolly, her emerald eyes locking onto Eva through the mirror, "say that again and see what happens."
Iris glanced between them, her brush pausing in mid-air. Even Kelly, seated across the room, smirked.
Eva scoffed under her breath and continued her work in silence, pulling Historia's damp silver hair into an elaborate twist, leaving two elegant strands to frame her face. She worked quickly, though her hands lacked the grace Iris had.
Iris, on the other hand, braided Kelly's fiery hair with careful fingers, tucking her blue-streaked locks into a soft updo. "There," she said warmly, smoothing Kelly's shoulders. "You'll both look stunning tonight."
"I'm not here to impress anyone," Kelly muttered.
"I know," Iris said, her tone kind. "But it doesn't hurt to look like you belong."
As the two ladies-in-waiting finished, they opened the ornate wardrobe in the room. A row of silk, velvet, and satin gowns in black, deep red, and icy blue hung waiting—tailored to enhance beauty, but also power.
Eva handed Historia a deep crimson gown with black embroidery. "The king likes red," she said curtly.
Historia raised a brow. "Too bad I don't care what the king likes."
"Wear it," Eva snapped, handing the gown to her anyway. "He asked for you to look... presentable."
Historia took it with a bored expression but said nothing. The fabric was softer than anything she'd ever worn—luxury she neither needed nor cared for. But she wasn't stupid. She knew what tonight was: a battlefield. And appearances were part of war.
Kelly, now dressed in a navy-blue dress with a plunging neckline and a slit that revealed her bandaged leg, stood and adjusted her sleeves. "How do I look?" she asked.
"Like bait," Historia muttered, earning a tired chuckle from her cousin.
A knock came at the door. Iris opened it to reveal two tall vampire guards in formal black uniforms. Their eyes were dark and unreadable, but they bowed respectfully.
"The king awaits," one said.
Eva rolled her eyes. "Don't keep him waiting."
Historia straightened her shoulders, ignoring the ache in her body, and offered Kelly her arm. "Let's get this over with."
After the final touch of perfume was misted gently over their necks and wrists. Eva stepped back and inspected both women with a scrutinizing gaze.
"You'll pass, I suppose," she muttered before turning sharply toward the door.
Historia gave her a withering look, but said nothing. The low throb in her chest still hadn't faded since her bold plea to the vampire king. Her mind raced, but her posture remained composed.
"Time to go," Iris said with a polite nod. "The dining hall awaits."
Eva and Iris led them through the dimly lit corridors, where flickering sconces cast long shadows on the marbled walls. Servants passed in silence, bowing subtly before vanishing around corners. Their heels echoed softly with every step, a reminder that they no longer walked on their own territory.
As they reached the wide double doors leading into the dining chamber, Eva and Iris stopped. Eva looked at them one last time, her expression unreadable.
"You'll be fine," Iris said kindly. Eva remained quiet.
Then, with synchronized grace, both ladies curtsied and turned away, leaving Historia and Kelly standing at the threshold.
The towering doors opened without sound, revealing a grand dining hall. Warm golden light from ornate chandeliers bathed the room. The long obsidian table shimmered beneath the light, already set with gleaming silverware, black-stemmed goblets, and deep crimson napkins folded into roses.
Two figures stood near the far end of the table, already awaiting their arrival.
Prince Jeremiah Drayven turned first. Tall, elegant, and undoubtedly handsome, he shared his brothers' striking black hair and steely grey eyes. But where Nicklaus's presence burned like a frostbitten wind, Jeremiah's was calmer, smoother—more like silk than steel.
His tailored black suit hugged his broad shoulders, and a subtle smile curved his lips.
"Welcome," he said, voice warm and velvety.
Beside him stood a vision of ethereal beauty—princess Vivian Drayven. The youngest of the Drayven siblings. Her inky-black hair flowed in soft waves down her back, and her silver-gray eyes sparkled with curiosity and amusement. Dressed in a flowing sapphire gown that shimmered like starlight, she was as radiant as the moon.
"You must be the werewolf girls," Vivian said, her voice soft but vibrant, with a mischievous lilt. "It's brave of you to be here. I admire bravery."
Kelly blinked in surprise at the unexpected warmth, while Historia offered a polite nod, eyeing the siblings warily.
Vivian stepped closer. "What are your names?"
"I'm Historia," she replied cautiously. "And this is Kelly—my cousin."
"Nice to meet you both." Vivian's smile widened. "Don't worry, not everyone here has fangs for hearts."
Kelly smirked a little at that, but her hand subtly reached beneath the table edge, resting on her thigh—ready, always.
Just then, a soft tremor swept through the air.
The double doors opened again—this time not by servant hands, but seemingly by force of will.
Two figures stepped in.