The letter trembled in Hazel's hands like a dying bird.
She sat on the edge of her bed, the parchment creased from where she had clutched it too tightly. The words blurred through fresh tears as she read them again, each line carving deeper into her heart.
Dear Hazel, my child…
The confession poured out in the duke's careful, familiar hand: his forbidden love for her mother Anna, the stable boy who had won Anna's heart, the child born of that love. Yorin's jealousy. The murder. The guilt that had shaped every cold distance, every reluctant kindness. And then the final, shattering truth—the kidnapping, the forced betrayal, the hooded figures who had wrung secrets from him to save his own daughters.
By the time you read this, I must already be gone… I deserve death.
"No," Hazel whispered, voice cracking. "Father, no—don't kill yourself. I could never hate you."
The paper slipped from her fingers. She bolted from the room, tears streaming, bare feet slapping against cold marble.
"Give me a horse!" she screamed at the guards stationed outside her door. "Now!"
They froze, uncertain—until a dark wind swept through the corridor.
Lucian appeared in a swirl of shadow, arms closing around her before she could collapse. "What's wrong, little rabbit?" he murmured, holding her tight against his chest as she sobbed.
"Father… he's going to kill himself," she choked out. "The letter—he said he can't forgive himself for betraying me."
Lucian's jaw tightened. Without another word, he gathered her into his arms and vanished.
They materialized in the courtyard of Duke Denzel's manor. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-turned earth and mourning lilies. Hazel's sisters—Naomi and the others—stood near the main steps, faces streaked with grief and fury.
Hazel stumbled forward. "Father—where is he?"
Naomi's eyes blazed. "He's gone. He took poison last night. We buried him this morning."
Hazel's knees buckled. She sank to the gravel, a broken sound tearing from her throat.
Naomi advanced, fist raised. "It's all your fault, you witch! Father died because of you—because of whatever secrets you dragged into our lives!"
The other sisters moved to join her, rage contorting their features.
Lucian stepped between them in an instant, a wall of lethal calm. "Touch her," he said softly, "and you join him."
Naomi spat at the ground. "Take your monster and go. You're not welcome here."
Hazel rose slowly, trembling. "I loved him," she whispered. "I loved him more than you'll ever know."
She asked to see the grave.
A simple stone marker beneath an ancient willow. Hazel knelt, pressing her palm to the earth, tears falling freely. "I forgive you," she breathed. "I always will."
When she could bear no more, Lucian lifted her gently and carried her away in shadow.
They returned to the palace.
Hazel locked herself in her chamber. Outside, nobles and dignitaries arrived in carriages laden with gifts, their laughter and music a cruel contrast to the silence within her room. The wedding was tomorrow—and she felt utterly alone.
At midnight, the lock clicked open without a key.
Lucian slipped inside, finding her curled on the bed, eyes swollen from crying. He sat beside her, drawing her into his arms without a word. She buried her face in his chest, shaking.
"If you wish to postpone the wedding," he said quietly, "take time to grieve. I will wait as long as you need."
Hazel shook her head against him. "No. Father would want me to go on. He wrote that he wished me a happy married life. I won't let his last wish be in vain."
She drifted into exhausted sleep on his chest, his arms the only anchor in her storm.
──
Dawn arrived too soon.
The palace buzzed with frantic energy—servants rushing with trays of flowers, musicians tuning instruments, cooks shouting orders over sizzling pans. Hazel's maids dressed her in reverent silence. The gown shimmered like liquid moonlight, diamonds and silver thread catching every flicker of candlelight. Off-shoulder neckline, fitted corset, cascading train embroidered with delicate petals. They adorned her hair with pearls and fresh white roses, draped a veil of gossamer silk over her ginger curls.
She stared at her reflection. The most beautiful bride the palace had ever seen—and yet her eyes were dull, her smile impossible.
No family stood behind her. No father to walk her down the aisle. Only ghosts.
The grand hall was transformed: arches of white roses and ivy, crystal chandeliers ablaze, long tables set with gold and silver. Hundreds of guests—vampire lords, human nobles, ancient bloodlines—filled the seats, their murmurs rising like a tide.
The music swelled. A haunting piano melody filled the space.
Lazarus offered his arm. Hazel took it, chin high despite the ache in her chest.
She stepped into the hall.
Every eye turned.
The gown caught the light like a living thing. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even the most jaded nobles leaned forward, awestruck.
Lucian waited at the altar, clad in black velvet edged with silver, his crimson eyes fixed on her alone. When he saw her, something raw and reverent flashed across his face.
Gods, he thought. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Lazarus guided her down the aisle. The piano sang on. Guests watched in hushed wonder as bride and groom met in the center.
Lucian stepped forward, taking her hand from Lazarus with gentle possession. He led her to the priest, who stood beneath an arch of blooming nightshade and moonflowers.
The ceremony was brief, ancient words spoken in a tongue older than empires. Rings of black onyx and white diamond exchanged. Blessings invoked. A single drop of blood from each—his crimson, hers bright scarlet—mingled on a silver chalice.
Then the kiss.
Soft at first, then deepening with quiet hunger. The hall erupted in applause.
They danced—slow, intimate circles under the chandeliers, her head resting against his chest. But grief still clung to her like a second veil.
After the first dance, Hazel excused herself quietly. "I need a moment," she whispered.
Lucian nodded, understanding. He remained with the guests, accepting congratulations with regal detachment.
In a private chamber far from the revelry, Morwen paced like a caged panther. Tobias leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes dark with fury.
"That bitch," Morwen hissed. "They killed my daughter—my Vera—and now they celebrate as if nothing happened. I will have revenge."
Tobias pushed off the wall. "We need to be smarter, aunt. She's stronger than we thought. The power in the cave… it's confirmed. She carries the slayer bloodline."
Morwen's lips curled. "Then we control her. The ritual can still be performed—there is another way."
Tobias nodded slowly. "There is one being who can help us. We must travel to Blackshire Town at once. He's the only one powerful enough to bind a slayer's mind."
Morwen's eyes gleamed with malice. "Then prepare the horses. We leave tonight."
Outside the palace walls, under cover of darkness, two cloaked figures slipped away.
The wedding feast continued—laughter, wine, music.
But the bride mourned in silence, and shadows gathered for war.