Caralee's head snapped toward Lydia, as if struck. Silent tears now poured down her cheeks like rivulets of glass tracing porcelain. Her shoulders trembled under the weight of heartbreak too long carried alone.
For a moment, Lydia stood still, overcome by the sight of her mistress unraveling—no longer a noble figure in satin and bone-laced silk, but a fragile young woman with grief clenched tight in her throat.
Lydia's own composure faltered. Her lashes quivered with unshed tears as she stepped forward and gently cupped Caralee's face between her palms. Her hands were warm and trembling. "Shhh… shhh, my dear," she whispered, brushing her thumbs along Caralee's damp cheeks. "It's all right, shhh now. You're not alone."
And with that simple kindness, Caralee broke. Her resolve, stretched thin for days, shattered in a soft sob against Lydia's shoulder. She threw her arms around the maid with a desperation that only the truly wounded could understand, burying her face in the crook of her neck as her body trembled. Lydia said nothing more. She simply held her, patting her hair, whispering the same soothing mantra over and over as if it were a prayer.
"It's all right… it's going to be all right… Shhh, my lady… shhh."
Caralee's sobs faded to quiet sniffling. She slowly pulled away, face flushed and blotchy, her voice raw as she murmured, "I'm sorry… I shouldn't burden you like this. It's inappropriate. You're my attendant—"
"Nonsense," Lydia said firmly, wiping at Caralee's tears with the corner of her apron. "I am yours, my lady. It is my duty to be burdened. If not me, then who?"
Caralee tried to smile, but it faltered as quickly as it came. "I don't know what to do," she whispered. "Everything is such a mess. I feel like I'm drowning in a life I never chose."
Lydia paused in her gentle dabbing, then stood tall, her voice quiet but unwavering. "I'm afraid there is nothing to be done, my lady. His Majesty has chosen you. There is no refuge, no forest deep enough, no ship fast enough to escape the will of our king. The best path now is the one that leads forward, not away."
Caralee looked down, the weight of it all collapsing upon her like stone. "So I am a prisoner, then," she whispered.
"No." Lydia stepped around to face her, her voice warm but sharp as the snap of a fan. "You are not a prisoner. You are destiny's child. Yours is a bloodline ancient and mighty, a thread woven through the fates of kings and empires. Your lineage reaches beyond the imagination of those who walk these halls. Vampires and humans alike will hinge their future upon your actions. That is not prison, my lady. That is power. Heavy, yes—but not confinement."
Caralee stared, lips parted, brow furrowed. Lydia continued.
"You are kind. I have seen it, felt it. You would not let innocents suffer. You would not let the deaths of your kin—your own parents—be meaningless. I do not believe you have it in you to turn away from what must be done. Our king honors his word. He made a vow to your father, and he will keep it. But know this—he will not take you without your heart. He will try to win it, and win it fairly."
Caralee blinked in surprise. "He… would try to earn my love?"
Lydia arched a brow. "Has he not already begun?"
Caralee's cheeks flushed instantly, the warmth rushing up from her chest to stain her face. She looked away, but Lydia's laughter—gentle and amused—filled the space like wind rustling through leaves.
"Oh, my," Lydia teased. "So he has. His grace already has you tangled up in knots, hasn't he?"
Caralee hid her face with both hands. "Oh, Lydia, what's happening to me? I sound like… like some harlot. A woman torn between two men, unable to control her heart. How shameful."
"Hush," Lydia said with a smile, brushing a lock of hair behind Caralee's ear. "Only the soulless could resist him for long. His Majesty is not merely handsome—he is cunning, magnetic, and devastatingly charming when he chooses to be. It would be stranger still if you hadn't fallen at least a little."
Lydia paused, then tilted her head. "But forgive me, my lady… if you already care for him, if he stirs your heart, then why the tears? Why speak of the human boy?"
Caralee's expression softened, and her gaze drifted to some invisible point beyond the mirror. "Because… he is good," she whispered. "So good. He loved me when I was nothing—when I wore linen and fetched bread. He risked everything to keep me safe, never asked for anything in return. He is his father's only son, and now he's trapped like an animal in the dark."
She swallowed hard. "I don't want him to suffer. That's all. I just… I wanted to know if he's all right. To tell him myself that we can never be what we were. That he must let me go. Not to come for me. That he should move on and live."
Lydia reached forward, tenderly wiping away the fresh tears that followed. "Oh, my lady… you truly are a rare soul. One of compassion and grace. Our people are blessed to have you among them."
Caralee nodded faintly, drawing in a shaky breath as Lydia began to touch up her rouge and smooth her powdered complexion.
As Lydia adjusted the final ribbon at Caralee's collarbone, she met her gaze in the mirror.
"You may not have power now," she said quietly, "but one day… you will be queen. Not just in name, but in truth. The sovereign ruler of all vampire kind. And when that day comes, you may do whatever you wish. Not even the king will stand in your way. So if you want justice, mercy, freedom… then ascend, my lady. Become the queen you are meant to be. Claim your crown. And through it, claim your freedom."
Caralee sat motionless, her reflection frozen in awe. "Sovereign… of all vampires?"
Lydia nodded once. "Yes. That is your birthright."
A silence fell between them, deep and sacred. And within that stillness, something inside Caralee shifted. A quiet ember, long buried beneath grief and confusion, sparked to life. It smoldered. Glowed. She didn't yet know what shape her future would take, but she knew one thing now with certainty.
If freedom was at the end of this path, if it would allow her to protect those she loved, if it would grant her control over her life again—then she would walk it. No matter how long, no matter how steep. Her heart had found its compass.
And the world would someday know what it had birthed through blood and sorrow.