The road to Avalone was nothing like the maps had promised.
Rosaline's carriage glided through a moonlit path cloaked in silver mist. Ancient trees arched above her, their twisted branches whispering in forgotten tongues. Lanterns floated mid-air, flickering like captive stars, guiding her journey with eerie precision.
She peered out of the window and gasped.
Avalone was awakening.
Towers carved from obsidian reached into the heavens like enchanted thorns. The palace—etched into the mountainside itself—was a marvel of dark beauty, its bridges of crystal glass connecting sky gardens that hovered weightless in the night. Magic shimmered through the very air, as if the kingdom breathed power.
Guards in crimson armor flanked the gates, eyes glowing faintly beneath their expressionless masks.
No one spoke. They didn't need to.
As Rosaline's carriage passed beneath a black arch of thorned roses, the guards stiffened.
"Isn't that… Katherine?" one of them whispered.
"But she's supposed to be dead."
"How can she…?"
Rosaline, oblivious to their stunned murmurs, smiled faintly at the moonlight brushing her cheeks. A heartbeat later, she was inside.
The ballroom was something out of a dream—ornate, opulent, and laced with shadows.
Dozens of chandeliers spun slowly in the air, each cradling orbs of fire that shifted from gold to violet. The marble floor rippled with veins of ruby and midnight blue. A thousand masked guests moved like a sea of silk and secrets, their laughter echoing beneath haunting melodies.
Among them stood Bianca, already radiant in a gown of golden feathers that shimmered like wildfire. Her mask was sharp, avian—predatory.
Flanking her were Britney and Maya, their gazes sweeping the ballroom like hawks.
"The princes will choose dance partners tonight," Britney whispered.
Bianca's lips curved like a blade. "Then may the best-dressed win."
Near the enchanted punch fountain, Marga and Casse lingered nervously, eyes flicking toward the entrance.
"Do you think she made it?" Casse murmured.
"I trust her," Marga replied with a smirk. "She's got that spark. If I were a prince, I'd fall the second she stepped in. You know how she turns heads."
And then she did.
The room stilled.
Rosaline entered wearing a gown of midnight silk, her mask gleaming like frozen dew. She walked cautiously, but the crowd parted around her as though drawn by some invisible thread. Whispers surged like a storm's prelude.
"Who is she?"
"She's not on the nobles' list…"
"Is she... human?"
"Wait—isn't that Rosaline? What is she doing here?" Bianca hissed.
Even the orchestra faltered.
The masquerade welcomed guests from several grand empires and dynasties, though not all were named. Among those present were nobles from the Solarian Empire, the House of Myrrh, the Obsidian Throne, and the mystic Dynasty of Echoes.
Rosaline moved through the crowd, her eyes searching anxiously—for Marga and Casse.
Upstairs, hidden behind thick crimson drapes on a balcony, three princes observed in silence. Each wore a distinct mask—gold, silver, and black—but all three had locked onto her the moment she appeared.
The prince in black stood tall, his presence quiet yet thunderous.
"She doesn't belong here," he murmured.
The one in silver chuckled. "That's exactly why she's interesting."
The prince in gold leaned closer, his eyes glinting faintly. "Let her stay."
Below, Rosaline spotted her friends.
"You made it!" Casse rushed to embrace her.
"I told you she would," Marga grinned. "But girl—you're late."
Rosaline laughed softly. "I know."
"Don't worry," Marga winked. "Seems the night just shifted in your favor."
In the Avalone Dynasty, two princes held rank.
The elder, Prince Stefan, was the son of Empress Recaiah—sovereign ruler of all vampires. Tonight's ball was in her honor. His father, the Emperor, was His Imperial Majesty, Lord Daemion, a ruler revered and feared in equal measure.
The newly crowned prince, however, was of different blood.
Prince Kaelion, son of Consort Lita, was born of another union. His father had perished in battle long ago, and Lord Daemion—marrying Lita afterward—had raised Kaelion in court as his own. Though not of imperial blood, Kaelion bore the title of prince by decree and stood second in line.
Back at the ballroom, Bianca tossed her hair arrogantly.
"Tonight's outfit will seal the deal," she purred. "I'm going after no one but Prince Stefan."
"Still not over him?" Maya teased.
"He'll choose me. Just wait."
Meanwhile, Rosaline felt increasingly unsettled by the stares around her.
And then—they appeared.
Descending the marble staircase were Prince Stefan and Prince Kaelion.
Rosaline's breath caught as her eyes met Stefan's.
"Who is he?" she whispered.
"You don't know?" Marga asked, stunned.
"I… He looks familiar. But I can't recall where we met," Rosaline replied, her voice faltering.
"That's because your grandmother never let you attend events like these," Casse reminded her gently.
The princes began greeting nobles from various thrones.
Across the ballroom, Charlotte arrived, arm-in-arm with Vincent, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She had only one goal tonight: sabotage.
Bianca, ever bold, swept toward Prince Stefan.
"You look dashing tonight, Your Highness," she said sweetly, just loud enough to be heard.
The crowd murmured.
"She's trying to show off," Marga muttered.
"She's failing," Casse snickered.
But Rosaline stood silent, her eyes fixed on the prince, her thoughts tangled in confusion and déjà vu.
Meanwhile, Britney had set her sights on Prince Kaelion, smiling coyly in his direction.
Then a masked attendant approached Rosaline and bowed deeply.
"By decree of the Imperial Court," he said, voice smooth as velvet, "you are summoned for your first dance… with His Highness."
Rosaline blinked. "Which Highness?"
He merely smiled. "Step into the circle, and you'll see."
The music shifted—soft, haunting, like a spell being cast.
Rosaline stepped into the center of the ballroom.
A hush fell. Every eye turned to her.
Across the floor, Prince Stefan began to walk toward her, leaving Bianca frozen behind.
Jealousy ignited. Whispers and laughter rose like smoke.
"Look at Bianca—standing there like a statue," Casse giggled.
Rosaline's heart pounded.
She had stepped into the lion's den.
And the lion was coming straight for her.