The first bachelor to offer her a dance was a vampire—a full-blooded one. His scent was too strong to mistake.
Since the prophecy, happened before her birth, vampires had begun emerging from the shadows. They rallied behind a new, powerful leader. Long ago, her father stood at death's door. Only one thing could save him: the blood of the woman he had loved for ages—her mother.
But pain twisted him. When he drank her blood, it didn't heal him—it transformed him. He became a half-corrupted vampire. And with that corruption, Luci awakened, raising the dead and twisting them into mutants.
War broke out, dragging even humans into its chaos. Her parents stood against it, alongside her godfather Sebastian and his wife—the elusive shadow vampire—and even the mountain spirit. Her mother, who rose as the Mother Goddess after the previous one vanished, ended it. She stopped Luci, healed the King with her blood, and restored what was left of his soul.
He emerged stronger than ever.
Now, vampires no longer hid. They walked freely, proudly, loyal to their King—even if it meant their lives.
This approaching vampire was one of them. He had olive skin, neatly trimmed dark hair, and a charming smile. His eyes sparkled when he saw her. As he reached her, his fangs—barely visible—flashed. Margaret rolled her eyes. Was that supposed to impress her? Did he think she wouldn't sense what he was?
Humans and vampires might mingle now, but some of them couldn't resist reminding humans who ruled this world.
He bowed. She lifted her gown and dipped into a curtsy.
"Prince Harry of Brookewood," he said smoothly.
She'd heard of Brookewood—a hidden region deep within the forests, home only to vampires. The area had been built in secret during the old wars to shield its people from danger. But now that the King had regained his strength, Brookewood had emerged from the shadows.
The vampires of Brookewood were said to be the most powerful. All were pure bloods. After the war with the witches—when her father had nearly died—they'd withdrawn and interbred to preserve their line. It made them formidable.
Margaret knew little about their combat skills. She was only beginning to understand the other vampire clans outside Ravencrest.
"A pleasure," she said, forcing a polite smile.
He didn't seem to notice. With a wide grin, he extended his hand. "May I have this dance?"
"Of course," Princess Margaret nodded and took his hand. Could she even say no?
He led her to the dance floor—a wide circle prepared just for her. The other dancers moved along the edges, giving them the center.
Light from the chandelier pooled over them, casting a glow that made them the focus of every eye.
His hand settled on her waist, and Margaret stiffened. It wasn't as if she hadn't danced the waltz before. She'd had countless lessons from her godfather, Sebastian—who often complained that Gwen refused to practice with him because he was her father. She preferred learning from King Draven instead, leaving Sebastian to pout. Still, he'd been surprisingly graceful for someone so grumpy.
But she'd never let anyone outside her family this close. She hadn't expected it to feel so... uncomfortable. Not like this.
Her fingers trembled as she rested her hand on his shoulder. He didn't seem to notice. His grip on her waist tightened, and he guided her into the rhythm, swaying her to the warm pull of the waltz.
An orchestral sound filled the air, graceful and elegant. Around them, dancers moved in sync, and the maidens' gazes stayed fixed on their partners.
She spotted Gwen now, swaying in her father's arms. Though she pouted at him, Godfather Sebastian seemed to be enjoying every second, moving with surprising grace. He rarely had the chance to dance with his daughter, and he wasn't wasting it.
Then her gaze found her own parents. They moved in perfect rhythm, eyes only for each other. The love between them was so visible, so genuine—it was hard not to admire.
Margaret had never cared much for marriage. But watching them now, she thought... If I ever do marry, it has to be like that.
Her father glanced her way. She smiled quickly. He didn't need to feel her discomfort—though he seemed to sense it anyway, one brow arching slightly. She flashed him a wide grin. He relaxed, or at least she hoped he did, because he turned his attention back to her mother.
"I've heard so much about you, Princess. You're just as beautiful as they say," the Prince of Brookewood said, dragging her back to the present.
"Oh, have you?" she replied, turning stiffly in his arms. All she wanted was to be anywhere else—far from him, far from here.
Heavens, this was only her first dance, and she already wanted to flee. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake after all.
"Of course I have," he murmured, eyes gleaming. "You'd make a fine queen. I do hope you'll give me a chance."
Margaret gave him a polite smile. "Oh? Do you?"
"You'll love it in my place. The food is even better. The people will adore you. Everyone loves the ruler's daughter. You must know of my blood, my princess. I am the next in line for the throne. I will protect you."
Oh, he keeps yapping.
She bit back a sigh. She wanted to leave—but she couldn't. Not while the dance continued and no partner change had been announced.
"Your place must be quite remarkable," she said, deciding to indulge him for now.
His face lit up at her words.
"It is indeed. Fewer marble roads, more nature—lush views and landscapes," he said, closing his eyes briefly. "It's the kind of place that gives you space to think."
Margaret stared at him, baffled. Was he seriously describing his domain like a retreat center?
When he opened his eyes again, she forced a smile. "How remarkable. What else is there?"
"My position, for one—as the heir to the throne. I'm in high demand, you see. Many maidens hope to be my bride. But when I heard about this ball, and the princess searching for a suitor, I came quickly. I had to win you. And I'm honored to be your first dance."
Well, I'm not honored, she thought. I wish I could vanish right now.
He kept talking—never once asking about her.
It was all about the title. About marrying the ruler's daughter. That kind of union came with prestige, and he clearly wanted it.
Finally, the waltz ended, and the partners began to change—but Margaret was done. One dance was more than enough. She couldn't take another.
Her gaze swept toward the open balcony. It called to her. Fresh air, space, escape—anything but this.
As Prince Harry bowed, he said, "We shall meet again, Princess. I hope you'll keep me in mind." He smiled and moved on to another maiden.
Margaret shook her head, watching as he swayed with the girl, still wearing that same charming smile. But then—oh no—she caught sight of another suitor approaching. This one was human, with golden hair that shimmered like dust. He had a charisma that stood out even in the crowd.
"Okay, I'm done being a princess—at least for a second," she muttered, and slipped quickly into the crowd.
She spotted Gwen, now dancing with a handsome young man. Gwen shot her a look that said, are you okay?
Margaret nodded, then darted off before Gwen could step toward her.
At last, she reached the balcony and stepped into the night. She inhaled deeply.
"Finally. I can breathe."
She reached the end of the balcony and gripped the stone railing. Her gaze drifted down to the blooming garden below. It was peaceful here, especially with no one around.
The cool air kissed her skin, and the moonlight bathed her in a soft glow.
She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. This was peace—not the ball, not the suitors who only wanted to marry her for what she was, not who she was.
I'll disappoint everyone in Ravencrest, and my parents, when I tell them there will be no selection today.
She threw a fist in the air and grunted. "He only talks about himself. That Prince of Brokewood—or was it Blackenwood?"
She shook her head and chuckled softly. "I must be losing my mind."
"Princess Margaret."
Her body froze at the sound of her name.
Oh no. Who could it be?
She didn't want any more interruptions.
Whipping around, her shoulders slumped when she saw who it was.
Really? Of all people, it had to be the Prince of Brookewood?
What could he possibly want?