The carriage rolled into the courtyard just as the sun dipped behind the distant peaks. Faint light streaked the sky in bruised golds and purples; the stone walls of the vampire estate caught none of it. It was colder here—always colder—but Lumina didn't shiver. Not anymore.
Damien stepped out first. His boots struck the stone softly, his cloak curling in the wind like smoke. Then he turned and held out a hand.
She hesitated… just for a breath… then placed her fingers in his.
The moment their palms met, a pulse rippled through her necklace; not a glow this time, but a heartbeat… silent and sure.
The castle loomed before them, its tall spires etched against the sky. Damien's grip didn't tighten, but he didn't let go either—not until the doors opened and the king's steward bowed stiffly before them.
"His Majesty requests your presence," the man said. "Immediately."
Damien's brows drew together. "About what?"
The steward glanced briefly at Lumina, then away. "A celebration, my lord. You've both been invited to the Winter Solstice Ball… tomorrow evening."
Lumina's breath caught. She'd never even attended a village dance; a royal ball felt like being dropped into a different world entirely.
Damien gave no outward reaction. "Tell the king we'll attend."
---
Dinner that evening was held in the quieter hall—reserved for royal family. The atmosphere was thick with restrained formality; Lumina sat beside Damien in silence, eyes on her plate.
Across from her sat his half-sister, Drusilla all icy beauty and bone-deep disdain. She twirled her wineglass lazily, watching Lumina with the amusement of someone circling prey.
"So," Drusilla began, her voice like a silver knife, "you're the girl everyone's whispering about."
Lumina didn't respond.
Drusilla smiled faintly. "Do you have any family?"
"No," Lumina said simply.
"None at all?"
"No."
"How tragic…" Seraphina said, glancing at Damien. "And yet you've made yourself right at home."
Damien didn't rise to the bait. He didn't even look at his sister—just lifted his glass and drank.
Across the table, his half-brother, Stephan grinned and said, "Maybe tragedy suits her."
Lumina swallowed, the knot in her throat tightening. Her gaze dropped back to her food… untouched.
The conversation moved on without her, but she felt Drusilla's eyes long after the plates were cleared.
---
That night, sleep didn't come easily.
She lay curled beneath the velvet sheets, staring at the ceiling… the carved stone above her head flickering in the candlelight. The necklace pulsed softly against her skin—steadier now, but heavier somehow.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her.
And then… the dream.
---
Fire. Screaming.
A woman's voice—her mother's voice—soft but sharp as splintered bone.
**"Survive."**
A flash of her mother's face—red hair tangled, hands stained with blood. The necklace—burning bright against her chest. Lumina reached for her—
But her feet didn't touch the ground.
She was floating… drifting… then flying—except she was asleep.
Her body rose from the bed as though pulled by invisible threads. The window creaked open. Cold air rushed in. She drifted through it, unconscious; hair fanned behind her like ribbons.
The window was high—too high.
Below, in the courtyard, the old marble fountain stood still and deep. Without sound or fear, she descended toward it… and fell in.
---
From the far tower across the castle, Damien stood at his window.
He'd felt it before he saw it—something wrong. A flicker of magic in the air. His eyes scanned the garden—and then he saw her.
Falling. Not jumping. Not diving. Just… slipping from the sky like a star gone silent.
His heart slammed once. And then he moved.
The window opened in a rush of air. He leapt from the stone and flew down—his body a streak of shadow. The moment he reached the fountain's edge, he plunged in after her.
The water was cold… deeper than it looked.
He caught her easily. Her body was limp in his arms; soaked, but not harmed. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted slightly… and around her neck, the diamond necklace glowed like a lantern beneath the surface.
Damien emerged from the water with her in his arms. His clothes clung to him; her gown turned transparent under the moonlight, delicate and ruined. He didn't look away. He didn't speak.
He carried her inside without calling for help.
Back to her room.
---
He laid her gently on the bed and knelt beside her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Then… she stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open. Tears clung to her lashes.
"Lumina," he said softly. "You're safe."
She blinked, the tears finally spilling. "I saw them…" she whispered.
"Who?"
"My parents. My mother… she told me to survive. I—I want to find them. I want to find their grave…"
Her voice broke.
Damien said nothing for a long time. Then: "I'll help you."
She turned toward him; her lip trembled. "Don't leave me."
He didn't.
She crawled into his arms like a child seeking warmth. He wrapped his arms around her, and for the first time, she wept with abandon—pressing her face to his chest as her body trembled.
He didn't speak again. He just held her… until sleep returned.
---
When she woke, he was gone.
But the bed was still warm where he'd lain beside her. The maids entered soon after, soft-voiced and reverent, carrying gowns and boxes.
"The prince has arranged for your dressing," one whispered.
Another added, "Tonight is the ball."
Lumina sat in silence as they prepared her. She let them comb through her damp hair and brush it out until it spilled around her shoulders like liquid fire. They left it down—natural waves softening her features.
Then came the dress.
A deep, blood-red corset gown—boned and cinched tightly around her waist. It pushed her bust up and framed her collarbones with a sweetheart neckline. The skirt flowed like molten silk, heavy and elegant, shimmering with every step she took. Her arms were bare; her skin like porcelain against the fabric.
When they clasped the necklace around her throat, it sparkled like it belonged there.
She looked in the mirror and saw a stranger… or a queen.
---
Damien was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
When he looked up and saw her, his breath caught—though he would never admit it aloud. His jaw clenched. His eyes traveled from her face to the dip of her neckline, down the corset laces, then back again. He said nothing… but she saw it.
"You look…" he started.
But the words died.
From behind him, Stephan let out a long whistle. "Saints. Damien, if you don't want her, I do."
Drusilla rolled her eyes. "She looks like a feast."
Lumina said nothing. She only descended the stairs slowly… her fingers grazing the rail.
Damien offered her his arm.
She took it.
They left together in a separate carriage—just the two of them. The interior was silent. Tense. Their arms didn't touch, but the space between them felt charged.
At the venue, the grand hall glowed with thousands of floating lights. Music played faintly behind the doors.
Damien stepped out first. Then he turned to her.
As she placed her hand in his, the doors opened.
Together, they walked in… hand in hand.
All eyes turned.
The hall fell into a hush; nobility froze mid-sentence, wine glasses paused mid-air. Whispers spread like wildfire.
A girl no one knew… dressed in red… on the arm of a prince.
At the far end of the ballroom, Drusilla's friend, Lady Calis…watched them enter.
She had seen Lumina before… small, ragged, forgettable.
But this girl, this glowing, curving, red-draped vision—was a threat.
And her rage was quiet… but it burned.