The great hall buzzes with subdued energy as servants prepare for the evening meal. Without Kael's commanding presence, the atmosphere has shifted - conversations flow more freely, but with an undercurrent of uncertainty that makes everyone move a little faster, speak a little quieter.
I kneel beside his empty chair as I have for the past week, but everything feels different now. The weight of the pendant against my chest reminds me with every breath that I am not what they think I am. Princess Lunaria Valenheart. The name pulses through my veins like a second heartbeat.
"Such a loyal pet," Queen Elenora observes from her place at the head of the table. "Still keeping vigil for a master who may never return."
The words are designed to cut, but I keep my expression neutral. "I serve where I'm needed, Your Majesty."
"Indeed. Though I wonder if your... services might be better utilized elsewhere." Her smile is cold as winter wind. "Lady Seraphina has expressed interest in expanding her household staff."
*****
The corridors feel different as I make my way back to Kael's chambers after the meal. Every shadow seems deeper, every sound more ominous. The castle is slowly turning against me, like a body rejecting foreign tissue.
"Pet."
Prince Damon's voice stops me cold. He emerges from an alcove, his eyes bright with something that makes my skin crawl.
"Your Highness." I incline my head respectfully, every instinct screaming at me to run.
"Walk with me." It's not a request. "I have something to show you."
He leads me through winding corridors I've never seen before, deeper into the castle's bowels. The air grows cooler, damper, carrying scents of age and secrets long buried.
"Do you know what this place is?" he asks as we descend a narrow staircase lit by guttering torches.
"No, Your Highness."
"The old dungeons. Where my ancestors kept their most... valuable prisoners." His laugh echoes off the stone walls. "Funny how history repeats itself."
We stop before a heavy wooden door bound with iron. Damon produces a key from his pocket, the metal gleaming in the torchlight.
"My brother thinks he owns you," he says conversationally as he works the lock. "But ownership is such a temporary thing, don't you think? Especially when the owner might not survive to claim his property."
The door swings open to reveal a chamber that makes my blood freeze. Chains hang from the walls like iron ivy. Dark stains on the stone floor tell stories I don't want to hear. And in the center, a feeding trough that speaks of appetites that transcend human understanding.
"This is where my family has always fed," Damon continues, his voice carrying a reverence that chills me. "Not on willing donors or purchased blood. On fear. On pain. On the exquisite terror of those who know they're about to die."
He steps closer, and I catch the hunger rolling off him in waves. "Your blood, pet... it sings differently than the others. Richer. Wilder. Almost like..."
"Like what?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know.
"Like something that shouldn't exist anymore." His fingers trace along my neck, searching for a pulse point. "Something that was supposed to be extinct."
Before I can react, his fangs pierce my throat. The pain is sharp, immediate, but what follows is worse - the invasive intimacy of being fed upon, of having my life force drawn out drop by precious drop.
But this time is different. This time, as my blood flows across his tongue, images flash through my mind - not my memories, but his. I see what he tastes, feel what he experiences.
Moonlight. Silver forests. The howl of wolves under a blood-red sky. And through it all, a name whispered in ancient tongues: Valenheart.
Damon jerks back with a gasp, his eyes wide with shock and recognition. Blood - my blood - stains his lips like accusation.
"Impossible," he breathes. "You're... you're one of them. The wolf princess. But they're all dead. Father made sure they were all dead."
*****
I run.
Through corridors that blur together, up stairs that seem to multiply beneath my feet, past servants who scatter like startled birds. My throat burns where Damon's fangs pierced skin, but the physical pain pales beside the terror clawing at my chest.
He knows. Prince Damon knows what I am, and if he tells the Queen, if he tells Seraphina...
I burst into Kael's chambers and slam the door behind me, fingers fumbling with locks that suddenly seem inadequate. My heart pounds against my ribs like a caged bird, and I can taste copper in my mouth where I've bitten my tongue.
The pendant burns against my chest as if responding to my distress. I pull it free, staring at the crescent moon that gleams silver in the firelight. Princess Lunaria Valenheart. The words feel heavier now, more dangerous.
A soft knock at the door makes me freeze. "Miss? It's Mira. I have word about Prince Kael."
I quickly hide the pendant and open the door. Mira's face is grave as she enters, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"He's alive, miss. Wounded, but alive. The delegation reached Ravenshollow two days ago. He's recovering, but..." She hesitates, glancing toward the door.
"But what?"
"There are rumors..."
"What kind of rumors?"
"That the attack wasn't random bandits. That someone paid for information about the route, the timing, the guard rotations." Mira's eyes are bright with fear. "Someone wanted Prince Kael dead."
The implications crash over me like cold water. If someone in the castle orchestrated Kael's attack, then his absence isn't temporary - it's permanent. They're planning to eliminate him entirely, leaving the path clear for whoever they want on the throne.
"There's more," Mira continues. "Captain Sly has been asking questions about you. Where you go, who you speak with, what you do when you're alone."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing. But others... they're not all loyal to you, miss. Some see opportunity in your isolation."
After Mira leaves, I sink onto Kael's bed, my mind racing. Damon knows my true identity. The Queen's guard captain is investigating me. Kael may never return alive. And somewhere in this castle, enemies are closing in like wolves scenting wounded prey.
But as I touch the pendant hidden beneath my dress, something else stirs in my chest. Not just fear, but anger. The righteous fury of a princess who's been caged, collared, and hunted by those who murdered her family.