Location: Golden Triangle (between Champs-Élysées and Rue François 1er)
Timing: Evening 6PM
---
The night sky over Paris burned with a strange beauty — clouds drifting like silk across a full moon. The air shimmered with that peculiar electricity that always came before something inevitable.
Aiyana Vale stood at the window of her penthouse, the city lights reflected in her honey brown-tinted eyes. A single black envelope lay on the marble table behind her, sealed with wax the colour of fresh blood.
It had arrived an hour ago, delivered by a raven.
She hadn't opened it yet — she didn't need to.
She could feel the power pulsing beneath the seal. Ancient. Regal. Familiar.
The Dark Order.
Her fingers traced the wax sigil — a circle of thorns encasing a single drop of blood. The moment she touched it, the seal melted, and the parchment unfolded like breathing silk.
> To Aiyana Vale,
By decree of the Crimson Order, you are invited to attend the Masquerade of Thorns — a gathering of our kind beneath the Blood Moon. Your presence is requested, not required.
Dress accordingly.
Midnight.
The message faded into the air as she finished reading. In its place, only a faint scent of roses remained.
Aiyana smirked. "Requested, not required," she murmured. "How polite for an invitation written in threat."
She turned toward the city again, watching the reflection of her smile curve sharper.
Of course, she knew who would be there.
Lucien D'Arden — the Moon's Shadow, the Order's silver blade.
And if they expected her to tremble, they had forgotten who they were dealing with.
---
The Preparation
The hours before midnight passed in a haze of anticipation. Aiyana moved through her wardrobe, fingertips brushing over silks and velvets, colors darker than night itself. But one dress called to her — dark blue, threaded with silver, its fabric rippling like the ocean under moonlight.
It fit her like a second skin — off-shoulder, the neckline carved elegantly across her collarbones, the corset cinching her waist. The skirt fell in soft waves, whispering with every movement.
She pinned nothing in her hair. She let it fall freely — black waves cascading down her back, catching faint traces of light. Around her throat, she fastened a delicate choker: a silver thread with a single sapphire teardrop.
When she looked in the mirror, the sight stole even her own breath.
No longer the frightened girl who had died in a hospital bed, who begged to live.
No longer the lost fledgling who woke in a morgue.
She was power in flesh, a goddess of midnight.
Her lips curved in a seductive smirk. "Let's see how the mighty Order handles a storm."
---
The Masquerade of Thorns
The masquerade was held at Château de Lune, an estate hidden deep in the countryside, shrouded in mist and ancient glamour. Aiyana arrived in a black carriage drawn by horses whose eyes glowed faintly red. She stepped out into a courtyard lit by torches, lamps and moonlight.
Everywhere she looked — beauty and decadence. Vampires adorned in jewels and silk moved through the courtyard like predators dressed for theater. Masks of gold, silver, and bone glimmered in the light.
The scent of blood, wine and perfume mingled in the air — a symphony of sin.
Aiyana slipped a platinum mask with silver and blue feathers over her eyes, its delicate lace tracing her cheekbones.
Heads turned as she entered.
Whispers followed.
> She came.
The Queen's blood burns in her.
She's too young to be this powerful.
She smiled behind her mask, letting the whispers feed her confidence.
At the top of the grand staircase, music began — strings and piano, low and haunting. The ballroom stretched beneath crystal chandeliers that dripped light like falling stars.
Then the air changed. The music suddenly slowed down, the lights flickerd without any presence of wind.
She didn't need to look to know who had arrived.
Lucien.
---
He descended the staircase with quiet grace, dressed in black and red, a mask of steel tracing half his face. His eyes found hers immediately — unreadable, cold, and yet charged with something deeper.
The crowd parted between them. Like an order.
Two forces, equal and opposite, drawn inevitably together.
"Madame Vale," he said when they met at the center of the room, bowing slightly.
"Prince D'Arden," she replied, curtsying with mocking grace. "Or do I call you something more poetic? The Order's leash? The Queen's unfinished regret?"
A flicker — almost a smirk. "You've done your research."
"I've done more than that." Her voice was silk over steel. "I've been listening. The minds in this room are loud."
"Then you already know," he murmured, stepping closer, "that most of them want to kill you."
"Let them try."
Her lips curved. "I haven't danced yet."
---
The Dance
The orchestra shifted to a slower waltz, and Lucien extended his hand. "Then dance, Aiyana Vale. Let them see the reason they fear you."
She hesitated — not from fear, but from curiosity. Then she placed her hand in his.
The contact was electric.
They moved across the marble floor, their bodies in perfect rhythm. Every step was a question, every touch an unspoken dare. The crowd watched, murmuring like wind through leaves.
"Why are you here?" she asked quietly, her breath brushing his neck.
"Because the Order sent me."
"And if they hadn't?"
He met her gaze. "I might have come anyway."
The music swelled, and she turned, her gown flaring like a shadow made of stars. "Tell your masters," she whispered, "that I don't belong to their hierarchy. I belong to no one."
"I told them that already," Lucien said, pulling her closer. "They don't believe me."
"Do you?"
He hesitated. That single pause told her everything.
Her smile sharpened. "Careful, prince. You're starting to think like a rebel."
"Or a fool," he said.
"Sometimes they're the same thing."
They circled each other — predator and predator, tension vibrating between them. Around them, the crowd sensed it — fascination and danger entwined.
When the music ended, Lucien bowed again. "You shouldn't have come."
"And miss the chance to see how the Order trembles behind their masks? Never."
He stepped closer, voice low. "They don't tremble. They plan."
Her smirk faltered. "Plan?"
He glanced toward the shadows where the elders sat like carved statues. "They intend to test you tonight."
Aiyana raised an eyebrow intrigued. "How?"
But Lucien was already gone — vanished into the crowd, leaving only the echo of his warning.
---
The Test
Moments later, the chandeliers dimmed. A hush fell over the ballroom.
The music stopped.
From the balcony above, Elder Morvane's voice echoed: "To our newest guest — the woman who walks in daylight, who wears the Queen's blood — we welcome you. But to stand among us, one must prove you belong here."
Aiyana lifted her chin, unafraid. "And what would you have me do, old man?"
The crowd stirred.
Morvane smiled — a thin, cruel line. "Feed."
He gestured, and two mortals were brought forth — glamoured, trembling, unaware of where they stood.
"Choose one," Morvane said. "Drink before us. Or leave and be hunted."
Aiyana's eyes flashed crimson. "You insult me with games."
"It's tradition," the elder purred. "A queen must show her appetite."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then, slowly, Aiyana smiled.
"Very well."
She descended the steps, the crowd parting in hushed awe. The mortals knelt, unaware of their fate.
Aiyana leaned down, brushing a hand over one man's cheek. His heartbeat pounded in her ears — rich, alive, full of fear.
She turned to the crowd, her fangs gleaming faintly in the candlelight. "Watch closely."
Her fangs pierced flesh — but instead of drinking, she lifted her head and spoke, her voice echoing through the chamber.
"I feed when I choose. Not when commanded."
She opened her palm. The blood she'd drawn burned like fire, swirling into mist that curled around her wrist — a display of power both elegant and defiant. The mortal fell unconscious, unharmed.
The crowd gasped.
"Your traditions bore me," Aiyana said softly. "Perhaps it's time someone rewrote them."
Her power pulsed outward — unseen chains snapping. The air crackled with violet light. Some of the lesser vampires fell to their knees, overwhelmed by the force of her will.
Above, Morvane's expression darkened. "Blasphemy—!"
Lucien's voice cut through the chaos. "Enough!"
He stepped between her and the elders, eyes blazing silver. "She's proven her strength. You wanted to see if the Queen lived. You've seen enough."
For a moment, the world hung on a blade's edge. Then, slowly, Morvane sat back gritting his teeth. "Very well. But she has made enemies tonight."
Lucien looked at Aiyana, his gaze unreadable. "They will not forget this."
Aiyana smiled faintly. "Neither will I."
---
Later, as the night ended and the guests scattered into the shadows, Aiyana stood alone on the balcony overlooking the gardens.
Lucien joined her silently. Wanting to say a million things ask questions on who she was before all this.... before being a vampire, but instead says.
"You made quite an impression," he said.
Aiyana smiles faintly but with the same seductive charm like it's natural.
"That was the point."
Lucien looks away trying not to get lost in her honey gold eyes. "Morvane won't stop. The Order never forgives defiance."
She looked up at the moon, her reflection pale and perfect in its light. "Then they can try to kill me. Again."
Lucien's eyes softened. His crimson red eyes hiding emotions stronger and far beyond any mortal minds cue. "They'll send me."
"I know."
He turned to leave, but she caught his wrist — just for a heartbeat.
"Tell me one thing," she said. "When you come for me… will you hesitate?"
He didn't answer, his white platinum hair covering his eyes. But the silence was answer enough.
Aiyana smiled — dark, amused, and heartbreakingly beautiful. "Then I look forward to it."
The moon rose higher, spilling silver across her midnight blue gown as she stood among the whispers of roses and blood, already knowing the night had only just begun.
You can't keep dancing with the devil and ask why you're still in hell. 🖤❤️
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End of Chapter 7