••{RHIANNON'S POV}••
I stare at the gown lying across the bed.
It's beautiful. It's something a princess might actually enjoy wearing.
But not like this.
I don't want to go.
I don't want to sit across from Azrael, pretend to share a meal with him, or put on this gown he sent. It feels like obedience and I'm not going to surrender even the smallest part of myself to him.
But I can't stay locked in this room any longer.
The walls feel like they're caving in. My thoughts keep circling themselves until I can't breathe. I need air. I need movement. I need something that isn't just my own despair weighing down on me.
So now I walk through the halls in this deep red gown, escorted by two guards. Their boots echo against the stone floor, and with every step my heart beats faster.
I keep imagining what's waiting for me. Who'll be there. What they'll think when they see me
What Azrael will do.
By the time the guards open the doors to the dining chamber, my hands are cold even though the room is warm.
The moment I step inside, the conversation halts.
Azrael looks up first. He's seated at the far end of the long table, dressed in black and crimson. Two women sit with him. They lift their eyes toward me at the same time.
Their intense gazes pin me in place. My breath catches in my throat and I swallow hard, fighting the urge to take a step back.
"Princess Rhiannon."
One of the women rises.
Her voice is soft, polite, nothing like the tension hanging in the room. She steps closer, and as she approaches, I take her in properly—long black hair that falls almost to her hips, skin pale like marble, and dark eyes that shimmer blue at the edges when the light hits them.
She's breathtaking in a cold, otherworldly way.
She reaches me and rests a hand at the back of my waist, gently guiding me forward.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she says as she leads me toward the table. "My brother refused to let me see you. He won't even say anything about you except your name."
Her brother? That makes me pause.
I glance at Azrael, then back at her.
When she gestures to the empty seat across from him, I ease into it and ask, "You're Azrael's sister?"
She nods and smiles. "I am Azeria Bloodbourne." She lifts her hand toward the regal woman across from her. "And this is our mother, Seraphine."
I face her and bow my head. "Good evening, Your Majesty."
Seraphine barely looks older than Azrael and Azeria, which only reminds me again that vampires don't age like humans do. She tilts her head, studying me with an unreasonable expression. Her golden eyes travels down my dress and back up again and I can feel every inch of the scrutiny.
I pull my gaze away from her to look at Azrael and Azeria, and I can immediately tell they notice the awkward tension too.
The dining chamber is silent for a moment until Azeria leans forward and asks. "So… Rhiannon, where are you from?"
"Astragarde," I say softly.
Her smile grows. "Tell me about it. I want to know what it's like."
My fingers fidget with the skirt of my gown under the table. My throat feels tight again.
I don't know if I can talk about home without falling apart, but… something in her expression tells me she genuinely wants to hear it.
"Growing up," I say quietly, "my mother used to tell me that Astragarde is a place where sunlight feels like it warms your bones… not just your skin. And there's nowhere else like it."
My eyes fall to the polished wooden table. "And truly… there's none."
Azeria listens closely, resting her chin on her hand.
"The streets are paved with white stones," I continue. "They shine almost golden at sunrise. There are lanterns tied along the canals with blue and silver ribbons. They sway when the wind comes through, and at night they make the water glow like a river of stars."
Azeria smiles softly, and it gives me the courage to go on.
"The markets are loud. Vendors shouting over each other, musicians playing flutes and tambourines… and storytellers sitting on crates, telling tales of heroes and monsters. There's always something happening."
I find myself smiling faintly as I go on
"And there's a festival… the Festival of Light. Everyone takes part. We make lanterns from from different colors of silk. They're delicate, almost fragile in your hands but the moment you light them, they lift into the sky. We write little messages on them like the things we wish for… our hopes… and dreams. Sometimes, people write letters to loved ones far away, or for someone they've lost."
Azeria's eyes soften.
"Once they're lit, they drift together, hundreds, thousands of them… floating across the night sky. Boats decorated with flowers drift alongside, and people sing songs that echo over the water and throughout the kingdom."
Azeria exhales, almost in awe. "It sounds beautiful. I can almost see it."
The room falls quiet again, but this time… it feels oddly comforting. For the first time since I arrived in this place, something inside me feels a little lighter.
"Rhiannon."
Azrael's voice pulls my attention. I lift my eyes to meet his.
"You look beautiful tonight," he says. "Red suits you."
I just stare at him in response.
I feel nothing but bitterness and anger toward him. He won't get any gratitude from me. Not when he's the reason I'm here in the first place. Not when the love of my life is dead.
"Rhiannon," His mother says calmly. "Do manners not exist in… Astragarde, is it?"
My brows pull together. "Excuse me?"
"My son gave you a compliment and you can't even thank him." She lifts her chin. "First you kill our servants. Now this." She gives a slow, disappointed shake of her head. "From everything you've described, one would think your kingdom is civilized. Yet your behavior reminds me more of barbarians than royalty. It makes me question why my son even brought you here in the first place."
"Mother," Azrael says, trying to step in.
"No." She cuts him off without raising her voice. Her golden eyes lock onto mine. "Tell me, child. What did Azrael see in you that made him drag you into our kingdom?"
I straighten in my seat. "Your majesty, he's sitting right next to you, isn't he? So why don't you go ahead and ask him yourself?"
Seraphine's eyes widen, lips parting with shock.
Azeria gasps softly, her hand flying to her mouth as she looks between us.
And Azrael…
Even with the stoic look on his face, I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.
Seraphine's stunned silence hangs in the air for only a heartbeat, and before anyone can say anything else, the doors open.
Maids pour into the room in a straight line, carrying golden platters, trays, polished cutlery, and crystal wine glasses. The soft clinking of metal on porcelain fills the chamber as they begin setting the table, weaving around each other with practiced grace.
Seraphine doesn't look away from me—not even once.
Her glare is sharp enough to slice through bone. She stares at me like she's deciding whether to leap across the table and tear my throat out. I keep my eyes forward, ignoring the heat of her hostility pressing against my skin.
A dish is placed in front of me.
Then one before Azeria.
Another before Seraphine.
One before Azrael.
The maid uncovers mine first, and warm steam washes over me, carrying the scent of spices and herbs. The meal looks… normal. Roasted vegetables glazed in honey, soft bread with a golden crust, and slices of seasoned meat that glisten beneath a thin sheen of oil. My stomach tightens painfully at the reminder that I haven't eaten since… I don't even know when.
But then the maids start pouring wine in three glasses.
Azrael's, Aeria's, and Seraphine's.
The liquid is dark, thicker than normal, gleaming like garnets under the candlelight.
At first, I assume it's wine.
Then the metallic scent drifts across the table and the moment I smell it, my eyes widen.
Blood.
They're drinking blood.
My fingers go cold as the maids uncover the dishes placed before the Bloodbournes.
My breath stutters in my chest.
Because on each plate… resting on fine porcelain…
Are hearts.
Actual hearts.
Fresh.
Red.
Wet.
I know what a heart looks like now.
I saw Azrael rip Cyrus's out of his chest.
Seraphine slices into hers cleanly. Blood spills across the plate like spilled ink. Azeria cuts into hers too, slower, almost delicately. Azrael lifts a piece with his fork, his face unreadable as he brings it to his mouth.
I try to look away, but I can't.
My own food sits untouched in front of me, but all I can focus on is the way they're eating. The wet sound of their knives piercing the flesh. The way the blood drips down the sides. The way they lick the red off their lips like it's nothing.
My stomach twists violently.
I grip the edge of the table, digging my nails into the wood.
I tell myself to breathe, to stay still, to stay calm.
But then, Azeria lifts another piece of the heart and a fresh spill of blood hits her plate.
My stomach lurches and a sharp gag escapes me.
"Rhiannon, are you alright?" Azeria asks.
I shake my head, covering my mouth as another heave forces itself up. I swallow hard, desperate to keep it down, but it only rises again, faster, stronger.
"I—" I try to say, but the words dissolve into another gag.
I push away from the table, stumbling to my feet so fast my chair crashes to the floor behind me.
And then I can't hold it anymore.
My body jerks forward and I vomit onto the marble floor.
My entire stomach empties itself as I choke and gasp, tears burning the corners of my eyes.
The sound echoes through the chamber.
When it finally stops, I'm left trembling, breath shuddering, spit and bile clinging to my lips. I wipe at my mouth weakly, trying to catch my breath.
Slowly, I lift my gaze.
Every pair of eyes is on me.
The maids. Azeria. Seraphine. Azrael.
All of them standing.
All of them watching.
Mortified, I stagger upright, my legs barely holding me.
"I… I'm sorry," I manage, my voice small and hoarse. "I have to go."
And before anyone can speak, before Azrael can move, before Seraphine can sneer—
I turn and run.
Out of the dining chamber. Out of that nightmare of a meal. And away from them.
I don't stop.
I keep running until I reach my chambers and slam the doors shut behind me.