The halls of Emberfell rang with the frantic iron clatter of a kingdom preparing for blood.
War was coming.
Rogue vampires—shadows that hadn't dared touch Emberfell's borders for decades—were gathering in the mist of the Black Woods.
Messengers ran up and down the battlements. War horns were tested and silenced again. The Alpha King's banners were being lowered and replaced with battle standards marked in iron and blood.
Inside her private chambers, Lady Althea Kaine stood by the window, her fingers twitching against the silk of her skirts.
A sharp knock at the door startled her.
"Enter!" Althea snapped.
Nina, the palace's most notorious gossip and Althea's favorite set of ears, hurried in. She was breathless, her cap lopsided, her eyes bright with the kind of news that could burn down a house.
"My Lady," Nina gasped, dropping a hasty, messy curtsy. "The palace… it's a madhouse. The Alpha King is at the gates. He's rallying the vanguard himself. They say the rogues are already at the eastern watchtowers."
"This is bad news," Althea said. "Rogue vampires don't stir without reason. They haven't attacked Emberfell in decades." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Which means they want something."
Nina leaned forward, lowering her voice even though no one else was present. "That's what everyone's saying. The guards. The knights. They keep asking—what could possibly make them come back now?"
Althea smiled faintly.
"What indeed."
Nina hesitated, then brightened again, clearly bursting to release her next piece of gossip.
"And—oh! There's more, my lady. You'll like this."
That made Althea turn fully.
"What is it?"
"The slave princess… the one from the North."
Althea's eyes sharpened. "What about her?"
"She's gone. Not escaped," Nina clarified quickly as Althea's hand flew to her throat. "The Alpha King stripped her of the Rose Suite. He threw her back to the pits yesterday. As we speak, she's in the mines, scrubbing grease and breaking stone with the rest of the dregs."
Althea froze. Slowly, the fear of the vampire invasion began to recede, replaced by a slow, toxic bloom of satisfaction. A dark, jagged smile spread across her lips, as her wolf howled in excitement.
"In the mines?" Althea whispered, her voice honeyed with malice. "With the common filth?"
"Yes, My Lady. And since the King is leading the charge to the borders… he's given no orders for her protection. He's too busy preparing for the slaughter to worry about a slave's well-being."
Althea laughed.
Just a low, delighted sound that sent a chill through the room.
"So you're telling me," she said slowly, turning in a graceful circle, "that while we speak… the slave girl is on her knees in the dirt?"
"Yes, my lady."
Althea turned back to the window, watching the distant glow of torches at the palace gates. She saw the silhouette of Damien on his massive warhorse, as he led his men out.
He was leaving. He would be miles away, buried in the heat of battle.
"So," Althea chuckled darkly, her reflection in the glass looking like a ghost of the woman she pretended to be. "Damien is going to war. He won't be here to see what happens in the slave quarters."
"Which means," Althea continued, her voice trembling with excitement, "that I finally have a clear path. No King to stop me."
She walked toward her vanity, picking up a small, ornate dagger. She didn't look like a Lady of the Court anymore; she looked like a predator who had finally found the gap in the fence.
"If the vampires want a war at the borders, let them have it," Althea hissed. "But here, in the Emberfell palace.....I'm going to have a war of my own. Nina, fetch my cloak."
"It's time I dealt with the slave Princess of the North."
...….
Back in the mines, Soraya's hands were hurting from the heavy shovel.
"You shouldn't be doing this," Lyra whispered, moving closer to Soraya in the dim torchlight. "You gave me your food. You haven't slept. You're weak, Soraya. Let me take the heavy shifts."
"I'm fine," Soraya replied, her voice raspy but steady. She struck the rock wall again, the vibration traveling up her arms and rattling her teeth.
"How did you know?" Lyra asked suddenly, her voice dropping to a terrified hum. "The Deep Ridge selection… they took twenty men and women this morning. I was sure they'd grab me. But you told me they wouldn't. You said it like you were reading a book."
Soraya stopped, leaning against the cold stone. She didn't have an answer. She just remembered a feeling—a strange, cold certainty that had settled over her when the Overseer walked by.
"And the rogue vampires," Lyra continued, her brown eyes wide. "The word just reached the pits. The palace is in chaos. The Alpha King has already marched for the border. You told me that last night, Soraya. Even the King didn't know until this morning. Are you… are you some kind of angel? When I'm near you, I feel… safe. Like the dark can't touch me."
Soraya turned to look at her, her forest-green eyes flashing with a brief, haunted gold light. "I don't know what I am, Lyra. I only know that the world is getting louder, and I can't turn the sound off."
Before Lyra could respond, the heavy iron gates at the top of the mine shaft groaned open.
"Make way!" The overseer's voice boomed, cutting through the sound of pickaxes. "Drop your tools and bow! Clear the path for the King's favoured, Lady Althea!"
The mines went deathly silent. Slaves dropped to their knees in the soot and mud, heads bowed low.
Soraya didn't move as quickly as the others. She wiped a smudge of grease from her forehead. She knew exactly why Althea was here. With Damien gone, the snake had come out of the grass to bite.
Althea appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, her violet silk skirts held high to avoid the filth, her face covered with a lace handkerchief as if the very air Soraya breathed was a poison.
She didn't look at the other slaves. Her eyes locked onto Soraya.
"Look at this," Althea's voice rang out, mocking and sharp. "The North's greatest treasure, buried in the dirt where she belongs."
Althea didn't wait for a greeting. She snapped her fingers, her eyes gleaming with a manic, cruel light.
Immediately, two of her personal guards lunged forward. They grabbed Soraya's arms, their iron grip bruising her skin.
"Let me go!" Soraya gasped, struggling against them, but she was weakened by hunger and the long hours in the mines.
With a sickening metallic clink, a heavy collar was snapped around Soraya's neck. Attached to it was a long, cold chain. The guards handed the end of it to Althea as if they were handing over a leash.
"Damien was lenient with you," Althea hissed, yanking the chain so hard Soraya stumbled to her knees in the soot. "He called you his 'punishment,' but he treated you like a guest. He didn't break you enough. But I'm here now, and I have much more patience for pain than he does."
Althea turned on her heel, beginning to walk toward the exit. Soraya was forced to crawl behind her like an animal, the iron collar digging into her throat, her palms scraping against the jagged rocks of the mine floor.
"Tell me, Princess," Althea called out over her shoulder, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "Have you ever been whipped by silver before? I think not. It's an exquisite sensation—it doesn't just cut the skin; it burns the blood."
Lyra watched, her body shaking as she watched Soraya—lady who had given her bread, the woman who felt like an angel—being dragged away to be tortured.
Everyone knew Althea was a devil. If Soraya went into her private chambers alone, she wouldn't come out alive.
I have to do something, Lyra thought, her eyes darting toward the surface. But I'm just a slave. The only person who can stop a monster like Althea… is a bigger monster.
Alpha Damien.