Cora's fingers curled tightly at her sides, the silk of her dress whispering against her palm as confusion danced behind her wide eyes. A siren. Of all things.
She turned to Damien, her voice low and strained. "Why would a siren attack my mother?"
Damien's head tilted ever so slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if amused by her question—or maybe just her panic. "Could be because of you." He shrugged with maddening ease. "Or maybe your mother had ties with her. We won't know for sure until she wakes up."
His gloved hand reached out, cool fingers lacing through hers like a command rather than comfort. "Come. Let's go ."
Cora swallowed her apprehension as he led her down the corridor, the distant sound of chamber music growing louder with every step. Her heart pounded, but not just because of what she'd learned. The hall they approached was a lion's den in velvet and silk—creatures who drank blood pretending to be human, smiling with fangs behind champagne flutes.
Damien glanced at her from the corner of his eye, that lazy, unbothered grin still present. "Relax, little bird ," he murmured, his voice low and sinful against her ear. "No one would dare touch you. Not when I'm beside you. Not even my mother."
The doors opened with an elegant groan, revealing the grand hall beyond.
It was a cascade of elegance—gilded chandeliers, glittering gowns, and creatures dressed as aristocrats. Cora kept her chin lifted behind her mask, even as she felt the sting of a hundred unseen eyes piercing through her skin.
Across the room, Roseline had just arrived—dripping in a sapphire evening dress that hugged every inch of her figure like a second skin. Her perfectly styled hair caught the chandelier's light, and her red-painted lips curved into a polished smile as she approached the queen.
"Your Majesty," she said with a graceful curtsy.
Queen Lana's eyes—sharp as obsidian—scanned Roseline up and down. She said nothing of her approval, but her gaze lingered. This… was the kind of woman she had envisioned at her son's side. Not a masked freak in shadows.
"How are you, Roseline?" the queen asked with mild interest.
"I'm honored to be in your presence," Roseline replied with a honeyed smile before drifting off to find her parents.
Elsewhere, Amelia stood among the elites, her smile frozen in place as her parents mingled effortlessly with old allies. But her eyes scanned the room for someone—anyone familiar. And then she saw her.
Cecily.
What was she doing here?
Amelia excused herself swiftly and followed the girl through the crowd, but Cecily ducked out of sight, disappearing down a corridor. When Amelia turned the corner, she found herself alone. Frowning, she turned around—
And collided into someone.
Strong hands steadied her.
She looked up into a pair of dark eyes—eyes too intense for a stranger. His jawline was carved like stone, and the suit he wore was midnight-black, crisp and regal. For a moment, Amelia forgot how to breathe.
"Did you lose your way?" His voice was a deep, smooth baritone that hummed through the empty corridor like a spell.
"I—I did," she muttered, mortified by her own stammer.
He chuckled, the sound dark and intoxicating, before nodding toward the main hall. "That way, princess."
But when she turned to thank him, he had vanished—swallowed by the crowd.
Sighing, Amelia turned and caught sight of Leonard. Her heart jumped. He looked devastatingly handsome in his suit, as though tailored by darkness itself. For a moment, she thought he was walking toward her.
But he passed her.
Right past her.
Straight to Roseline.
Her breath hitched as jealousy twisted inside her like a knife. She closed her eyes, trying to compose herself—but the pain didn't vanish.
Damien and Cora stepped into the hall, and like clockwork, the music softened. A hush fell. All eyes turned.
And just like that, the creatures noticed the masked woman walking among them.
Damien didn't falter. He wore his arrogance like a crown. His eyes gleamed with amusement as nobles bowed, murmured greetings, and attempted to mask their curiosity.
Cora stood tall beside him, her mask hiding the trembling beneath her skin. She met their stares with silence, relying on the comforting weight of Damien's fingers still wrapped around hers.
Queen Lana's gaze snapped to them. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
From behind the throne, a woman in a flowing blue dress approached the queen. Her head was covered in a sheer veil, but her presence exuded mysticism.
"Your Majesty," she murmured.
Queen Lana's eyes narrowed. "You took your time," she said coldly. "I hope you've brought good news. Damien will be announced as crown prince tonight. I won't have any distractions."
The woman nodded. The Royal Prophetess. A white witch loyal to the royal line for generations.
"Damien's mate has already been found" the Prophetess said calmly. "The vision placed her in Oscar's already."
Lana's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "That is good news. Did you see anything useful? A description? A sign?"
The witch hesitated. "The vision was… unclear. But I will find her before Damien does. I give you my word."
Lana's eyes swept across the hall and landed back on the girl beside Damien. She said nothing, but her expression sharpened.
Moments later, the king arrived.
The room fell into silence as he ascended the grand stairs, the tailored gray of his suit shimmering beneath the lights. He stood tall, imposing, regal.
"We are gathered here tonight," he began, his voice carrying across the hall, "to name the future of our kingdom."
Queen Lana took her seat beside him, poised and smug.
He extended a hand. "Sons."
Damien and Magnus approached.
Amelia's heart stuttered.
The man who had steadied her in the hallway now stood beside the king. He wasn't a guest. He wasn't a stranger.
He was Prince Magnus Ravenscroft.
"By my authority," the king proclaimed, "I name Damien Ravenscroft as the Crown Prince of this realm."
A pause.
And then the hall erupted into applause.
Magnus smiled—relieved. He hadn't wanted the title. The spotlight had never suited him.
Damien bowed, the picture of elegance… and dominance. He turned to Magnus with a crooked grin and whispered something that made his brother chuckle.
The king placed the ceremonial crown on Damien's head.
Cora watched it all from the sidelines, her breath caught in her throat. Damien looked every inch the prince—untouchable, arrogant, beautiful in the most dangerous way.
The crowd surged toward him, eager to congratulate their new future king.
And then—
"Cora."
She turned sharply, the voice all too familiar.
Cecily stood just a few feet away, her green dress clinging to her like ivy. She smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"Cecily?" Cora blinked, startled. "What are you doing here?"
"I should ask you that," Cecily replied sweetly. "Didn't expect to see you at an event like this."
"I was invited," Cora said tightly, already on edge. She remembered Damien's suspicions. The siren. Her mother.
Cecily stepped closer, her smile widening. "Tell me, Cora. What's a little sheep like you doing among wolves?"
Cora's breath caught. A chill crept up her spine.
"You do know mermaids aren't safe in a room full of vampires, don't you?" Cecily said, voice like poisoned honey.
Cora froze.
Her heart slammed into her ribs.
Goosebumps rose on her skin, and her mind reeled.
How… how did Cecily know?
The mask suddenly felt too tight.
The air too thick.