The first time I saw him, he was drinking blood from a crystal goblet like it was wine.
Not in secret. Not in shadows. But in the grand hall of the Crimson Court, beneath a chandelier of frozen screams, his dark coat open at the throat, his fangs glinting in the candlelight. He didn’t sip. Didn’t savor. Just tipped the glass back, his throat working as he swallowed, his crimson eyes never leaving mine.
And I didn’t look away.
Not because I was brave. Not because I was foolish. But because I knew—deep in my bones, in the pulse of my Fae blood—that this was no accident. That he had been waiting for me. That we were already bound by something older than oaths, deeper than magic.
That this was the beginning of my gambit.
His name was Lord Dain. Blood Heir of the Crimson Court. Heir to a legacy of war, of blood pacts, of lies so thick they’d become truth. He was everything I was supposed to avoid—ruthless, calculating, dangerous. A predator in silk and shadow. And yet—
When he set the goblet down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, “You’re not what I expected,” I didn’t flinch.
“Neither are you,” I said, stepping forward, my silver dress fluttering in the cold draft of the hall. “I thought you’d be taller.”
He didn’t smile. Not really. Just tilted his head, his crimson eyes narrowing, his voice low. “I thought Fae were liars. But you speak plainly.”
“Only when it serves me,” I said. “And right now, honesty is the sharpest blade.”
He stepped closer, his boots silent on the marble, his scent—old blood, iron, and something faintly sweet, like poisoned honey—filling the space between us. “And what do you want, Fae?”
“To survive,” I said. “To protect my sister. To ensure the balance doesn’t tip into war.”
“And I’m part of that balance?”
“You’re the fulcrum,” I said. “Lean too far one way, and the world breaks. Lean too far the other, and it burns. But if you’re… persuaded… it could *shift*. Gently. Without blood.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached out, his fingers brushing the sigil on my throat—the one that pulsed faintly beneath my skin, a mark of my true bloodline, one I’d hidden for years. His touch was cold, deliberate, and I didn’t pull away. Let him feel it. Let him *know*.
“You’re not just a consort,” he said. “You’re a spy.”
“I’m a survivor,” I corrected. “And if you want peace—if you want your Court to stand when the Iron Clan comes knocking—you’ll listen to me.”
He dropped his hand. Stepped back. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll make sure your bride arrives at the altar with a knife in her heart,” I said, my voice soft. “And your father will blame the Northern Pack. And war will come. And you’ll lose everything.”
He stared at me. Long. Hard. And then—
He laughed.
Not cruel. Not mocking. But with something like *respect*.
“You’re dangerous,” he said.
“I’m necessary,” I said. “And if you’re smart, you’ll use me.”
He didn’t agree. Didn’t deny. Just turned and walked away, his coat flaring behind him, his voice echoing in the vast hall.
“We’ll see.”
And that was it.
No oath. No pact. No binding kiss.
Just the beginning.
Now, three days later, I stood in the garden of the Crimson Court, the moon high above, the air thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and old magic. The walls were lined with statues—frozen Fae, their faces twisted in eternal screams, their mouths open in silent warnings. I didn’t look at them. Just kept my eyes on the path ahead, my hands clasped before me, my pulse steady.
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
This garden was forbidden. A place of blood pacts and broken promises. A place where lovers had been sacrificed, where treaties had been sealed with teeth and venom. And yet—
Here I was.
Because he had summoned me.
And I had come.
He stood at the center of the garden, beneath a twisted blackthorn tree, his back to me, his hands behind his back. He didn’t turn when I approached. Didn’t speak. Just waited.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice low.
“I had to make sure I wasn’t followed,” I said, stopping a few feet away. “Your father’s spies are everywhere.”
“So are mine,” he said, turning. His crimson eyes burned in the dark, his fangs just visible beneath his lips. “And they tell me you’ve been meeting with the Northern Beta.”
My breath didn’t catch. My pulse didn’t quicken. Just met his gaze, steady, unflinching. “Riven is my ally. Not my lover.”
“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, “you stood with him on the parapet. You let him touch you.”
“He saved my life,” I said. “And I don’t forget debts.”
“Loyalty is admirable,” he said. “But dangerous. Especially when it’s misplaced.”
“And what about you?” I asked, stepping closer. “Whose loyalty do you serve? Your father? Your Court? Or yourself?”
He didn’t answer. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a letter—sealed with crimson wax, marked with the sigil of the Hollow Witch.
My blood ran cold.
“This arrived today,” he said. “Addressed to you. Intercepted.”
I didn’t take it. Just stared at the seal, my mind racing. The Hollow Witch was in prison. Or so we thought. And yet—
She was still playing.
“Open it,” I said.
He didn’t hesitate. Broke the seal, unfolded the parchment. And then—
He read.
“*Daughter,*” he began, his voice rough, “*you have chosen the wrong side. The wolf and the witch will destroy everything. But you—you are mine. Come to me. Break the pact. Claim your birthright. Or I will take it from you.*”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From fury.
Because she wasn’t just my grandmother.
She was my mother.
The woman who had given me life, then abandoned me to the Fae Court, bound by a blood pact I hadn’t consented to. The woman who had cursed her own bloodline, who had manipulated Garnet, who had tried to take my niece before she was even born.
And now—
She was calling me home.
Dain watched me, his crimson eyes sharp. “You didn’t know.”
“I suspected,” I said, my voice steady. “But I didn’t want to believe it.”
“And now?”
“Now I know she’s not just a threat to Garnet,” I said. “She’s a threat to *everyone*. And if she’s free—”
“—she’ll start a war,” he finished. “And my father will side with her. He’s always wanted the Northern Pack broken.”
I didn’t flinch. “Then stop him.”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
“By marrying me,” I said.
He froze.
Not from shock. Not from anger.
From calculation.
“You’re proposing a political marriage,” he said slowly.
“I’m proposing a *survival* pact,” I said. “You marry me, and I become your shield. I stand between you and your father’s ambitions. I ensure the Fae don’t side with the Hollow Witch. I keep the Northern Pack from declaring war. And in return—”
“—you get protection,” he said. “A title. Power.”
“I get *leverage*,” I said. “And the chance to protect my sister. To protect the child. To ensure no one else suffers the way we have.”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, his body a wall of shadow and blood, his voice low. “And if I say no?”
“Then I go to the Council,” I said. “I reveal everything—the Hollow Witch’s plans, your father’s alliances, the truth about my bloodline. And you’ll be powerless to stop it.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at me, his crimson eyes burning. And then—
He reached for me.
Not to strike. Not to grab.
To *touch*.
His fingers brushed my cheek, cold, deliberate, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said.
“So are you,” I whispered. “And if we’re smart, we’ll play it together.”
He didn’t pull away. Just leaned in, his breath cool against my skin, his fangs just grazing my neck. “And if I bite you?”
“Then you bind us,” I said. “Not by magic. Not by blood. But by *choice*.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me.
Not soft. Not tender.
Claiming.
His mouth crashed into mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against my lips, forcing them open. I didn’t fight. Didn’t pull away. Just let him take, let him taste, let him *know* me. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, his body pressing into mine, his magic flaring—cold, sharp, like ice and iron.
And when he pulled back—
His eyes were no longer crimson.
They were violet.
Like mine.
Like Garnet’s.
Like the Hollow Witch’s.
“You’re not what you seem,” he said, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I said, touching the sigil on his chest—the one hidden beneath his coat, the one that pulsed with Fae magic, not vampire. “You’re half-Fae. Like me.”
He didn’t deny it. Just stepped back, his expression unreadable. “My mother was a Fae consort. She died giving birth to me. My father erased her. Erased *me*.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he said, stepping closer, “I have a chance to reclaim what was stolen.”
“Then let’s do it together,” I said. “You marry me. We rule as Blood Heir and Fae Queen. We break the old pacts. We forge new ones. And we protect the ones who matter.”
He didn’t smile. Just reached for my hand, his fingers lacing with mine. “And if it fails?”
“Then we burn with it,” I said. “But at least we’ll burn *together*.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into his arms, his body warm against mine despite the cold, his breath steady against my neck. And then—
He whispered, “I’ll announce the engagement tomorrow.”
My breath caught.
Not from relief.
From *power*.
Because this wasn’t just a marriage.
It was a revolution.
And I had just made the first move.
Later, as I stood on the balcony of my chamber, the moon high above, the fortress of the Crimson Court silent below, I placed my hand on my chest, where the sigil pulsed faintly beneath my skin. The wind was cold, but I didn’t feel it. Didn’t hear the whispers of the statues, the distant howls of the vampire guards.
All I felt was him.
Dain.
Not just a Blood Heir.
Not just a vampire.
But a half-Fae, like me. A survivor. A weapon.
And now—
My ally.
My *mate*.
In truth, if not in name.
And when the war came—and it would come—I would be ready.
Not as a pawn.
Not as a spy.
But as a queen.
Because love wasn’t just for kings and queens.
It was for the ones who stood in the dark.
For the ones who held the line.
For the ones who bled so others could live.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.