Eira stared daggers at the ornate silver mirror propped on the vanity in front of her, though it wasn't her reflection that made her seethe. She sat stiffly in a high-backed chair, her hands clenched in her lap as two of Caius's servants fussed over her hair and makeup. Their movements were deft and precise, almost mechanical, as though they'd done this countless times before.
She bit back a sharp retort as one of them ushered her up to tighten the corset around her waist. The gown—if it could even be called that—was a dark, shimmering fabric that clung to her figure like a second skin before cascading to the floor in rippling waves. The neckline plunged dangerously low, revealing more than Eira was comfortable with, but her protests had been swiftly dismissed.
"Hold still, my lady," one of the servants murmured, her voice devoid of emotion as she pinned an intricate piece of silver jewelry into Eira's hair.
My lady. Eira almost laughed at the title. It was Caius's way of dressing up the reality of her situation. She wasn't a lady. She was a prisoner, moved into his chambers like a possession he needed to keep close at all times. Her belongings had been hastily packed and transported the day before, with no room for argument.
"If you can't be trusted to obey," he had said, his voice as cold and unyielding as the stone walls of the castle, "then I'll ensure you're kept where I can see you."
The memory made her blood boil all over again. She tugged at the edges of her gown, desperate for a distraction from the tightness of the corset and the ache in her chest.
The faint rustle of fabric and the soft clink of jewelry were the only sounds as the servants finished their work. The scent of something floral lingered in the air, cloying and unfamiliar, another reminder of how far she was from her world.
Eira's gaze drifted to the chandelier overhead, its intricate crystal prisms casting delicate patterns on the dark wood floor. Every detail of the room—every gilded frame, every polished surface—seemed calculated to remind her of her place here. It wasn't hers. It never would be.
"Is it really necessary to make me look like this?" she muttered, her tone dripping with irritation.
The servant working on her makeup paused, glancing at her uncertainly. Before she could answer, a new voice cut through the room.
"It is."
Eira's stomach sank as Caius entered the room, his imposing figure framed by the doorway. He was already dressed for the evening, his tailored black suit and silver accents making him look every bit the lord of the court. His golden eyes swept over her, his expression unreadable, though she thought she caught the faintest flicker of approval.
The servants finished their work and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone. Eira's spine straightened instinctively. Caius moved closer, his footsteps unhurried and deliberate. The faint glow of the chandelier softened his sharp features, but his golden eyes cut through the room like a blade. He stopped behind her, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror.
The silence that followed was thick, pressing down on Eira as she adjusted the thin fabric of her gown. She kept her gaze fixed on the mirror, pretending not to notice Caius's proximity.
"You're beautiful," he said, his voice low and deliberate, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Eira's breath caught, her fingers stilling against the edge of her skirt. Her reflection betrayed her, a faint flush creeping over her cheeks even as she tried to school her features into indifference.
"Don't," she said sharply, though her voice wavered, betraying her. "I don't need your flattery."
"Flattery?" Caius repeated, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned down slightly, his golden eyes locking onto hers in the mirror. "That wasn't flattery. It was a fact."
Eira's heart thudded painfully in her chest, her anger and confusion colliding. She wanted to snap back, to tear down the self-assured calm that seemed to radiate from him. But before she could find the words, he reached out, his hand brushing softly against her cheek.
The gentleness of the gesture caught her off guard. His cool fingers traced the edge of her blush, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down her spine.
"Don't let anyone see this face," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of his tone made her stomach twist, her breath quickening despite herself. "They'll want to touch you the way I want to."
Eira stiffened, her pulse roaring in her ears as his words sank in. The possessiveness in his tone sent heat rushing through her—a confusing, maddening mix of anger and something she refused to name.
"You're insufferable," she muttered, her voice tight as she jerked her face away from his touch.
Caius straightened, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips. "Perhaps," he said, his tone light but edged with something sharper. "But I speak the truth, Eira. That's more than you can say for most of the creatures waiting to ogle you tonight."
Eira forced herself to sit taller, her fingers smoothing the fabric of her gown as she fought the storm brewing in her chest. "It's not like I haven't been stared at enough already," she muttered, trying to sound more casual than she felt.
Caius's gaze sharpened, his golden eyes narrowing as they flicked over her reflection. "You're worried," he said, his voice low and even. It wasn't a question—it was a statement.
Eira stiffened, her jaw tightening. "I'm not worried," she lied, forcing her voice to steady.
His lips curved into the faintest smile, a hint of something sharp glinting beneath his calm exterior. "Your pulse says otherwise," he murmured. "You're bracing yourself as though you expect an attack."
The words struck a chord she hadn't realized was there, and she hated the way her chest tightened in response. "Maybe I am," she snapped, her voice quieter than she intended.
Caius's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—a faint shadow of something like understanding.
"You won't be attacked, not while we are in my court, but…" Caius's gaze never wavered. He stepped closer, resting his hands lightly on the back of her chair. The movement wasn't comforting—it was a reminder. "they'll do more than stare," he said, his voice low and measured. "They'll dissect your every move. Watch for any weakness."
Eira swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the mirror in front of her. It wasn't her reflection she saw—it was a woman she barely recognized. The intricate braids woven through her hair, the shimmering gown that clung too tightly, the chain glinting faintly against her collarbone—they all screamed of someone else. Someone who belonged in Caius's world.
Her hands curled into fists in her lap. They'll watch for weakness, he said. Would it show in the tremor of her voice? In the way her hands fidgeted? She forced herself to still them, but the weight in her chest remained. She wasn't sure if it was anger, fear, or both. "I know."
"Do you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. His golden eyes flicked over her reflection, sharp and assessing.
Eira bristled at his tone, but beneath her irritation, a flicker of doubt gnawed at her. She didn't trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded.
Caius straightened, his hands slipping from the chair as he moved to stand beside her. His presence loomed, as though he were shielding her from an unseen threat—or reminding her of the one standing right beside her.
"Stay close to me tonight," he said, his tone carrying the weight of a command. "Do not stray, and do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself."
A flicker of heat rose in her chest, her hands tightening around the fabric of her gown. "You really think I'd embarrass you that much?" she asked, her tone clipped.
Caius's expression remained unreadable, but his silence was answer enough.
Eira gritted her teeth, forcing her anger down. Fine. If he wanted her to play the part of the dutiful bride, she would. But she wouldn't make it easy for him. She would show his world that she wasn't a pawn, that she wouldn't be swallowed whole by their games.
She turned her head slightly, her jaw tightening. "I understand," she said softly.
For a moment, his gaze softened—not in warmth, but in a way that made her wonder if he could sense the tension coiling in her chest.
"You'll hold your own," he said after a beat, his voice quieter now. "You always do."
Her throat tightened at the unexpected acknowledgment. It wasn't much, but the faint note of confidence in his tone sent a ripple through her. She wasn't sure if it reassured her or made her angrier.
She drew in a slow breath, trying to steady herself. "And if I don't?"
Caius's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. He reached out, his fingers brushing the chain at her throat. The touch was deliberate, possessive, and the faint clink of the metal against his fingers made her shiver.
"You will," he said simply. "Because you belong to me. And you won't forget that."
Eira's nails bit into her palms as she met his gaze. Anger flared beneath her skin, but it was tempered by something heavier—something she refused to name.
Caius released the chain, stepping back and offering his hand. His golden eyes were unreadable, but his command was clear.
"Shall we?"
Eira hesitated for the briefest moment before placing her hand in his. His grip was firm, steady, and maddeningly confident.
As they stepped out of the room, the grand hallway stretching before them, Eira forced herself to breathe. Her thoughts raced as the ballroom doors loomed ahead. The faint hum of conversation grew louder with each step, mingled with the soft strains of a string quartet. The sound was strangely haunting, its melody winding through the air like a shadow.
Eira's chest tightened as she caught a glimpse of movement beyond the towering double doors. Silhouettes flitted across the golden light spilling from the ballroom, their graceful gestures like dancers in a deadly performance. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of expectation pressing down on her shoulders.
She could feel their eyes already—sharp, assessing, waiting. Her skin prickled as if they were dissecting her from afar, peeling back layers to find her flaws.
Stay close. Don't falter. Don't let them see the cracks.
But even as she reminded herself of the rules, a spark of defiance flickered in her chest. If Caius wanted her to be his, if he demanded she play the part of his bride in front of his world, she would.
But she would do it on her terms.
As the massive doors swung open, revealing the glittering sea of vampires waiting inside, Eira squared her shoulders. The chain around her neck glinted faintly in the chandelier light, but she held her head high.
Let them watch, she thought. Let them whisper. I'll give them something to see.