Drusilla burst into her brother's home like she owned the place.
"Alaric!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the halls. "Alaric!"
She could have tracked him by scent, but she wasn't thinking.
She was furious.
The servants bowed their heads in submission, acknowledging their princess but daring not to interfere. Not that they could even if they tried.
It would be pointless—like searching for a pin in a haystack.
Still, they braced themselves for the prince's inevitable punishment.
It was the cruel irony of their existence. The nobles could act recklessly, and yet, it was the servants who bore the consequences.
They had been born into servitude. They were bound by blood and rank. It was an injustice they had no choice but to endure.
Then, before she could storm further—
"Hey, hey, hey, slow down there, princess."
A strong hand grabbed Drusilla's arm, stopping her in her tracks.
Xavier.
His sharp, sleep-deprived eyes locked onto hers as he held her back.
He was not in the mood for this.
His rest had been cut short by the caterwauling inside the mansion, and though, as a vampire, sleep wasn't a necessity—Xavier enjoyed it.
It was one of the rare indulgences he allowed himself.
And after a whole moon of tedious work without so much as passing by his own room, he had finally seen his well-laid bed.
Only to be rudely interrupted.
A murderous glare settled on his face.
"Whoever just woke me up had better be prepared to die."
The threat had simmered in his mind as he stormed down the halls, his temper rising with every step.
Then—he caught the scent.
Drusilla.
His irritation morphed into immediate calculation. He stopped, taking exactly two seconds to assess the situation.
Drusilla was livid.
The servants were terrified.
And if she got inside Alaric's chambers and caused trouble—
Xavier was going to lose his damn head.
That was all the incentive he needed.
Without hesitation, he moved, catching her before she could do something stupid.
"Take a breath, princess," he muttered, keeping his hold firm. "Unless you want your brother to kill us both today."
---
"Where is my brother?"
Drusilla's voice was sharp with fury. If she got her hands on him, she swore she'd beat him senseless.
Xavier, still standing in her way, crossed his arms.
"Does he know you're here?" he asked instead, carefully choosing his words—because his head was on the line, too.
Drusilla's emerald eyes narrowed.
"Don't play twenty-one questions with me, Xavier." Her voice dropped in warning.
"Then don't deliberately put my life on the spot, princess." He countered, his tone cold, his face unreadable.
Of course, he knew what she was capable of when she didn't get her way.
But not this time.
He refused to let her drag him into this mess.
They were outside the empire now.
And even though Xavier had been one of Alaric's closest childhood friends, that meant nothing when it came to disrespect.
If Alaric felt betrayed—he wouldn't spare him.
Drusilla knew this, too.
But she was too pissed to care.
"You're looking good as always," he commented suddenly, attempting to distract her.
"Don't you dare try to take my mind off this."
"Oh! My bad." He slapped his forehead dramatically, smirking.
"Move, Xavier."
She wasn't falling for his antics.
"I still need my head for plenty of things, princess." He grinned, sending her a wink.
---
Juliana clutched the dress from Dica Queens tightly against her chest, practically vibrating with nerves.
"Heavens, I'm so nervous right now!" she blurted out, pacing. "What if he doesn't like the dress? I know you guys said it's perfect, but what if he thinks I'm boring? What if—what if he doesn't want me anymore?"
Her wide eyes made it seem like she had just uncovered a century-old conspiracy.
Blair, sitting nearby, dropped her head into her hands.
This headache was getting worse.
But, as a good friend, she knew she had to step in before Juliana spiraled even further.
"Calm down, girl," Blair said, lifting her head. "Take a deep breath in—hold it for a few seconds—then let it out." She demonstrated with her hands.
Juliana copied her hesitantly.
"And besides, trust me, he's going to love you at first sight tonight." Blair's voice turned reassuring. "You've already got an angelic face and an exquisite body. And that dress?"
She whistled.
"That dress is a sin package."
Juliana paused, her expression softening.
"If he doesn't want you after seeing you in that—then it's his loss, darling."
Juliana finally breathed.
She needed that reassurance.
Still, she wished Elisabetha was here.
Blair, however, didn't seem to care much about Elisabetha's absence. But that wasn't too surprising. She had always been like that—distant, rarely showing concern.
"Have you heard from Elisa?" Juliana asked suddenly.
Blair barely blinked.
"She'll come around, Julie. Don't beat yourself up over it."
And just like that, the conversation about Elisabetha ended before it even began.
---
"Brother, don't tell me you're going to stay silent about what Father has done."
Drusilla had finally calmed herself—somewhat—after Xavier practically dragged her to Alaric's office. He had known this conversation was inevitable.
Now, she sat across from her brother, frustration clear on her face.
Alaric, on the other hand, remained unfazed, his expression cold and distant, as if the conversation barely held his interest.
His apathy infuriated her.
"What has Father done?"
His voice was bored, his silver eyes as unreadable as ever.
Drusilla's hands clenched into fists.
Of course, he was pretending not to know.
Alaric had plans today—plans that had nothing to do with Drusilla's tantrums. He made a conscious effort to avoid her because she was always trouble. She wanted everything her way, never considering how others felt.
Not that he cared about people's feelings either. But his sister?
She was too much.
Every time she spoke, he lost what little appetite he had.
And that was saying something.
As a vampire, food wasn't essential, but Alaric ate even less than most. It had been a major concern for his parents when he was an infant, but they had learned to accept it.
Tonight, however, was different.
He had purposefully gone without food for days just to ensure he'd be able to eat during his dinner date. He didn't want to make his precious one feel awkward, even though he was certain she wouldn't give a damn.
After weeks of effort just to get her to agree to dinner, he refused to let Drusilla ruin it.
But of course—his dear sister had to be the center of attention.
Drusilla folded her arms, her emerald gaze sharp.
"Alright then... If you, as the empire's crown prince, have no idea what's happening in your own kingdom, then allow me to enlighten you, Your Highness."
The sarcasm in her voice was thick, and Alaric didn't miss it.
Drusilla had inherited their father's temper—just like he had.
But the difference?
Alaric had mastered the art of control.
He was three years older than her, but Drusilla acted as if she was the elder sibling, simply because he never bothered putting her in her place.
Of course, she knew when to stop with him.
Most of the time.
But sometimes, her lack of control pissed him off beyond words.
"You have to do something about it, Alaric. Confront Mother and Father," she demanded, heaving a frustrated sigh. "I refuse to have that thing as a sister-in-law. And besides, I know you want nothing to do with that arrogant bastard."
Alaric's brows lifted slightly.
The audacity of this woman.
They weren't best friends.
She had no idea what he wanted.
"You know nothing about my desires or feelings, sister dearest. So don't sit here and lecture me about my likes and dislikes."
Drusilla scoffed.
"I do. And even if I didn't? There's no way I'm accepting that bitch as my sister-in-law."
Ah.
So that's what this was really about.
Drusilla hated Ambrosia.
Not because she had done anything wrong.
But because she carried herself too well—too confidently.
She wasn't just the bastard daughter of the Amber Kingdom.
She walked through Arthandica as if the entire empire belonged to her.
As if she was above the nobles scrambling for power.
Their paths had crossed many times before.
And Ambrosia?
She never once acknowledged Drusilla.
While everyone else tripped over themselves to please her, Ambrosia had barely spared her a glance.
And that, more than anything, burned Drusilla alive.
---
Drusilla would pick her over Ambrosia a thousand times.
Not because they were friends.
But because Elisabetha worshipped the very ground she walked on.
Elisabetha had spent years trying to get close to the princess, hoping to use that connection to reach the prince. But the arrogant yet utterly useless princess had rejected her efforts at every turn.
In the end, Elisabetha had settled—comforting herself with the fact that the imperial couple liked her, and that the prince treated her slightly better than the rest.
That should have been enough.
But Drusilla wasn't one to forgive slights.
And Keket?
That bastard would pay for every act of disrespect.
For every ignored greeting.
For every moment she had failed to acknowledge who she should be bowing to.
And now?
Now was the perfect time for revenge.
Her brother's calm demeanor only confirmed her suspicions.
He wasn't resisting.
Which meant he already knew something she didn't.
No matter.
Revenge, after all, is a dish best served cold.
Even if she failed to stop the engagement, she would make Ambrosia's life a living hell.
The bastard would beg for separation.
Alaric exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
Now he understood.
His sister's real reason for opposing this union had nothing to do with family honor, politics, or even his happiness.
It was her sick ego.
Drusilla was spoiled, though she would never admit it.
But at least she was hardworking.
That was the one thing he respected about her—though he would never tell her that.
Still, it didn't change the facts.
He didn't want Ambrosia either.
The arrogant, illegitimate daughter of the Amber Kingdom was the last person he would have chosen.
But his father had left him no choice.
A prophecy from the gods, he had said.
But what kind of damn prophecy was this?
Were the gods playing with him?
Why him?
His father knew better than to expect obedience without consequences.
Alaric wouldn't let him off the hook so easily.
---
Ambrosia hummed softly, running her fingers through Musk's feathers.
Her eyes were blank, unreadable.
She wiped the blood from her nostrils with the back of her hand, then exhaled.
Her mind was made up.
No one was allowed to decide her fate.
Not her father.
Not the emperor.
Not even the gods.
If they dared interfere, they would feel her wrath.