Ambrosia watched in silence as the events within the magic ball shifted with dizzying speed, moving from one location in Arthandica to another, tracing her essence like a relentless predator.
A high-grade salemic caster.
Whoever was behind this was no novice.
Her jaw clenched. They're looking for me.
---
Arnold wasted no time securing a single strand of Ambrosia's wavy, raven hair.
It was the only thing he could find.
Her old chambers were as barren as if they had never been lived in—no personal belongings, no remnants of her past. Not even a discarded hairbrush.
She had burned it all before leaving.
The act was a statement as loud as a war horn.
She had no intention of returning.
Finding a strand of her thick locks had been nothing short of a miracle.
As soon as Akeeva held the hair in her hands, it glowed furiously like the eyes of hell.
With lightning speed, the hair flew out of her grasp, making her let out a humorless chuckle.
"Someone knows what's going on here and is fighting back."
"I didn't tell this to Victoria. So apart from us, no one knows," Arnold stated.
"Then it means someone else is watching us. That person doesn't want the princess in Arthandica," the Empress said, earning a nod of affirmation from the High Priestess.
Akeeva picked up the abandoned hair, but it began twisting violently in her hands. She exerted her power to keep it still, yet it resisted like a force unwilling to lose.
She ordered the hair to be calm in the ancient tongue, and after a fierce struggle, it finally obeyed.
---
She placed the hair into the boiling pot, poured in a plain-water potion, and began her recitations. The mixture boiled furiously despite the low heat. Slowly, it darkened to the color of the hair but didn't remain that way.
As soon as it turned black, it rapidly split into two—one half staying black, the other returning to its original clear state. The black half bubbled aggressively, emitting strange, guttural growls.
They waited, but nothing else changed.
With a sigh, Akeeva announced, "It won't have the full effect we wanted, but at least a message has been sent across."
"Meaning it's her choice to honor or ignore the message," Dante said.
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."
"What if she doesn't care enough to honor it?" Arnold asked skeptically. He was already a wanted man by the gods—offending the one person who could plead on his behalf was not in his best interest.
"Then I will have no choice but to sacrifice you to the gods... to appease them," Akeeva stated flatly.
---
When Ambrosia decided to intercept the summoning, she hadn't expected such an amusing spectacle.
An unknown force had beaten her to it, ripping the High Priestess's offering from her grasp. Though no match for Akeeva, it had put up a surprisingly good fight.
Bored and looking for entertainment, Ambrosia decided to let the power struggle play out before stepping in. She watched as the High Priestess calmly retrieved the hair, easily overpowering the lingering force, and placed it into the boiling pot.
Ambrosia had been too caught up in the spectacle to react—until she saw the potion turn completely black.
Her amusement died instantly.
She swiftly shattered the compulsion, breaking it with ease—yet the effort left her more drained than expected.
She was pissed.
Her head throbbed violently, as if it were moments away from exploding. She had nearly been compelled.
"The High Priestess sure is powerful," she acknowledged with a self-mocking scoff.
She wiped the dried blood from her nose. The coughing had stopped, but her energy was severely depleted. She needed to step up her game—she was getting too complacent.
Hunger gnawed at her insides, but she refused to act like a savage. Striding over to her blood bank, she pulled out her favorite—O-negative.
She uncapped the bottle and took a deep, greedy gulp.
One bottle wasn't enough. Neither was two.
She kept drinking until the hunger finally subsided, her strength slowly returning.
---
Xavier strode toward the gloomy man seated behind the large L-shaped glass desk, the very picture of all work and no play.
Without waiting for permission, he sank into the chair across from him and got straight to business.
"I need to talk to you... it's urgent."
"About?"
"A couple of things, but first and foremost, why don't we start with your girl?"
"Are you asking me, or are you just going to say your piece and leave me the hell alone?"
"I think—"
"And let's not forget—she's not my girl. Whatever you think about her is your problem, Xavier. No one asked you to think about it in the first place."
He knew he was always like this. In fact, he almost felt relieved to hear him speak that way—if only because, for a moment, he thought he was possessed.
Alaric hadn't been acting like himself lately, and it was starting to bother him. But now, it seemed there was nothing to worry about—he still wanted to talk about her.
"Well, while you two do look good together, I have to say... denying her isn't the worst idea."
Alaric remained silent, but Xavier knew better. That silence wasn't dismissal—it was permission to speak. He was listening, even if his stoic expression gave nothing away.
"She's weird, and—"
"How?"
"Alaric, don't tell me you haven't noticed how people stare at you. Your unusual shoulder-length silver hair? Those amethyst eyes?" Xavier scoffed. "You hate being in disguise, but you stand out. You don't look human."
"Because I'm not human."
He said it so matter-of-factly, as if to ask, Isn't it obvious?
"That's the problem. We don't want people thinking. You know how nosy humans can get.
And what if our enemies are lurking around? You need to start wearing a disguise."
"You didn't come all the way from your room just to talk about disguises. So get to the point."
Xavier took a moment to gather his bearings before continuing. No matter what, Alaric was his prince—his future emperor. And while they were friends, there was a line he couldn't cross.
"She seems too comfortable with your... peculiarities. Almost like she expected them. She doesn't stare more than necessary, and when you two went on that date, she didn't even comment on your choice of food. She didn't flinch when you ate a bloody steak—like it wasn't disgusting to her."
Alaric fell silent, lost in thought.
He had noticed it, too. At first, it struck him as odd, but he brushed it off. This was the first time he had ever felt drawn to a woman—he didn't want to dwell on details that might ruin it.
"She was just trying not to make me feel awkward. She wanted me to be comfortable around her."
"Don't be so quick to judge, Your Highness."
"I did a background check on her. Nothing came up."
Alaric was quick to defend her.
"What if she's a spy for Lucifer?"
"She smells human, Xavier."
"And that's exactly what baffles me. Why do you want her so much?"
"I do not report to you."
"I'm just trying to look out for you here. As a friend, Alaric," Xavier said, already exasperated.
The man in question wasn't even sure how to explain it himself, but he gave it a shot.
"I feel this... connection. A pull toward her. I don't understand it, but it's strong—like my very soul is calling out to hers. I don't need her, Xavier. I crave her."
"Like a compulsion?"
"Only that a compulsion won't work on me."
Of course, he was right. A compulsion wouldn't work on him. Compelling a member of the imperial family was difficult—but not impossible. However, in Alaric's case? It simply couldn't be done.
Every royal vampire was born with a unique gift, but his was beyond extraordinary.
"A call came through from the Empress."
"What does she want?"
"The High Priestess, Akeeva, demands your presence in the empire."
"I'm not going. Besides—"
"Excuses won't help, Alaric. As a royal and a leader, you owe it to your people. It's your responsibility. Duty over self—always."
Alaric's amethyst eyes darkened to a furious blood-red in an instant, glowing with barely contained rage. His dominance rolled off him in waves, thick with the scent of impending bloodshed.
Xavier realized his mistake too late.
"Don't you dare preach to me about responsibility," Alaric snarled. "I will return to Arthandica when I see fit. You have no right to tell me how to live my life. And the next time you interrupt me—I'll have your head."
His voice was menacing, final.
Xavier bowed his head painfully low, his neck bared in submission, his remorse clear.
"Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes."
"Have. I. Made. Myself. Clear?" Alaric enunciated each word, his tone laced with warning. He wanted to be sure Xavier understood—because next time, he wouldn't be so forgiving. Friends or not.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Now get out."
The prince was livid. They were friends, yes, but how dare he?
---
The woman trembled, her heart hammering against her ribs. Fear coiled around her, squeezing the life from her like the cold, merciless grip of death itself.
She bowed lower—if that was even possible—awaiting her judgment. The unknown gnawed at her, clawing her insides into a bloody mess. A lone tear slipped from her sunken eyes, trailing down her pale, bony cheek before dampening her cracked, lifeless purple lips.
"You couldn't perform a single stable spell."
The voice from the shadows was calm. Too calm. And that terrified her more than anything.
"Say something."
The roar shattered the stillness, and just like that, the devil she preferred was back. A cold sweat ran down her trembling spine.
"I—I—I missed o-one t-thing, I—"
"When did you become a stutterer?"
She sucked in a shaky breath, forcing herself to stay calm.
"I missed only one thing," she corrected, her voice finally void of the trembling stutter.
"For want of a nail, the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe, the horse was lost. For want of a horse, the rider was fucking lost."
"Pay attention to every detail, because the next time you disappoint me, I will kill you. And trust me—it won't be anything from your sick little fantasies."
She nodded frantically, as if her life depended on it—because it did. She didn't dare hesitate, didn't dare let doubt creep in, fearing a sudden change of heart that would see her dead before she could take another breath.
Fear twisted her features, raw and unmistakable.