Blair groaned, forcing her heavy eyelids open. Reaching for the bell, she gave the rope a single, deliberate pull.
A maid arrived promptly, ready to attend to her princess. But before she could even bow—
"Get me my phone."
If only the maid had the right to talk back, she would have snapped, Isn't it just under your pillow? But, unfortunately, there was no if in this harsh reality. So she swallowed her grievances, bowed her head, and obeyed.
"Massage my feet if you have nothing better to do."
Sometimes, the servants wished they could tell these entitled royal brats to fuck off.
But, unfortunately, wishes weren't horses.
So the maid dropped to her knees, dutifully pressing her fingers into her royal highness's feet.
"Do you intend to cripple me?" Blair snapped, shoving the maid aside with her foot.
Come on, now—that was clearly an exaggeration. How dare the girl, right?
As a vampire, Blair would heal in an instant if she were truly hurt. She was a royal. What harm could a shallow-blooded vampire possibly cause her?
"Get out of my sight before I feel like having breakfast in bed."
The threat was so bold, so clear, it might as well have been carved into the air in capital letters. The crying maid didn't waste another second—she bolted, fleeing to the only place that felt remotely safe: the overcrowded kitchen.
Mornings were always the busiest for the servants. They scrubbed spotless floors and dusted surfaces already gleaming from yesterday's efforts. The kitchen, however, was a warzone of its own—chefs scrambling to prepare an array of cuisines, never knowing which royal might drop by unannounced.
Rule number one:
Something edible must always be available.
~~~~
Blair scrolled through her phone, checking their group chat. She was bored—tired of being cooped up in the palace with nothing to do but yell at incompetent maids who never seemed to get their jobs right.
Blair: Good morning.
Julie: Is the world coming to an end?
Blair wasn't exactly known for being an early riser. Imagine her surprise.
Blair: Well, we've got an illegitimate daughter as an empress, so yeah, I'd say the world is ending.
A beat of silence.
Julie: Blair...?
Her name alone carried a warning, but Blair didn't care. When had she ever cared about what was awkward and what wasn't?
Blair: What?
Julie: You can't say things like that here. It's forbidden.
Elisabetha: It's fine, Julie. She has the right to say whatever she wants.
Blair: Exactly! You heard her. So stop making me feel like the heartless bitch here.
Julie: Well, aren't you?
Blair smirked. Julie never backed down from a challenge.
Blair: Not that I know of.
Elisabetha: Can you guys stop this already? Please?
Julie: You don't sound like yourself. Are you okay?
Juliana, ever the caring one, was quick to notice. Quick to comment.
Blair: She's fine, Julie. She just needs to get laid.
Julie: Are you, Elisa?
Elisabetha: Girls, let's go out tonight.
It was meant to restore peace, but little did she know they had just been waiting for the invitation.
Blair: Not tonight, darling. We're going now.
Julie: Yeah… I'll be at your place in the next two hours.
Blair was already sliding out of her comfortable bed.
Juliana: Isn't it a little too early?
Blair: Nope. We'll get our hair and nails done… and maybe a massage from some sexy, all-muscle, hot-as-a-one-night-stand dude.
Juliana: Can you not be a pervert?
Blair: Can you not be Madam Prim and Proper?
Classic Blair.
The girls wasted no time fixing themselves up, ready to have the time of their lives.
---
"What do you want from me, Alaric?" Matred asked, exasperated, on the verge of tears.
She regretted the day their paths crossed. Her life had never been easy, but at least she had some peace. Now, she didn't even have that—thanks to the devil in human skin standing before her.
"I just want to see you one last time," Alaric said, his voice unreadable. "Then I'll leave you alone."
"You promise?"
"Are you really that eager to never see me again?"
"Alaric!!"
"Alright, alright. I promise. So… my place or yours?"
"Somewhere public."
"Really? I don't have humans for lunch, Matred."
Lies. We all know what he does, right?
"Better safe than sorry."
"Suit yourself."
He was trying—really trying—not to snap. But this mini demon seemed hell-bent on getting a reaction out of him.
He liked her. More than he should.
But maybe… you really can't have it all.
~~~~
"I heard you talking to your girl."
Xavier's voice cut through the room, an unwelcome announcement of his presence.
"We're going out."
"Oh? You two are back together already?"
Alaric ignored him, deciding silence was the best way to keep both of them alive. He had no desire to spill his best friend's blood—not before meeting with her.
"Make sure we don't leave anything behind."
He didn't bother answering the stupid question. And yes, before you ask—things might be cool between them now, but that didn't mean the prince wouldn't act on his words.
NB: He's a man of his word.
---
Elisabetha ran her fingers through her hair, combing it absentmindedly. She saw no point in having a maid style it when she was heading out for that exact purpose. It wasn't about being considerate of her servants—she just wasn't in the mood to sit for hours, only to undo it all later.
"You don't look like you're spending the day in the palace."
Victoria observed lightheartedly.
"No, Mother. I'm going out with the girls."
"Why not have them come over? It's been ages."
"I'm tired of being indoors. I'll invite them over next time, okay?"
Victoria sighed but smiled in understanding. "Alright, darling. Now get going—you don't want to keep them waiting."
"Sure. See you when I get back."
Her mother watched as she left, amusement softening her features.
~~~~
"Hey! What took you so long? We've been waiting for half an hour!"
"Sorry, girls. It was Mother—she wanted you to come over." Elisabetha quickly used her brief conversation as an excuse; otherwise, they wouldn't let her hear the end of it.
"Well, you're here now, so let's go!" Julie chimed in, her singsong voice brimming with excitement for the day ahead.
~~~~
They got their hair done, manicures and pedicures perfected, and grabbed a quick lunch—all while chatting away happily. Then came the highly anticipated massage by the sexy, all-muscle, hot-as-a-one-night-stand masseur.
Not much time was wasted there, but trust me, Blair did not leave without shamelessly flirting and securing the guy's number in her phone.
Afterward, they discarded their casual clothes, slipping into cock-stiffening party dresses. Juliana kept tugging at hers, much to Blair's irritation.
"Would you stop creating your own design?" Blair snapped.
"I feel naked."
"That's the plan. Did you think I signed up to dress the High Priestess?" Blair asked, her expression exaggeratedly scandalized.
Juliana's dress was black, low-cut at the back, barely mid-thigh, with a slit running from her fragile-looking waist to her thigh—leaving nothing to the imagination. Not fair, guys.
"She just wants you to look sexy, that's all."
"You call this sexy?" Juliana shot back in disbelief. "I look like a slut."
Elisabetha sighed, annoyed. In as much as she liked Juliana's innocent act at times, this "I look like a slut" thing was getting old.
Because let's be real—Juliana was neither an angel nor a saint.
She killed innocents in the name of spellcasting, treated her servants like shit, and pleasured herself when necessary. So, Elisabetha didn't hold back.
"Stop being a hypocrite, Julie. If you don't like the dress, take it off and leave."
"Oh, transfer of aggression, I guess."
And, of course, that was Blair again.
"What the fuck do you mean by that?"
Elisabetha's eyes blazed with irritation. She felt like strangling Blair on the spot, but Blair just looked away as if she hadn't just spoken.
Juliana, ever the group's unpaid mediator, quickly jumped in. She'd been hurt by Elisabetha's words, but now was not the time for personal grievances.
There were pressing matters at hand.
"Guys, please—behave. We're in public."
"I don't give a fuck."
They both said it in perfect unison, their voices laced with venom as they locked eyes in an intense glare-off.
"Blair!!"
Julie's voice rang out—a mix of anger, frustration, and sheer humiliation.
If only Blair knew when to shut up, things between them would be so much smoother. But no, Blair never knew when to hold her tongue—especially when it came to Elisabetha.
At this point, Julie was convinced Blair enjoyed provoking the vampire princess.
"Don't yell at me, Madam Prim and Proper. We all know that's exactly what she just did."
Blair's voice dripped with defiance as she fearlessly met the burning gaze of the vampire princess.
Elisabetha's voice dropped to a low, menacing tone.
"I will not tolerate such nonsense from you, Blair. Friends or not, I will—"
"Oh, please—spare us the pathetic attempt at a threat."
Blair cut her off mid-sentence, her words slicing through the air like a blade.
"Just admit it, Elisa. You're still sore about this whole engagement thing. But guess what? So are we."
Her voice rose, frustration crackling in every syllable.
"It was never certain you'd be betrothed to the prince. The winner was always going to be the Empress. It could have been me. It could have been Julie. Hell, it could have been some random noblewoman out there. But we all swallowed the bitter pill and moved on. So move on."
Blair's voice reached a fever pitch as she stepped closer, her eyes blazing.
"Move on, Elisabetha Bathory, and stop being a sore loser. Alaric is not yours."
She spat out the last words, sick of Elisabetha acting like the prince was meant for her.
"Blair, I—"
"Allow me to say it, Juliana."
Blair cut her off, her voice edged with frustration.
"Her being moody all the time is affecting this friendship, and you know it."
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
"You know what? I'm done with this pathetic excuse for a girls' day out. If you ever learn how to control your emotions, you can call me. I'm out."
She turned to Juliana, her tone softer but still firm.
"Julie, are you coming?"
Juliana hesitated, throwing an apologetic glance at Elisabetha before running after Blair's retreating figure.
Meanwhile, Elisabetha let out a slow, trembling breath—the one she'd been holding since Blair started hammering the truth home.
Of course, Blair was right. She was always right.
But she couldn't help it.
A single tear escaped down her cheek. With a harsh swipe, she wiped it away.
All she wanted was for the man she loved to love her back.
But if he wouldn't...
Well, there was nothing her mother and she couldn't fix.
---
"I think our boy will be home soon."
Adira's voice was light, but excitement bubbled just beneath the surface.
Her husband, the emperor, barely glanced up. He already knew.
"I hope he's bringing his sister along. She only went there for him, after all."
"Yes... I heard they will be arriving together."
He hummed in acknowledgment before shifting in his seat.
"And the bride?" His voice darkened. "Any relevant news?"
Adira's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't need to answer. Her silence spoke volumes.
The emperor leaned back with a quiet snicker.
"The high priestess... should I bring in a spellcaster?"
The thought amused him. Even the high priestess, blessed with heavenly power, struggled to send a message across.
What could a common spellcaster possibly do under her protection?
"Honey?"
Adira's voice pulled him from his musings. Her gaze was laced with concern as she eyed the deep furrow on his brow.
"I'm fine, darling. Don't fret."
He gifted her with a rare smile—the kind only she and their daughter ever saw.
---
Xavier paced the length of the sitting room, impatience rolling off him in waves.
The unknown gnawed at his nerves.
He needed reassurance. Answers.
Just as his patience neared its limit, the door burst open.
A dark presence filled the room—the air itself seemed to shudder.
There stood the prince of darkness, Alaric, in all his fearsome, lethal glory.
His beauty was undeniable, but it couldn't mask the sheer malevolence that clung to him like a second skin.
If one dared to look close enough, they would see it—etched into his chiseled jawline, carved into his piercing gaze.
Evil. Ruthless intent.
"Your Imperial Majesty."
The room bowed as one, baring their necks in submission.
"Rise."
Alaric's voice was cold, clipped.
"Get it over with and get the hell out of my abode."
Without another glance, he strode past them, heading to his room. As he passed the glass table—a twisted art piece shaped like a figure in submissive prostration—he ran his fingers along its smooth surface.
His anger simmered beneath his skin.
Because tonight, he hadn't been able to give his full attention to her.
The getting was easy. The guilt was new.
And Alaric Bathory had no idea how to deal with it.
"I think we pissed him off," someone muttered.
"He'll get over it," came the careless reply.