The marble beneath Arthur's feet gleamed like polished bone, each intricate vein catching the faint, flickering torchlight. The air inside the grand hall felt thick—dense with the iron scent of blood, the distant burn of incense, and the sour tang of fear barely contained behind painted faces.
Selena stood there, her chest rising and falling in sharp, measured breaths, her posture defiant, but her eyes… her eyes betrayed the storm brewing beneath.
Arthur's gaze drifted across the room, slow, deliberate, scanning each face—the concubines aligned near the obsidian columns like statues of porcelain and sin. Their gowns clung to their curves in silk and velvet, carefully tailored to perfection. Skin flawless, their eyes a pale, icy silver reflecting the firelight, though within them… jealousy simmered.
He smirked faintly, savoring the bitterness in the room like fine wine.
"Fascinating…" Arthur mused, his voice carrying easily, low but sharp enough to cut glass. His steps echoed once more—those haunting, deliberate taps that made the vampires shudder and the mortals tremble in ignorant dread.
"You see them, don't you?" His eyes flicked back to Selena, amusement coiled behind his stare. "Their envy… their hunger… their pretty little masks cracking."
The concubines held their expressions, but their fingers twitched, their eyes darting. Lady Evelyne's gaze, sharp as blades; Lady Isold with a hint of regret behind her cool exterior; Lady Amara hiding her nerves beneath soft smiles; Lady Katarina… her stare lingering a second too long, something venomous coiled in her posture.
Arthur chuckled softly, dark amusement curling at the edges of his lips.
"One of them," he whispered, stepping close to Selena, the air chilling around them, "will betray me… tonight."
Selena's eyes widened slightly, the tension twisting tighter around them like an invisible noose.
"Her death," Arthur continued, unbothered, "will serve as a reminder… not only to them…" His gaze drifted across the hall, each woman stiffening under his stare, "but to every soul in this blood-stained dynasty."
He leaned in closer to Selena, his voice lowering to a near whisper, silk-wrapped malice. "And her family… will cease to exist. Erased. As if they never drew breath."
The hall remained silent, yet the weight of his words crushed the space between them.
Arthur's hand gestured casually toward the concubines, like a king introducing his chessboard.
"Observe," he began, eyes sharp as razors. "Lady Evelyne… ten out of ten. Loyal. Calculated. She knows her place… for now."
Lady Evelyne's chin lifted, a faint smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
"Lady Isold… nine. Wise enough to keep her tongue still, though ambition flickers behind those emerald eyes."
Lady Isold bowed her head slightly, expression unreadable, but her fingers coiled tightly at her side.
"Lady Amara… eight. Beautiful. Obedient. But I see the cracks… her thirst for more whispers louder each night."
Lady Amara's lips parted, a soft breath escaping, eyes quickly lowering beneath Arthur's scrutiny.
"Katarina…" Arthur's voice curved into something colder, sharper. "Four."
The hall shifted—an invisible ripple of unease swept the chamber. Lady Katarina, from the infamous Dragović bloodline, barely flinched, but her jaw clenched, defiance flickering like a dying ember.
"Her arrogance… her bloodlust… dangerous. But predictable." Arthur's eyes narrowed, cruel satisfaction glittering within. "She thinks lineage shields her."
His voice darkened, like storm clouds pressing against the walls.
"It doesn't."
Lady Katarina's throat bobbed subtly, the faintest tremor betraying the steel facade.
"Lady Mireille… nine. Clever. But nostalgia anchors her heart. It makes her fragile."
Lady Mireille's gaze faltered briefly, the ghost of sorrow clouding her otherwise perfect features.
"Lady Keiko… ten. Ruthless beneath silk. Dangerous… I favor her."
Keiko's expression never wavered, only a faint nod of acknowledgment, her dark hair cascading like midnight down her shoulders.
"Lady Zaria… ten. Unshakable. A storm dressed in velvet."
Zaria's smile curved, fierce and unapologetic.
"And Princess Anya…" Arthur's voice softened, but the venom remained. "Ten. Royalty by birth. Predator by choice."
Anya's posture straightened, her icy gaze unapologetic, her beauty untouched by the quiet threat in his words.
Arthur exhaled slowly, his next words lingering like fog in the frigid air.
"In two hours… their eyes will change," he whispered, stepping back, his silver gaze glowing faintly beneath the torchlight. "The color they take… will reflect their ambition… their loyalty… their fate."
He tilted his head, those silver irises sharpening. "My eyes… are not white, as you think," he corrected softly. "I make them change… with my emotions."
The hall shifted again, ancient marble groaning beneath unseen weight, as if the very walls were listening.
Selena's pulse raced, her mind spiraling in the quiet aftermath of his words.
"You still desire to walk their path?" Arthur's voice sliced through the haze, challenging. "To trade power… for proximity? To risk envy… venom… and death… for the fleeting comfort of my bed?"
Selena's lips pressed into a thin line, the fire of defiance still burning bright, though the edges trembled with uncertainty.
Arthur's presence loomed closer once more, his fingers ghosting near her collarbone, cold enough to bite, gentle enough to bruise the mind with desire.
"Choose, little one," he whispered, his breath chilling her skin. "Daughter… or concubine… but understand…"
His voice darkened, final and cruel.
"Both roads… come drenched in blood."
The torches flickered violently, shadows stretching, as if the very stone trembled beneath the looming storm that was Arthur.