The car rolled in near silence, tension curled around Cora like a second skin. She sat stiffly beside Damien, fingers gripping the edge of her dress. The butterflies in her stomach weren't fluttering—they were clawing.
"Relax," Damien said lazily, slouching back in his seat like he owned the world—and maybe he did. "Mother doesn't bite. Not with me around, at least."
Cora tried to smile, but it faltered. The man beside her was far too calm, far too smug—as though waltzing into a vampire palace with a masked girl at his side was a daily routine.
The road curved through towering iron gates that screeched open, revealing the estate like something out of a gothic fantasy. No—this wasn't a home. It was a kingdom built from shadows and secrets. The main palace stood like a crown atop manicured grounds, its tall spires piercing the evening sky, walls draped in ivy and power.
Guards in sharp black suits lined the entrance, and they bowed low as the car glided past.
Cora's breath hitched. This is real. She was driving into the den of vampires—no, royalty. The kind that didn't just rule through power, but fear.
Damien glanced at her, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. "You look like a rabbit about to bolt. Tempting, but don't. I rather like showing you off."
She scowled but said nothing.
As they approached a second gate, Cora spotted people—maids, guards, aristocrats—moving about like clockwork. They all worked for the king, their every movement calculated.
Damien's eyes narrowed. "Huh. Looks like we didn't come at the most convenient time."
The estate was decorated extravagantly: modern decorated lanterns strung through rose-draped arches, silver banners fluttering from balconies, crystal lights glowing soft and warm. Cora could smell roses in the air, mingling with something darker—wine, blood, expectation.
"There's a gala tonight," Damien muttered, brushing an invisible speck from his coat. "Of course she'd make it about her. Queen Lana, always the center of attention."
He threw her a sideways look. "She probably planned the whole thing just to make a dramatic announcement. 'Behold, my prodigal son returns! Applaud before he disappears again.'"
Cora's heart thudded. The words might've been flippant, but the weight behind them was undeniable.
The car eased into the private parking area, and Damien stepped out like he belonged on a runway. He held the door open for her with exaggerated grace, bowing mockingly. "Milady."
She rolled her eyes, but her fingers slid into his. Warm, firm, grounding.
"Welcome back, Your Highness," a man in a pristine white coat greeted, bowing low with ten servants lined behind him like chess pieces.
Damien waved a hand. "Yes, yes. Spare the formalities. You look like you swallowed a candlestick."
The man didn't flinch.
Cora's heels clicked softly against the marble steps as they walked toward the entrance. The mansion loomed over her, each window a dark eye watching her. As they stepped inside, the grandeur nearly knocked the breath from her lungs—soaring ceilings, chandeliers dripping with crystals, velvet drapes brushing polished floors.
And then, like a storm wrapped in silk, she appeared.
Queen Lana Ravenscroft.
She descended the marble staircase slowly, each step echoing with the confidence of a woman who never had to fight for attention. Her black designer gown clung to her figure like a second skin, her raven hair pulled into a sleek ponytail that emphasized the sharpness of her cheekbones. She looked like an empress carved from obsidian.
Her eyes locked on Damien with a cold warmth that only mothers could perfect. But the moment they shifted to Cora, the temperature dropped.
"Darling," Lana purred, leaning in to kiss Damien's cheek. "You're back sooner than I expected. And who is this?"
Her gaze dropped pointedly to their clasped hands. Cora instinctively tried to pull away, but Damien's grip tightened.
"This is Cora," he said with a smug grin. "My girlfriend."
Lana arched a perfect brow. "Girlfriend?"
"And before you throw a fit," Damien went on, "she's staying here temporarily. Her mother's unwell."
The queen blinked once. Then twice.
"You brought a stranger into the palace?" she asked, voice deceptively soft. "You do remember you're the Crown Prince, yes? Not some rebel playing house?"
Cora's shoulders stiffened. The rejection was swift, unapologetic.
"I refuse to accept this," Lana said flatly. "I don't know her. I don't trust her. And I certainly don't approve of you parading her around like some trophy."
"Then don't look," Damien said, voice cool. "Because she's not going anywhere."
Lana's lips twitched, but it wasn't amusement. Her eyes zeroed in on Cora's face.
"And what's with the mask?" she asked, tone laced with disdain. "Are you hiding something? Or are you just a coward?"
"I can't take it off," Cora said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your Majesty."
Lana stepped forward, her heels clicking like war drums. "Why?"
"Because I can't," she replied, gripping Damien's hand tightly. "It's not a choice."
Before the tension could escalate, a low voice broke through.
"Damien."
They all turned.
The King.
He stood at the top of the stairs like a shadow come to life—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark tailored clothes that clung to his regal frame. His presence was suffocating. Authority bled from him in silent waves.
Cora bowed immediately, keeping her gaze low.
The king's cold eyes flicked over her, then to his son. "Go. Rest. We'll speak later. The gala begins at dusk."
Damien nodded once. "As you wish."
He tugged Cora along before his mother could say another word. They climbed the stairs in silence, but tension pulsed between their fingers.
Just when she thought the drama had ended, another figure stepped into view.
Tall. Broad. Intimidating.
Magnus Ravenscroft.
Cora stared at the man who was the living, breathing embodiment of royalty. He was what Damien would look like —if he chose power over sarcasm, steel over charm. He was the epitome of perfection as if God carved him himself. Magnus wore a grey button-down that clung to his muscular frame, his chiseled jawline set in quiet strength.
"Didn't expect you today," Magnus said, voice smoother than she expected.
Damien gave a casual shrug. "I like surprises."
Magnus's gaze slid to Cora. "And this is?"
"My girlfriend. Cora," Damien said proudly, puffing his chest like a peacock.
Magnus raised a brow but said nothing. "I'm on an errand for Father." And with that, he walked past them like a ghost.
Cora exhaled shakily.
"I don't think this was a good idea," she whispered. "Your mother already hates me, your brother looks like he's judging me, and the king… I think he wants to throw me out a window."
Damien stopped, turning to face her with an amused glint in his eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart," he said with a wicked smile. "They haven't even begun to hate you properly yet."
She stared at him.
"Don't worry," he added, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "If it ever gets too bad, you can always hide behind me. I'm very good at taking bullets. Or throwing them back."
A maid bowed as she approached. "Shall I prepare the room, Your Highness?"
"Yes," Damien said. "Next to mine. She's not a guest. She's mine."
Cora didn't know if she should be grateful or terrified by the possessiveness in his voice.
Either way, there was no turning back now.
Tonight, they'd walk into a gala filled with predators. And she was just a girl in a mask.
Surrounded by monsters who could smell blood from a mile away.