"It's the waltz," I murmured, lips curving as I closed my eyes and let the music sink into my bones.
The sound filled every corner of the room, loud and commanding, prompting my skirt to sway as I moved.
There was something about the waltz—it pulled you in, its melody soft yet magnetic, coaxing your body to follow its rhythm. It had always made me sway in secret. While the elite twirled with partners under chandeliers, I clutched my mop and danced along in silence.
I couldn't be there. I was just a servant—five years in Vesteria's castle after being sold as a slave.
And a slave had no place in fine gowns or glittering jewels. Not in a grand ballroom. Not in a place like this.
But I hoped. One day.
The music swelled. I rushed to the window and pulled back the curtains.
There it was—the open ballroom, framed by marble pillars. My breath caught at the sight of women draped in silk, men in sharp tailored suits.
It was a picture of elegance, but I couldn't let myself forget what lay beneath all that shimmer and grace.
Beneath the silk and charm, darkness lurked.
The Vampires.
Though a few humans were gathered, the majority in attendance were Vampires—fitting, since the king and his royal cabinet were all vampires themselves.
"What are you doing there, Arielle? There are still many rooms to clean, and yet you're standing there daydreaming!"
I stiffened and turned toward the voice. It was Madam Welsing, the no-nonsense head maid. Her hands were on her hips, her expression full of disapproval.
"Madam," I muttered quickly, shutting the window and grabbing my mop and bucket. My life as a servant was my only means of survival. I couldn't afford to indulge in fantasies—not when I should be content with what little I had.
"Hurry up. The ball will be over soon. Go clean the guest room," she ordered, already walking away.
I rushed for the door, then paused and turned back.
"Madam, which room exactly am I assigned to?"
Madam Welsing rubbed her forehead. "You ask too many questions, Arielle. After all these years, you've learned nothing. Oh dear…"
I tilted my head, waiting for an answer, but she only shot me a sharp glare.
"Well, don't just stand there! There's no time. Pick a guest room and clean it."
"Yes, Madam," I said quickly, hurrying off before she could unleash her temper—or worse, assign me to scrub the hallway floors.
As I ran, I hesitated. I didn't know which guest room to clean.
Most of my life as a servant had been spent in the kitchens. I rarely stepped into the guest wings unless I was given a direct assignment. Even after years in the castle, I still got lost among its endless corridors and rooms.
"Well, she said guest room and didn't specify which," I muttered, pouting as I turned down a quiet wing. "How am I supposed to know which one?"
The light was dim, but it always was. Vampires preferred the shadows, and over time, we'd all grown used to moving in the dark.
A sigh slipped from my lips as I dragged my feet toward a wooden door. Almost all the doors looked the same, which made it even harder to tell them apart. This one had a slight crack—it was slightly ajar.
"Oh well, this must be one of the guest rooms," I mumbled, pushing the door open.
The room was dark. Not completely—just dimly lit by a faint, flickering lamp in the corner. But it wasn't nearly enough to brighten the whole space.
Still, if you've worked in Vesteria Castle long enough, you learn to make peace with the dark. It becomes your silent companion.
I set down the mop and bucket, then made my way toward the lamp. All I needed to do was add a little more oil to bring the room to life.
Just as I set to work, a low murmur echoed behind me. I froze.
Then came the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, drawing closer.
"Ahh, you've come," a deep, slightly slurred voice said. I stiffened, unable to move an inch.
What's happening? No guest was supposed to be here… not yet.
The voice moved nearer. "I'm glad you came, Helen. I would've waited forever."
Helen?
My heart slammed against my chest. That voice—it was too familiar.
He stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder. My breath caught. It took everything in me not to melt where I stood.
Then came the scent—woodsmoke, ash, and a hint of mint. It hit my nose, sharp and unmistakable.
No… it couldn't be…
The Prince!
I couldn't be mistaken. It was the Prince. I knew him—even from a distance.
The first time I saw him, it took everything in me not to stare. His skin was so pale, I thought he was ill. But that was how they were—vampires. Pale as moonlight.
It was his eyes that caught me. Blue and clear as the open sky. And his hair—black as ebony, falling just above his collar.
He rarely spoke, but when he did… heavens. His voice could melt any maiden's heart. For days after, I carried those forbidden thoughts into my sleep, the only place I could escape the burdens of a servant's life.
And so, I dreamt of him. Too much, perhaps.
But now—with him this close—it felt completely different.
"Helen?" he murmured again, his voice thick, and wafted with wine. He was drunk—and worse, he thought I was someone else.
Common sense told me to flee.
But common sense vanished the moment I felt the jolt from his touch.
How had I not known this was his room? Heavens.
Tell him. Tell him you're not Helen. Tell him you're just a servant. He's drunk. Say something, Arielle.
But I stood there—shaking—not from fear, but from a thrill I couldn't explain.
His hand moved slowly across my shoulders, and then… his lips brushed the hollow of my neck.
My eyes fluttered shut.
"Mmm… you taste..... different."
Of course I did. I was human. This was wrong. I should leave.
But I didn't.
I stood there—still, breathless—in the arms of a man I could never have, no matter how many times I let myself dream.
I tried to speak, but my mouth trembled—and so did my whole body.
Then his hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer against his hard chest.
I gasped as his scent overwhelmed my senses, and then he whispers softly into my ear, "Come, Helen. Let me take you to bed and make you feel good."