The infirmary was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the antique clock on the far wall and the rhythmic chirping of crickets from the garden beyond the open balcony doors. A gentle breeze carried in the scent of night-blooming lilies, brushing against the silk curtains and tousling Alaric's already disheveled hair.
He hadn't moved from her side.
For two days, Alaric Vaelthorne remained rooted to the chair beside Seraphine's bed. His coat had been discarded long ago, his cravat undone, and the once-impeccable nobleman now looked like a man caught in a storm of guilt and love.
He hadn't left, not even once—not to sleep, not to eat. He barely spoke unless it was to her, murmuring apologies into the quiet, holding her limp hand in his.
Seraphine looked like a sleeping rose—pale but peaceful. A healer's charm glowed faintly around her wrist, the only indication of the battle her body had endured.
Alaric's eyes were hollow but alert, searching her face every few minutes for a sign—anything. His vampire senses could hear the steady beat of her heart, but it wasn't enough.
He needed her eyes. Her voice. Her smile.
And then—on the morning of the third day—her fingers twitched.
His breath caught. Slowly, her lashes fluttered, and Alaric rose sharply, clutching her hand tighter. His heart pounded, hope roaring in his chest.
"Seraphine?" he said softly, his voice cracking.
Her eyes opened—hazy at first, then clearer. She blinked at the ceiling, disoriented, until her gaze shifted and found his face.
"Alaric…" Her voice was faint, almost like a breath of wind.
The world stilled.
Relief broke over Alaric's face like a wave. His knees buckled, and he sank beside her bed, tears brimming in his eyes.
"You're awake," he whispered, pressing her hand to his forehead. "By the gods, you're awake…"
She looked around slowly, confusion flickering in her gaze. "What… happened?"
"You saved me," he said, the words heavy. "At the cost of your own life. You should've died, Seraphine. Because of me."
She reached weakly toward him, and he caught her hand in both of his. "Don't say that," she murmured.
Alaric shook his head, guilt slicing through him. "You should hate me. I told you to leave. I told you I was dangerous, and still you… still you gave yourself to me."
"I gave my blood," she whispered, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Not my life."
"But you almost—" He stopped himself, voice breaking. "Seraphine, I lost control. I could have drained you dry. I—"
Her fingers touched his lips, silencing his torment.
"You're alive," she whispered. "That's all that matters to me."
His eyes widened, searching hers, raw emotion filling the space between them. "Why?" he rasped. "Why would you do that? Why risk everything for someone like me?"
"Because," she said softly, brushing her fingers along his cheek, "I couldn't bear to lose you."
The truth in her voice shook him to his core.
"I've lost too many people," she continued. "But you… you're different. You came into my life like a storm, cold and distant. But beneath that, I saw a man capable of great warmth. I saw you, Alaric. Not the noble, not the Vaelthorne name—just you."
He bowed his head, overcome, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I don't deserve you."
"Maybe not," she said with a teasing glint in her tired eyes. "But I'm here anyway."
A quiet laugh escaped him, wet with tears. "If you hadn't woken up, I don't know what I would've become."
"You would've become a monster," she said gently, "and you would've hated yourself forever. That's why I chose to do what I did."
Alaric looked at her then—really looked at her—as if seeing her for the first time. Not just the girl who once lived in the shadows of ballrooms and noble expectations, but the woman who had saved his life with no hesitation, no fear.
He leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers. "I swear to you, Seraphine… I will never harm you again. I'll never put you in danger again. I'll spend my life protecting you, if you'll let me."
She smiled. "Then stay by my side."
He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Always."
And in that quiet infirmary, beneath the soft rays of the morning sun, something unspoken bloomed between them—a vow far deeper than words.
Love, raw and imperfect, had found its place between two broken souls.
It was a quiet morning at the Vaelthorne estate. Golden sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, casting warm patterns on the marble floor. Alaric stood in the study, his long coat draped over the back of a leather chair, while Seraphine already better helped the maids sort through his growing collection of unread books.
A sharp knock echoed through the corridor.
Theo, his trusted assistant appearing more grim than usual, entered with a sealed black envelope held delicately between his gloved fingers. The wax bore the crest of an ancient wolf wrapped around a sword—the sigil of the original Vaelthorne lineage.
"This arrived by raven," Theo said, voice low. "From the old mansion."
Alaric turned slowly, his expression unreadable. He took the envelope and broke the seal with one swift motion. As his eyes scanned the contents, his jaw tensed, fingers curling ever so slightly.
"What is it?" Seraphine asked, stepping beside him, concern etched in her face.
Alaric exhaled deeply and handed her the letter.
> To Alaric Vellaria Vaelthorne,
The blood of kings flows again, and the old house stirs.
You are summoned to the ancestral halls where the moon first bled and the oath was forged.
Bring with you your chosen bride.
The House of Vaelthorne demands respect be given to the blood that bore you.
We await at dusk, under the old tree.
Seraphine blinked, rereading the strange phrasing.
"Your... family?" she asked softly.
Alaric nodded once. "My father. And my mother. I haven't stepped foot in that place since the war."
"They want to meet me?" Seraphine's voice trembled slightly.
"They demand it," Alaric corrected bitterly. "It's tradition. For those of royal blood, a chosen partner must be accepted by the ancestral spirits and acknowledged by the House before the bond becomes permanent."
Seraphine lowered the letter and looked up at him. "Will they hurt me?"
Alaric reached out and cupped her face. "No one touches you, Seraphine. Not while I breathe."
A quiet tension fell between them.
"I'll prepare," Seraphine finally whispered. "If this is your past… I want to walk into it with you."
Alaric nodded, eyes darkening with resolve.
"Then at dusk, we face the ghosts of Vaelthorne together."