The blood-infused elixir I crafted won the top honor at the Nocturne's Gala, but my adopted sister stole it and claimed the credit.

She thought she'd won glory, not realizing it was a vampire betrothal contract to the Prince Kaelan—rumored to be impotent, barbaric, and monstrous.

When the proposal arrived, my archmage fiancé, to "protect" her, hastily bound himself to her with a blood-mark and took her to his bed.

She returned, the fresh mark on her neck a badge of triumph. "Sister, your man is mine now. You turn twenty-five in three days. If no one claims you, the Matchmaking Registry will toss you to some aging, wife-beating rogue mercenary..."

She was wrong. I always had a choice.

I walked to my parents, who were scrambling to clean up her mess, and declared calmly.

"If she refuses to marry Kaelan Nocturne, then I will."

The blood-infused elixir I crafted won the top honor at the Nocturne's Gala, but my adopted sister stole it and claimed the credit.

She thought she'd won glory, not realizing it was a vampire betrothal contract to the Prince Kaelan—rumored to be impotent, barbaric, and monstrous.

When the proposal arrived, my archmage fiancé, to "protect" her, hastily bound himself to her with a blood-mark and took her to his bed.

She returned, the fresh mark on her neck a badge of triumph. "Sister, your man is mine now. You turn twenty-five in three days. If no one claims you, the Matchmaking Registry will toss you to some aging, wife-beating rogue mercenary..."

She was wrong. I always had a choice.

I walked to my parents, who were scrambling to clean up her mess, and declared calmly.

"If she refuses to marry Kaelan Nocturne, then I will."

...

The words tasted like ash and iron on my tongue.

My father, the proposal parchment from House Nocturne still clutched in his hand, went utterly still.

My mother’s gasp was a sharp, pained thing in the thick silence of the drawing-room. The candlelight seemed to shrink away from her horrified face. “Have you sun-touched your mind, Elara?! It’s Kaelan! They say he drinks his servants dry for sport! They say he snaps necks for whispering his name! You’ll be walking into your own grave!”

I opened my mouth, a protest forming, but my father’s voice cut through, low and strained. “She has a point, Elara. Marcus and Liana are already blood-bound. What becomes of them if you refuse?”

A flicker of conflict, there and gone, in my mother’s eyes. Her hand, which had been gripping mine tightly, went slack.

My own heart turned to cold stone in response.

Their true-born daughter. Yet Liana, the foundling we took in from the streets, had always held the softer share of their affection. She had the knack for fragile smiles and whispered sorrows.

A bitter smile twisted my lips. “Fine. I’ll do it. On one condition.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. “What condition?”

“On the day I am wed,” I said, my voice clear and cold in the still air. “Liana will stand before the guests. She will confess, publicly, that she stole my offering. That she lied.”

He slammed his fist on the oak table, making the silver goblets jump. “You vicious girl! You would ruin your sister’s standing for this?!”

My mother just looked at me, her expression one of profound disappointment.

I didn’t flinch. “The vampire prince seeks the woman whose blood impressed his court. She took what was mine. She should learn. What does she want more? A fleeting reputation, or a true marriage with her beloved Marcus?”

It was for Liana’s sake, always for Liana, that they finally, reluctantly, nodded.

I turned and left the room without a backward glance.

I almost collided with Marcus as he stepped out of Liana’s bedchamber.

He was pulling a silk robe over his shoulders. Love-bites, fresh and angry, dotted the skin of his throat and chest.

The evidence of the last three days was painted plainly on him.

I wrinkled my nose and moved to step past him.

He caught my arm. His sigh was heavy, performative. “I know you’re upset, Elara. But this… this was the only way to protect her. You know how obsessive a vampire prince can be. A public blood-binding with her… even Kaelan would think twice about challenging a claimed mortal.”

I pulled my arm free. “And what about me, Marcus?”

We were supposed to be bound at my twentieth birthday. Liana had always found a reason to delay it. A sudden fever. A fainting spell. A mysterious grief.

Now I was nearly twenty-five. And he had bound himself to her in the final hour.

Leaving me with the two paths reserved for unbounded mortal women of fading youth: be matched by the city’s ledger to some wandering mercenary, or accept the proposal from the most feared vampire in the realm.

Marcus had the decency to look guilty for a fleeting second. Then he seized my hands, his grip too tight. “It’s alright! I won’t let you be thrown to some brute. I’ll… I’ll take you as a blood-bound servant! You can stay in my mage household. You won’t need to marry at all!”

He spoke as if granting a royal boon. “Don’t look like that. It’s just a formality. Once you’re under my roof, I’ll treat you just the same as Liana.”

A laugh, harsh and incredulous, burst from me. How could he be so profoundly vile?

A blood-servant’s mark was for criminals, for debtors sold to settle accounts. It was a brand of permanent inferiority. Property. Your children would be property. Your will was your master’s will.

I wrenched my hands away. “Never.”

His face flushed with embarrassment that quickly curdled into anger. “What is wrong with you?! Don’t you love me? Or is your pride worth more than being by my side?!”

“Is it?” I shot back. “Then why not make Liana your blood-servant? That would have saved her too, wouldn’t it?”

He recoiled as if struck. “How dare you suggest that?! A blood-bound servant!” His voice rose to a shout. “A delicate flower like Liana deserves to be cherished! She should never know a moment’s grief!”

The old, familiar ache bloomed behind my eyes, hot and sharp.

Because Liana was a delicate flower. And I was… durable. Practical. I had the constitution that survived fevers and the wit that solved problems. So I could bear the grievances. I could shoulder the burdens.

My silence, my clear contempt, seemed to sting him more.

He leaned in, his breath hot on my face. “You should reflect on that attitude. You don’t have any other choice.”

He strode away, leaving me standing alone in the dim corridor.

I walked downstairs in a daze. My parents were waiting in the foyer.

My mother held out a small velvet box. “From the Shadow Keep. For you.”

I opened it. Inside, on a bed of black silk, lay a bracelet. It was crafted of dark, smoky iron, set with a single, teardrop-shaped moonstone that glowed with a soft inner light.

I knew this bracelet. I’d seen it years ago at a clandestine auction in the Midnight Bazaar. I’d longed for it, but the price was a fantasy.

My fingers closed around the cool metal.

Perhaps… perhaps marrying Kaelan Nocturne wouldn’t be a death sentence after all.

The next afternoon, I went to the Silvered Thread, a jeweler known for catering to the nocturnal aristocracy.

I needed a reciprocal gift for the Prince’s bracelet. A token.

I remembered the rumors: Kaelan Nocturne’s eyes were said to be the color of frost over a deep, poisoned well. A piercing, unsettling green.

I found a pair of cufflinks. They were shaped like coiled serpents, their eyes tiny, flawless emeralds.

A practical, respectful gift.

As I paid and turned to leave, a familiar, sugary voice pierced the quiet of the shop.

“Oh, Marcus! Look! Elara is such a stubborn one. She refused your generous offer just yesterday, and now she’s buying you such an expensive token. I could never be so… clever.”

Liana was draped on Marcus’s arm. He looked at the velvet box in my hand, and a smug, triumphant grin spread across his face.

“And here I thought you were above such games, Elara,” he drawled. “Trying to buy back my favor? So you don’t have to face the matching ledger?”

It was then I remembered. Today was his birthday.

They thought this was for him.

He glanced dismissively at the cufflinks as the jeweler packed them. “Hideous things. I prefer lion motifs. You should know that.”

“They’re not for you,” I said, my voice flat. “They are for my betrothed.”

Marcus barked a laugh. “Who would willingly bind themselves to a woman your age? Stop playing hard to get, or I might rescind my offer of servitude.”

Liana’s eyes darted to the establishment next door. Its sign showed a stylized droplet of blood falling onto a sigil. A thin, intermittent scream slipped out from inside, quickly swallowed by the heavy silence that followed.

“Look, Marcus!” she chirped, pointing. “The Registrar of Bindings is right there. We could have her marked now. I just can’t bear the thought of her worrying about her future another moment. Let’s… let’s help her.”

“Oh, my sweet, compassionate heart,” Marcus sighed, tapping her nose. He turned his haughty gaze back to me. “Well? You heard her. Let’s go.”

He raised his staff and swept it once. My body obeyed instantly, moving forward without my consent.

The Registrar’s office was stark, smelling of antiseptic and fear. In the center of the main room, a brazier glowed with white-hot coals. On a rack beside it hung various branding irons, their ends shaped into crude, degrading sigils—marks of permanent servitude.

A man, a burly mortal debtor, was being held down on a stone slab. The registrar heated an iron with a sigil for ‘thief’. The sizzle when it met the man’s shoulder was followed by a scream that tore through the room, animal and raw.

Marcus paled and looked away.

Liana didn’t. A strange, bright light was in her eyes.

She whispered to one of Marcus’s guards, who immediately stepped toward me, his hand closing around my upper arm.

“Let go of me!” I demanded.

“It’s alright, Elara!” Liana trilled, skipping over to the rack. “I’ll pick a nice one for you!”

Her finger hovered, then landed on an iron. The sigil was ancient, vulgar. It marked the bearer as carnal property.

“This one,” she giggled, pulling it from the rack. “This one suits you perfectly.”

She hopped toward me, the heavy iron in her small hand. The tip glowed a faint, dangerous orange.

In the crisis, I fought against the magic’s grip! As I twisted, my free hand came up, not to strike her, but to block the iron coming toward my face.

Liana stumbled backward with a theatrical cry, as if I’d pushed her with great force.

The branding iron clattered to the stone floor. A single, tiny ember popped from the coals and landed on the back of her hand.

It flickered and died instantly, leaving not even a pink mark.

But Liana clutched her hand, her eyes instantly swimming with tears. A wail erupted from her. “I was only trying to help you! You don’t want to be matched to some filthy drifter! And you… you burned me!”

I was still processing the speed of it when Marcus moved.

He didn’t come to me. He shoved me. Hard.

My balance vanished. I fell sideways, my outstretched palms landing directly on the edge of the stone slab holding the brazier.

Agony.

The scent of scorched skin filled my nose. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream.

A shadow loomed over me.

Smack!

Marcus waved his staff. My own palm connected with my cheek, whipping my head to the side. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

He glared down at me, his face a mask of pure disgust. “You damn bastard! After all her kindness! Apologize to Liana! Now!”

I stared at my palms. The skin was blistered, angry red, already weeping. I started to laugh.

It was a raw, broken sound in the tense silence.

Marcus froze. “Why are you laughing?” he demanded, a thread of unease in his voice.

I was laughing at the colossal, tragic joke of my own life. For years, I had contorted myself, swallowed insults, borne injustices, all to preserve the shallow, conditional affection of my parents and this man.

And for what?

Every time Liana performed her fragile maiden act, they believed her. Without question. Blood relations and childhood promises meant nothing against her practiced tears.

I was the villain in their story. The envious sister. The obstacle.

I clenched my fists, the fresh burns screaming in protest, the pain a sharp, clarifying focus. I looked up at Marcus, my eyes dry and hot.

“No,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I will not apologize. I have done nothing wrong.”

His jaw went slack. My defiance was a language he no longer understood.

“Marcus…” Liana’s sob was a masterpiece of frail misery. “My hand… it hurts so much…”

He turned to her instantly, his concern a physical thing. He gathered her close, murmuring comforts.

Then, absurdly, as if she might catch a chill in this room of horror, he ran outside to his carriage. He returned with a cloak—a luxurious, hooded cloak lined with silvery fur.

My breath hitched.

It was lined with pelt from a ice-wolf. A rare, magical creature. My magical creature. A companion I’d bonded with as a child. Liana had claimed it was vicious, that it threatened her. Marcus had demanded I prove my loyalty. He’d made me give the order for its execution.

I shared a mind-link with it. When it died, I nearly died as well.

And now its fur warmed the liar who orchestrated its death.

Liana saw where my gaze had fallen. A tiny, smug smile touched her lips as she snuggled into the fur, pressing herself against Marcus and whimpering about the pain.

Any shred of doubt in Marcus’s eyes vanished, burned away by protective rage.

He turned back to me, his expression glacial. “You are not welcome in my home, not a single step across my threshold, until you are on your knees begging Liana’s forgiveness. Let’s see how long that stubborn pride of yours lasts.”

I smiled then, a cold, thin thing. “You’ll be disappointed.”

I had two days. Two days until I became the bride of the vampire prince.

Suddenly, a thunderous crash and the scream of horses echoed from the street outside. Through the open door, I saw a carriage, its team spooked and wild, careening straight for the Registrar’s open doorway.

Marcus reacted with the preternatural speed of his bloodline—a diluted trace of lion-kin heritage. In a blur, he scooped Liana up and leaped clear across the room to safety.

And in his leap, his shoulder clipped me, knocking me off balance once more. I fell to the cobblestones outside, a sharp pain lancing through my ankle. The runaway carriage filled my vision, the panicked eyes of the driver, the crushing weight of the wheels.

I closed my eyes. This was it. An ignoble, accidental end.

But the impact never came.

Instead, I was swept up. The world spun, then stilled. The cacophony of the street faded to a distant roar.

I was cradled against a chest. A scent enveloped me—cold night air, aged wine, and a faint, sharp ozone, like the moment after lightning.

I opened my eyes.

I was looking into a face half-hidden by a black leather mask. But the eyes—green.

He had set me down on a stone bench across the wide avenue. The out-of-control carriage was now a tangled wreck far down the street.

Before I could speak, before I could even draw a full breath, he was gone. A shadow dissolving into the deeper shadows of an alleyway.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked down the street. Marcus was holding Liana, brushing dust from her cloak, his face etched with concern.

I felt in the pocket of my dress. My fingers closed around a small, cool vial I hadn’t put there. I pulled it out. A salve. The label, in elegant script, read: For Silver-Burn & Ember-Weal.

A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. I swallowed it.

I reached into my small bag. My fingers found the heavy, familiar weight of Marcus’s betrothal ring. I pulled it out, the gem dull in the afternoon light.

Without a second look, I drew back my arm and threw it. It sailed in a high, glittering arc before vanishing with a faint plink into the murky waters of the storm drain.