The first thing you learned about the vampire court was this: nothing bled elegance quite like danger.

And Blair Waldorf was the most dangerous of them all.

The palace of the Night Empire glittered like obsidian under moonlight, carved spires rising so high they looked like they pierced the sky. You had been brought here only a week ago—an honored guest, they said. A chosen one. A future political link between human kingdoms and the vampire dynasty.

But no one had warned you that the empire’s future bride was… Blair. Waldorf.

The Blair Waldorf—immortalized not only by vampiric lore, but by ruthless diplomacy, courtly intelligence, and a smile sharp enough to slice marble.

Tonight, the empire held a formal gathering. Vampires with centuries of poise drifted like shadows across the ballroom, fabrics shimmering, jeweled goblets in hand. And there she was—Blair—standing at the top of the staircase in an impossibly intricate black gown, embroidered with threads of metallic red that resembled veins glowing under the candlelight.

Her eyes found you instantly.

And she smirked.

Her heels clicked softly as she descended, each stride confident, predatory. When she reached you, she didn’t speak at first. She simply circled you—slow, assessing, the way a queen studies a challenger.

Or a lover she intends to claim.

“You clean up nicely,” she finally said, voice soft but dangerous. “I was worried the humans would send someone… dull.”

You tried not to swallow too loudly. “And are you disappointed?”

Blair stepped closer—close enough that you could smell the faint scent of jasmine and bloodwine. “Not even slightly.”

Her finger lifted your chin. A barely-there touch—yet it rendered your entire spine useless.

“Walk with me,” she commanded, though it sounded more like an invitation whispered against your skin.