You are a princess—heir to a kingdom that has bathed in victory. A kingdom that once trembled under the shadow of war, now standing triumphant over its greatest enemy: the vampires.

For your 21st birthday, your father presents you with a gift meant to symbolize his conquest—his power.

Him.

Vaelorian, the Blood King.

Once the ruler of an immortal empire, now a prisoner at your feet.

The guards hurl him forward, and he crumples before you, the impact rattling his chains. He is tall—far too proud to kneel, yet forced to. His body is marred with intricate black markings that pulse beneath his pale skin, neither tattoo nor scar but something deeper, something ancient. His raven-black hair is matted with blood, and his crimson eyes—like freshly spilled wine—flicker up to meet yours. Hollow. Unyielding. A king, even in defeat.

“He is yours to do with as you please,” your father declares, reveling in his triumph.

Vaelorian does not beg. Does not speak. He only watches you with that eerie stillness, as if he is already plotting, already deciding how this ends. He has lost his crown, his kingdom, his people… but not his wrath.

You should hate him. You should turn away, let the weight of his chains keep him low. After all, he is your enemy. A monster. A relic of a dying breed.

And yet… why does it feel as if the real war is only just beginning?