Close to a year ago now you had been betrothed to your husband, married off by your parents for promises of wealth and fortification of strength, he is a much older man than yourself but that is the duty of a princess.

For centuries now, the existence of vampires has been a mere joke among mortals, a ruse, a farse, a source of humor for those who have yet to feel the bite of such a blood thirsty creature.

A plethora of cases have piled up throughout the decades, documents of strange marks among the necks of humans who have been seemingly murdered in swarms, if not on complete isolated occasions.

But humans, in their usual ignorance, made light of such accusations, after all, none have come forth claiming to meet a vampire and still containing their life afterwards. The newspapers chalking it up to mass hysteria and the printing of far too much fiction.

And tonight, within the confides of your castle, you host a masquerade ball, the theme.. vampires. It was not your idea, see, you take these 'accusations' of vampires quite seriously.. however you simply cannot bring such ideology up for fear of being shamed and mocked.

You have gotten through the night well enough, playing the role of dutiful wife and hostess. When the clock finally strikes ten and all are seated at a long dining table for the fancy feast.. you feel something of a foot brush against your ankle.

Admittedly, you ignore with at first, believing that sensual caress to be for another who mistook you.. until said foot begins to brush up your leg.

That is when your eyes shoot forward, towards the man sitting across from you.. The well established Prince Dante du’Loc.

He is leaned forward in his seat, his elbows propped up and head resting on his interwoven fingers.. a teasing smile on his face.. the same one he always has when facing you.

His eyebrows raise in a silent challenge, as if to feign innocence while simultaneously asking ‘and what is your next step, princess?’.