Chapter 3 The Royal Event & The Vampire King

The scent of beeswax and polished silver hung thick in the air as Selene adjusted the starched collar of her servant's uniform, fingers trembling slightly. The white linen scratched against her throat, and the tight bodice made it difficult to breathe-though, as of late, breathing itself had become something strange. Something forced.

She had not told anyone about what happened in class. Not the pain. Not the sound of hearts pounding like war drums around her. Not the strange boy with dusk-shadowed eyes who vanished before she could question him. It was madness to speak of such things. It was better to pretend. To endure.

And tonight, she must endure more than ever.

The Valcourt Gala was an event spoken of in hushed tones. A night of masks, music, and majesty where the elite of Ravenwood and beyond gathered to remind the world of their power. Attendance was mandatory for every noble-born student. For Selene, it meant service.

Scholarship students were expected to earn their keep.

She was to pour wine. Carry trays. Bow when needed. Disappear when not.

No matter that her skin still felt too tight. No matter that her ears caught whispers from across the room. No matter that food no longer stirred her appetite and her own heartbeat had become... erratic.

She was a servant tonight. Nothing more.

<<<<<<<<<<<

The grand ballroom of Ravenwood Academy was a cathedral of opulence. Gilded arches rose to a domed ceiling painted with angels and battles, lit by a chandelier of black crystal and flame-touched glass. Velvet drapes spilled like blood from the windows. Gold-trimmed uniforms and silk gowns swirled as noble-blooded students glided across the marble floors in practiced elegance.

Selene kept to the shadows, balancing a silver tray of crystal goblets. She moved like smoke between the glittering throng, her presence unnoticed, save for the occasional sneer or curl of a lip from students she passed.

"She shouldn't even be allowed in here," one girl muttered, eyes not even bothering to whisper.

Selene ignored it. She was used to being looked through. Stepped over.

But tonight... something felt different. Heavy. Expectant.

A whisper in her bones.

She turned, adjusting her tray-and froze.

A presence entered the ballroom like a storm cloud at noon.

Every conversation halted. Every breath was drawn. The music faltered, then resumed in a quieter, sharper rhythm.

At the top of the black marble staircase stood Lucian Valcourt.

He was taller than the men around him, but it was not his height that set him apart. It was the stillness. The kind of stillness that belonged to wolves before they struck. He wore no mask. He needed none. His presence was a mask-terrifying, cold, untouchable.

His hair was black as spilled ink, combed back with an effortless precision. His suit was charcoal trimmed with obsidian threading, and a silver pin-carved into a raven in flight-rested at his collar. But it was his eyes that cut through the crowd like a blade.

Silver-blue. Sharp. Inhuman.

Selene's breath hitched.

He should not be here. Everyone knew Lucian Valcourt did not attend school functions. He was a legend. A myth. The reclusive heir of the Valcourt bloodline. The one whispered to be King in all but name.

And yet-

He turned his head slowly. His gaze swept across the ballroom. Past lords and ladies, past sycophants and suitors.

Until it stopped.

On her.

The silver goblet trembled in Selene's hand.

Lucian's eyes narrowed.

His expression didn't change, yet the weight of it shifted. His interest was sudden, piercing.

She looked away instantly, heat rising in her cheeks, her stomach clenching as if gripped by an invisible hand.

What in the Gods' names was she doing?

She was a servant. A nobody. And she had just stared back at him.

Selene ducked her head and moved through the crowd, pretending she hadn't noticed. But she could feel it. Like a tether strung taut between them. His gaze did not leave her.

Lucian did not speak for a long while.

He sat on a high-backed chair carved from darkwood, his fingers laced before him, unmoving. The hum of the ballroom resumed around him, cautious and subdued. But he did not hear it.

His advisor leaned close. "Shall I prepare your carriage, my king? It is unlike you to linger."

Lucian did not blink. "Who is she?"

"Who, sire?"

"That girl. The one with the tray."

His voice was low. Smooth as silk, but edged with command.

The advisor frowned. "A servant girl, I assume. Likely one of the scholarship students."

"No." Lucian's lip curled slightly. "She is not what she seems."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes following her movements. "I cannot hear her heartbeat."

The advisor went still.

Lucian sat back. "Find out everything about her."

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Selene stepped into the side corridor, leaning against the stone wall, the tray shaking in her hands.

She was burning. Her body was alive with something unnameable. Her skin was too tight. Her mouth too dry. Her senses wouldn't stop. She could hear everything. Feel the weight of every gaze, every breath, every heat-laced laugh.

But it was him she felt the most.

He had looked at her like he knew her. Like he could see beneath her skin. As if her secrets weren't even hers anymore.

She turned the corner-and collided with something hard and unmovable.

Her tray clattered to the floor, goblets shattering, wine spilling like blood across the stone.

"I-" she gasped, stepping back. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

Her words died on her lips.

It was him.

Lucian.

Up close, he was even more devastating. His presence pulled at the very air around him, bending it, demanding it. And now he was standing before her, towering, watching.

Her breath came fast.

He tilted his head, slowly. "You're trembling."

Selene straightened. "I'm not afraid of you."

That amused him. "A lie. But a pretty one."

His voice was a velvet dagger.

She stepped back. He stepped forward.

"I don't know what game you're playing," she whispered, chin lifted.

"No game," Lucian said softly. "Only questions. You're... curious."

Selene frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

Lucian reached out-his hand hovered near her jaw. Not touching. Just close enough to burn.

"I mean..." He inhaled. "You don't smell like them."

She didn't move. Couldn't.

"And your heartbeat," he murmured, "is silent."

Her pulse raced, though it felt like it came from somewhere else. She was caught in his gravity.

"I should go," she managed.

He stepped closer.

"So should I," he murmured. "Yet... here we are."

Their breath mingled. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

And then, without warning-he leaned down.

Not to kiss.

To smell.

His nose traced the line of her throat. Slowly. Like a wolf memorizing its prey. Her knees buckled, and her hands clutched his jacket for balance. He didn't stop her.

"Tell me, little dove," he whispered against her skin, "what are you hiding beneath that pretty skin of yours?"

She didn't answer.

Couldn't.

And just as quickly, he stepped back, the spell broken.

Selene was left breathless. Her heart was screaming, but she wasn't sure it was even beating.

Lucian's smile was slow. Dangerous.

"Let's find out, shall we?"