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The crimson lipstick trembles in my hand as I lean toward the vanity mirror. The waxy texture drags across my bottom lip, staining it the color of fresh blood. Tonight, I end this.
"I'm leaving tonight. Don't follow me. We're done."
The words taste like ash in my mouth. I push them past my lips again, louder this time, watching my reflection form the shapes. My chest tightens because some traitorous part of me still craves the weight of his obsidian stare, still remembers the possessive rasp of his voice against my ear.
"We're done," I repeat until it sounds believable.
The door creaks open behind me. Mara, my handmaid, enters with the midnight blue gown draped over her arms. The fabric shimmers like starlight on water, beautiful and suffocating in equal measure.
"Arms up, miss." Mara's fingers are quick and practiced as she laces the corset around my ribs. Each tug steals another inch of breath from my lungs.
"Tighter," I say through gritted teeth. The pain will ground me, remind me why I'm doing this.
"Prince Hendery hasn't fed in weeks, they say." Mara's voice is casual, light with gossip as she yanks the laces. "The kitchen staff whispers he's grown pale as a ghost."
My pulse stutters before I crush the flicker of concern. "He has an entire court of willing donors. I'm sure he's managing just fine."
Mara hums noncommittally. "Lady Vespera will be at the ball tonight. She looked radiant at this morning's council meeting, I hear."
Jealousy flares hot and sharp in my chest before I strangle it. Vespera is everything I'm not: vampire, immortal, perfect. She's everything Hendery should want instead of the fragile human liaison he treats like a breakable pet.
The corset cinches tight enough to bruise. Good. I need the reminder.
"I won't be staying long enough to see her." My voice comes out quieter than I intended.
Mara's hands are still for just a moment before she ties off the laces without another word.
I stand, smoothing the gown over my hips. The neckline plunges lower than I'm used to, exposing the pale column of my throat. A phantom pain lances through the side of my neck, sharp enough to make me wince. I rub at the unmarked skin, but the sensation fades as quickly as it came.
The corridors leading to the grand ballroom stretch endlessly before me. Torches flicker in their iron sconces, casting writhing shadows across the stone walls. The distant sound of violins and cellos floats through the air, weaving together in something haunting and minor-key. My slippers whisper against the cold stone floor, and that nameless dread settles heavily in my chest.
Nothing bad has happened yet. Nothing will happen.
The grand doors loom before me, twice my height and carved with intricate scenes of vampire conquests. Two guards pull them open without a word. The ballroom explodes into view.
Crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, dripping with a thousand candles that cast golden light across the sea of masked vampires below. Silks and velvets in midnight blues and blood reds swirl across the dance floor. The orchestra sits in a sunken pit at the far end of the room, their instruments gleaming.
And there, on the raised throne at the center of it all, sits Hendery.
He looks bored. Untouchable. His dark hair is swept back from his face, and he's dressed in black on black, making him look like a shadow given form. Courtiers cluster around the base of his throne like favor-seekers, but he ignores them all.
Then his gaze finds me across the crowded room.
Heat climbs my neck even as I tell myself to look away, to break the connection before it pulls me under. His obsidian eyes are cold and empty, confirming every terrible thing I've told myself about him these past six months.
He doesn't smile. Doesn't acknowledge me beyond that piercing stare.
I look away first, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
"May I have this dance?"
A vampire lord appears at my elbow, his smile too wide and too sharp. I don't recognize him behind his silver mask, but I accept his offered hand anyway. Anything to escape Hendery's stare.
The lord spins me onto the dance floor with practiced ease. His palm presses against the small of my back, cold even through the layers of silk. We move through the steps of the waltz, and I let the music carry me, let it drown out the churning thoughts in my head.
I catch a glimpse of Hendery as we turn.
His expression has changed. The bored indifference has shattered into something predatory and possessive, something that makes my pulse spike with fear and unwanted heat. His jaw clenches. His hands grip the arms of his throne hard enough that I hear the wood crack from across the room.
And his eyes bleed crimson.
The vampire lord's grip tightens on my waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. A gasp tears from my throat at the sudden pain.
A cold hand clamps down on the lord's shoulder from behind.
Hendery's voice cuts through the music like a blade. "Step away from what's mine. Now."