Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Eleanna

B lood is my birthright, and I wear it like a crown.

With deliberate steps, I stride toward the ancient throne. Each footfall echoes through the hall like a heartbeat in my dark realm.

Blood. And the power it brings. Those are mine. I let the words slip down into me, along with the throne room's cold, unyielding embrace. It's my sanctuary, where the formidable power flowing through my veins thrums with pride and ruthlessness.

The crown. I've wanted this. Was made for this. And now the moment is on me and the quaver inside at the momentous occasion, the tiny tremor, is something no one else will ever see. To them, I'm stone like the floor and walls. And as unforgiving.

I'm dripping in the power that permeates the throne room.

Blood will soon be spilled in my name, and I want it to flow freely, stain the stones red. Below me, the room brims with the vampires of my court—my family, some distant descendants of my ancient bloodline, all bound by the lineage that defines our existence.

For a moment another tremor passes through me inside, but I catch the eyes of Nadia and Meredith, my most trusted court allies and the tremor fades.

I glide forward to accept my rightful place as the next queen. My long skirt billows around me, and my sculpted bodice clings to my form like a second skin. My bones and veins are drenched in the essence of gloom, the power that gathers there, the power that's mine. It presses against me, a lover's touch. And every vampire here waits for the moment of ascension.

I can almost hear the whisper of the merciless power I wield over my domain. And so can every vampire in here. Their gazes follow my every movement, like I captivate with my dark majesty.

This isn't arrogance. The aura comes with the crown. My birthright. The power it radiates. The power in the darkest corners of the throne room.

I wait until everyone stills.

"Brothers and sisters of the night!" My voice cuts through the silence as I stand in front of the throne, the weight of countless stares upon me. "Hear me now. My rule shall be upheld by three inviolable laws."

The small bite of nerves vanishes as I settle onto the iron throne.

The court is a sea of pale faces and gleaming eyes, their features illuminated by the flickering torchlight. Their murmurs swell into a hissing chorus, a crescendo of anticipation and fear as they await the proclamation they know will come.

I sweep my gaze across the cavernous throne room, where shadows cling to stone walls like loyal subjects, their tendrils embracing the ancient masonry. High above, gargoyles peer down from their lofty perches, their grotesque features forever etched by centuries of vigilance. The winter's breath seeps through the ancient mortar, chilling the air, and as I exhale, my breath materializes into ghostly wisps, puffing fleetingly like smoke before dissipating into the darkness.

This is all mine. Finally.

"First, as your future queen," I say, locking my gaze onto each of them in turn, "the Sagori bloodline will honor the ancient covenant. We'll feast on human blood as our forebears did. And no betrayal shall go unpunished. We are of one family, and loyalty is the blood that binds us. Once I am crowned, my might will not be defied. We'll stand supreme among vampires, unrivaled and unyielding."

My words hang heavily in the room, echoing the old ways, the true ways.

As I survey the assembled subjects, a flash of dark hair and silver eyes catches my attention, causing my breath to hitch. Alexandru. I snag on his gaze, but he turns, disappearing in the crowd.

The fleeting glimpse is enough to trigger a sudden, visceral memory of combat training with Alexandru, my former lover and once betrothed. My heart clenches. Once, our bodies moved in tandem, in a tango of savage grace. Our sparring sessions transcended mere practice, and they became intimate on many levels. We shared an understanding of power and the lethal poise required to survive centuries.

And we shared the give and take of wild passion.

There were softer moments, the stolen kisses that morphed into more. The way?—

The way he hurt me. That exists, too.

The sharp sting of those painful memories resurfaces—the humiliation and betrayal that consumed me when he cast me aside, callously calling off our wedding years ago. The wound throbs anew, and I clench my jaw, determined to maintain my composure in the face of this unwelcome ghost from my past.

I didn't invite him but as a respected general, I shouldn't be surprised to see him. The shock is from my reaction, the bite of the past.

The memories flicker and fade, and the present commands my attention. My purpose.

I recall the teachings of my father, the lessons steeped in blood and honed by the old ways.

His legacy is mine to bear, a mantle woven from the very essence of vampiric tradition.

To drink from humans, to savor the life force we covet—it is what we are, what we must always be.

My heart, if it could be called such, beats with a rhythm all its own. It's a noiseless drum heralding the return of our dominion. I don't need to voice my emotions; they're etched into the very stone of this castle, into the marrow of my bones.

I sit tall on the ancient throne, my feet on the stone floor, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. The cold refocuses me and I let it meld in with my bones, cooling the blood and beat inside me.

"Let us speak of the old traditions I desire to bring back to our kingdom. It's time we reinstate our rightful tradition—bloodletting of humans as they are mere cattle for the slaughter." My voice reverberates off the walls, as certain as the death we've all transcended.

A murmur ripples through the assembly of vampires, as if their undead hearts are stirred by the prospect. The court appears divided. I sense it—a tumult of whispers and glances that betray their thoughts. Not all are swayed; some bear expressions of disgust, others of fear. They remember the rebellions, the uprisings of human vermin that dared to defy our supremacy.

To give in, revel in softer ways is to embrace the wrong side of chaos. I let the murmur ripple, taking note of dissenters, those who catch my eye. But I sit, gathering my regal air, resolute. I'm a rock among the stirrings of unrest in my court. Let them murmur, let them doubt. I am Eleanna Cordon, Queen of the Sagori, Mistress of Ravens and my will is law.

"Eleanna, you would drag us back to the dark ages!" One of them accuses, his eyes a blaze of defiance.

I take note of him, those around him. He's alone in his opinions where he stands. Either those surrounding him side with me or hide their thoughts better. He's no one of note, so I make him squirm as the silence stretches.

Then I lean forward.

"Is it not our nature to dominate? To feed as we were born to?" My retort's sharp as a blade's edge.

The dissenters among them may balk, but my determination is an unassailable fortress. The old ways shall return. It is the decree of my bloodline.

Suddenly, a female vampire storms into my courtroom, proud, exaggerated moves, head high, eyes sharp, the embodiment of ambition and menace—Catarina. Her presence is like a preternatural shadow, her aura a shroud of imminent tempests.

I resist tapping my fingers. I'm aware of how dramatic her appearance is. Her appeal.

Her black hair cascades like a waterfall of obsidian, and her ice-blue gaze could freeze hellfire itself. She wears her power as she does her formfitting gown of purple velvet, accentuating her statuesque frame. The crowd parts to let her through until she stands before me.

When I rise from my throne, the air between us crackles with the raw energy of centuries-old enmity. My hands, though clenched in anticipation, betray no hint of the turmoil that roils beneath my carefully constructed calm exterior.

"You are not welcome here, Catarina."

Catarina's smile is a slow, grim curl of her lips, as icy and unforgiving as the winter snowstorm besieging the castle walls. "Eleanna, you will not wear that crown nor any other this night. Step down from that throne, or watch as I lay waste to everything you hold dear, including your kingdom."

Laughter bursts from me, a sound of defiance that echoes through the grand chamber. Her threats, meant to intimidate, only steel my resolve. "Over my eternal body."

Catarina narrows her eyes, her malice undisguised. "Your arrogance blinds you, Eleanna. I've come prepared. I've built an army drawn from the vampire outcasts of your world, ready to end your reign tonight. Your throne will be mine, and your heart, I will personally see staked."

Fury burns hot through me at her ominous declaration. "You think to intimidate me with a few measly vampire rebels? You mistake my determination for arrogance. You may have conjured soldiers from the bowels of the outer realms, but I am born of a lineage primordial and formidable. You aim to take my throne, to snuff out my life, but you will find that I am not so easily vanquished."

The air around us grows heavy and my skin pricks and sparks with the imminent clash of wills and forces.

"You've always underestimated me, Eleanna," Catarina says, her voice dripping with venom. "I spent years in the shadows, gathering strength, waiting for this moment to see you fall."

"This is not a game. You seek to dethrone me, to murder me, but know this—I will defend my rule, my life, with all the ferocity and cunning that my family have honed for centuries. You've raised an army against me? So be it. But remember, I'm no stranger to warfare, to sacrifice. You won't find an easy victory here."

Catarina sneers, "You misunderstand. I don't seek an easy victory. I crave the struggle, the sweet taste of your defeat. Your throne, your life—it will all be mine before the night is out. I'll see you broken and your legacy in ruins."

Tension in the hall rises, choking me. And the standoff is fed by the energy. One spark and the world might explode into that chaos I need to keep at bay.

Every vampire in here is frozen, ready for anything. Maybe ready to fight. The grandiose hall is transformed into a battleground where supremacy and survival hang in the balance.

It's a silent, unmoving battleground, one poised on the precipice of something big, and the two of us stand at the eye of that battle.

One word and it will come tumbling down.

I meet her eye.

"Stand your forces outside the gates down or I'll destroy them," I say to her.

Her eyes narrow. "Who said anything about them being outside?"

I don't look from her. So traitors are in here. I flick a finger to signal the guards.

Catarina's hatred and ambition radiate from her in palpable waves, her gathered forces poised to usurp what she cannot earn.

But I stand unwavering, my resolve as unyielding as the ancient stones beneath my feet. Catarina may believe herself to be my equal, but the delusion of her own grandeur blinds her to the truth—she is not, nor will she ever be.

My guards will be moving now, through the room, outside. Already a murmur rises in the hall. Then it falls silent.

Something is wrong.

There should be shouts, vampires dragged off.

Instead, there's nothing.

The betrayal comes not as a sudden blow but as a creeping sensation that prickles my skin and sets my instincts on edge. The rustle of skirts, the shifting of weight, the soft click of unsheathed blades—each sound is a discordant note in the symphony of treason.

As I turn, my court, my supposed allies, transform before my eyes, their faces twisting with the same hunger for power that consumes Catarina. Swords glint in the flickering torchlight, their blades thirsting for my blood, as the once-loyal subjects become ravenous beasts, ready to tear me apart.

For a fleeting moment, shock and disbelief course through me, but they're quickly consumed by a cold, seething fury. The betrayal stings, but it only stokes the flames of my determination.

"Traitors! How dare you raise your hands against your future queen!" I roar, masking any hint of doubt or fear.

I will not show weakness before these parasites.

The throne room transforms in the blink of an eye, the pandemonium of the fight marring the ornate pillars and gilded walls. Catarina's army surges through the grand doors, their armor menacingly reflecting the flickering torchlight. The clang of swords and the flash of fangs fill the air as more vampires join the fray, their movements a fatal onslaught of steel and shadow.

Blood splatters across the marble floor, and the once-pristine surface becomes a canvas of carnage, smeared in shades of red gleaming in the dim light. Bodies litter the room, some still twitching and grasping for their weapons, while others lie motionless in growing pools of their own blood.

The sight of my subjects turning their blades against me sends a bitter chill through my veins, colder than the grave itself. I snarl, exposing fangs, as the white-hot rage within me reaches a boiling point, threatening to consume everything in its path.

Amid the rebellion, soldiers dressed in deep hues of blue and black engage in a vicious struggle, their gleaming swords clashing against each other. The metallic scent of blood permeates the air, mingling with the crackling moans of the dying and the battle cries of the still fighting. The throne room has become a macabre stage, where the struggle for power and survival plays out in a vivid display of brutality and desperation.

Two monstrous vampires charge toward my throne. Their eyes gleam with predatory intent, and their snarls echo off the stone walls. Adrenaline sets my nerves alight as I draw my blade from the side of the throne in one fluid motion. The razor-sharp edge shimmers in the dim light.

The first vampire lunges, his claws extended like talons seeking to tear into my flesh. I meet his blow with a resounding clank of metal. The impact reverberates through my bones. But he has me. His cold, skeletal grip tightens around my wrist, trying to wrench my weapon from my grasp, but I twist free with a savage growl, and my blade finds its mark. I plunge the sword through his heart and feel the sickening crunch of bone and sinew as his blood coats my hand in a grisly shade of red.

Before I can savor my victory, the other vampire swoops in, his face twisted in a grotesque sneer as his hand squeezes my throat like a vise. I struggle against his suffocating grip. My lungs burn for air as black spots dance at the edges of my vision. His icy breath ghosts across my skin, and his fangs inch closer to my jugular as he prepares to rip out my throat.

I relax into it, and he loosens his grip momentarily.

My vampiric speed and strength are my saving grace. I twist out of the vampire's hold and swing my sword, cutting off his head. Metal bites through the air, blood sprays, staining his garments and the cold stone beneath our feet. From behind me comes the lumber of feet and I whirl even as the coppery scent of blood ignites my thirst.

The vampire tries to strike, but I spear the head and fling it at him. Then I lash out, taking advantage of their distraction. I destroy him, too.

I dodge left, then right, parrying a strike from another vampire and plunging my blade into his heart. He crumples at my feet, the light in his eyes fading. Another one lunges from my left side and I turn and rip the head from its undead body, decapitating it with a sickening crunch. More assailants rush me, but I'm fueled by centuries of rage, of injustice, of a legacy spurned.

Through the chaos, Alexandru's face appears, his chiseled features set in a cold, unfeeling mask.

The sight sends a jolt through my body, a sickening blend of longing and rage that makes my heart pound against my ribs like a caged beast. Memories of stolen moments and whispered promises flash through my mind, each one a bitter reminder of the love I once thought we shared.

Now there's only hate.

Yet… Why is he here? To mock me? Torture me with his presence?

Alexandru's eyes meet mine for the briefest of moments, and I search their icy depths for any hint of if he's friend or foe, for any hint of the man I once knew, the man who held my heart in his hands. Instead, I find only a stranger, a treacherous dog who would turn his back on me without a second thought.

There's no time for questions or emotions in this den of vipers, where every shadow conceals a waiting blade and every smile hides a venomous fang. No matter that his gaze keeps drawing me. No matter that his presence inexplicably sends a strength, a confidence through me.

The room erupts into further bedlam around us, and Alexandru tears his gaze away, dismissing me with a coldness that cuts deeper than any sword.

Catarina's cackling laughter pierces the air as the most loyal of my court, the last vestiges of a dying order, stand with me.

Brave and valiant, each blow they deliver to the enemy is a tribute to their fidelity. Their swords are arcs of silver slicing through the thickening haze of blood mists. Grunts and snarls of fury are almost drowned out by the clatter of swords striking.

But the tide of battle shifts and a chilling realization settles in my gut.

I'm going to lose.

I fight on even as Catarina's forces swell like a relentless dark wave, crashing against our defenses and threatening to crush all I have built. My sword arm aches with each blow, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I pivot and strike, desperately trying to stem the assault.

Yet for every enemy I strike down, two more surge forward to take their place. They clamber over the fallen bodies of their comrades, heedless of the blood and viscera that stain their boots, seemingly driven by an insatiable hunger to see my reign toppled and my head on a pike.

A flicker of doubt takes root in my heart, a tiny voice that whispers of defeat even as I roar my defiance.

My heart hammers. Not with fear but with the dread of inevitability.

We're outnumbered.

I scan the room, seeing the desperate faces of my subjects. This throne room, once the heart of our dominion, is now a slaughterhouse.

As I stand near my throne, drenched in blood, an unmistakable sensation of vulnerability creeps up on me. It's something I loathe more than death itself. I must make a choice —one that goes against every fiber of my being. To flee and preserve the flickering flame of our legacy, or to stand and die alongside those who would die for me.

Resolve hardens within me like ice. My father's voice whispers through the centuries, urging me to endure, to adapt, to survive.

"Retreat!" I command, my voice slicing through the cacophony. "We must live to fight another night!"

An oath passes my lips. "I will reclaim what is ours, what is mine."

The clashing of swords rings out behind me, and I turn and search for an escape.

Meredith and Nadia are at my side in an instant, their presence soothing among the anarchy.

"My Queen, come with us," Nadia urges.

The lifeless bodies of my soldiers, my friends, are spread around the room, and I feel a pang of guilt for leaving them behind. But there is no time for mourning now.

Before we can escape, the glint of a blade flashes before it finds its mark.

Meredith's gasp is cut short as she crumples. The wound is fatal—I know it with a single glance. A garnet stain blooms across her chest, darkening the muted colors of her servant's garb.

I twirl in fury and, fast as lightning, beheading the one responsible in one swift swipe. His head tumbles from his shoulders, followed by his body collapsing onto the hard marble flooring. The sword slips from my grasp and my heart races.

"Quickly, my Queen," Nadia pleads, her voice a ghostly echo in the narrow confines.

Nadia and I grab Meredith and drag her with us. We slip behind a tapestry and into the hidden passageway it conceals.

We don't get far until Meredith crumples to the floor. "Live, my Queen. For the Sagori...for us all," she chokes out, pushing a small vial into my trembling hand.

I close my hand around the vial, my fingers slick with Meredith's blood.

With a tear rolling down my cheek, I kneel beside her. "What is this?"

"It's the blood of your ancestors, your father's." Meredith gasps, her words coming in ragged breaths. "It holds great power...that can only be unlocked by you, my Queen."

A weapon that could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Could it be true? Could this ancient blood truly possess the ability to turn the tide of this war?

"Use it wisely, my Queen." Meredith's head lolls, and she takes her last breath.

Grief gnaws at me, and with effort, I push down its rising swell, focusing on the cool glass between my fingers. Father's blood—a legacy of power and vengeance, now in my possession.

"Thank you," I whisper.

As I stand, a fire ignites within me. I won't let Meredith's sacrifice be in vain. I won't let Catarina take what's rightfully mine.

The weight of the vial is more than its contents; it carries my father's legacy and my people's salvation. Meredith gave her life so I may live and right this wrong.

Nadia's warm hand finds my shoulder, squeezing gently. Her eyes, usually so full of calm understanding, reflect the thunder raging within me.

"Eleanna," she says softly, "we must keep moving."

The cold grasp of winter's frost awaits me beyond these walls, but it's nothing compared to the chill of defeat that seeps into my bones.

I take a deep breath, slipping the vial into the folds of my dress. My heart clenches, not for the first time, at the loyalty of those who serve me. I am not as cold as I seem—a future queen must have her facade, but even iron can bend.

Once we leave Meredith's body behind, I make another personal declaration. Her demise will be honored. Catarina will pay for this deceitfulness, and I will stop at nothing to see it done.

"We must hurry, my Queen," Nadia says.

I nod sharply, the atmosphere thick with the scent of betrayal and spilled blood.

Nadia leads, and I follow. The narrow passageway constricts around us like a serpent's embrace. We pause, and she produces clothing from a pack fastened over her shoulder.

"Put this on, my Queen. It will help disguise you from our enemies," Nadia says.

She helps me shed my royal attire, the bloody, torn fabrics falling away to reveal the simpler garments beneath. I pull on the maidservant's clothes with haste. The identity of Eleanna Cordon fading into submission as I adopt the guise of servitude.

"Quickly now," Nadia whispers. "Stay strong, my Queen. We are almost out of the castle."

Her brown eyes dart anxiously in the dim light as we press on, the stone walls cold.

The corridor twists and turns beneath the castle I'd planned to rule unquestioned. The walls press close, as if they, too, know the weight of this night's failure.

We near the end of the passage, and the sounds of battle reach us even here. My heart races with anger. Anger at Catarina, at her betrayal, at the world that dares to oppose me.

A rogue vampire, one of Catarina's loyalists, emerges from the passageway ahead, a sneer etched on his vile face. He grabs me roughly by the arm, mistaking me for a servant.

"Out of the way, wench," he snarls, his grip bruising.

I bite back the venomous retort that rises to my lips, my every instinct screaming to unleash the fury within. But I must remain hidden, unnoticed. I am no longer a queen; I am prey hiding from the hunter.

"Please, sir, we mean no harm," Nadia pleads, stepping forward.

"Shut up!" He shoves Nadia aside with a force that sends her stumbling into the wall.

The insult, the touch of his filthy hands, ignites a blaze within me. Yet, I contain it—a queen caged by necessity. I dig my nails into my palms, drawing blood—a reminder of the power I'm restraining.

He looks me over once more, disgust apparent in his gaze, then releases me with a shove. "Not worth the effort."

He strides off, believing me inconsequential.

"We must flee," I order through gritted teeth.

Each step away from the throne room is a step farther from my kingdom, from the legacy I swore to uphold. Nadia's hand on my back is both a comfort and a reminder of what I've lost.

"Eleanna, my Queen, we will return for what is rightfully yours."

"General Alexandru," I say abruptly, the name carving itself out of the night. "We need him."

"Your former betrothed? After all that has transpired?"

"Precisely because of that," I say, my resolve hardening. "He knows Catarina's weaknesses. He could be key to my reclamation."

"Then to Alexandru we shall go," Nadia says.

I swallow. "He's back in the hall?—"

"No." She shakes her head. "He left in the midst of the fight."

Her words lift something in me. If he did that, then he's not on Catarina's side. He might not be on my personal side, but he's no traitor to the crown. I know it. "Then?—"

"We go. Now."

The frigid air stings our skin as we emerge into the inky blackness of the wintery night. We stand for a moment, our breaths materializing in white puffs before being swallowed by the darkness. The castle looms behind us, an ominous silhouette against the lesser darkness of the sky. Its spires pierce the heavens like accusations.

The crunch of snow underfoot is the only sound as Nadia and I make our way toward the stables, a shadowy structure barely discernible in the gloom. Our horses snort and shift restlessly as we approach, their eyes reflecting the pale moonlight.

I hoist myself onto my steed with a grunt, my body protesting every movement. Beneath me, the horse shifts, sensing my urgency, my need to escape this place of treason and mutiny. With a nudge of my heels, we set off, galloping into the obscurity of the forest that surrounds my once-unassailable stronghold.

The wind howls. It's a mournful dirge that seems to resonate with the wrath inside me. Ice coats the trees, each branch a fragile glass sculpture that quivers at the touch of the breeze. The cold bites at my exposed skin.

Nadia and I ride hard through the night, until the castle is nothing more than a dark memory on the horizon. Just as dawn threatens to break, we reach the outskirts of a small village, its cottages huddled together like frightened children.

We dismount at the inn and make our way inside. The building is a welcome haven from the stinging cold. The heat from the hearth sears my cold flesh, but I welcome the pain. It's a distraction, however fleeting, from the exhaustion that cloaks me, heavy and suffocating.

"Rest now, Eleanna," Nadia says softly, guiding me to a chair. "I will see to our needs."

I nod, my eyelids heavy. But sleep is a luxury I can't afford—not while Catarina sits upon my throne, not while my people suffer under her tyranny.

"Tomorrow," I whisper to the flickering flames cast by the fire. "Tomorrow, I'll rise anew."

There will be more battles; there will be bloodshed. I will face down the devil himself if it means reclaiming what is mine. Let the war come.

And as I sit in the dimly lit inn, plotting the restoration of my reign, I know one thing with unyielding certainty: the Sagori vampire family will once again kneel to no one. My father's legacy will be honored, and I will have my retribution. For now, I must endure, harness my fury, and prepare for all that awaits.

The first light of dawn filters through the window, casting lengthy shadows across the wooden floor. The weight of the future bears down on me—a future fraught with danger and darkness. But it is my future to command, and I will seize it with both hands, whatever the cost.

For now, I must remain strong until I reach General Alexandru Amanar's fortress and have to face the man who once owned my heart.