Zhera's POV:
I stared at the heavy dress laid out across the bed like it had personally insulted me.
Deep blue velvet, delicate lace trim, a bodice so stiff it could double as a torture device.
Perfect for a daughter paraded in front of judgmental noble eyes.
I grimaced, yanking it on with far less care than the seamstresses would have liked.
The corset laces bit into my ribs, the skirts heavy and awkward.
I was a Caracal shifter — I was made for movement, freedom, speed.
Not for frills and layers and polished fake smiles.
But I knew better than to fight it today.
Today, the prince would drag me to my father's castle, and if I played my cards wrong, everything — everything — would crumble.
The car ride was worse than I imagined.
We sat in stiff, miserable silence, every bump in the road rattling my nerves.
I risked a glance at the vampire prince once.
He stared out the window, expression carved from marble, long fingers resting loosely on his knee.
Unbothered.
Distant.
As if he was already bracing himself for the tedious task of meeting my disgrace of a family.
I turned my face away, jaw tightening.
Fine, I thought bitterly. He's not exactly a prize himself.
The closer we got, the heavier my chest felt.
My father hadn't contacted me once since the scandal.
Since I was blamed for the incident at the vampire court — even though it hadn't been my fault. It wouldn't matter.
He would look at me and see nothing but a failure. An embarrassment.And I would have to stand there and smile.
When we arrived, the gates swung open smoothly, like they'd been waiting.
A chill crawled up my spine.
They knew we were coming.
Someone had warned them.
My father waited at the top of the marble stairs, surrounded by stiff-faced guards.
I hadn't seen him in months — not since he'd turned his back on me.
He looked the same: tall, stern, dressed in deep crimson robes of state.
Only his eyes betrayed him — colder, more disappointed than ever.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing slightly to the vampire.
"Duke Veltren," the prince replied smoothly.
No greeting for me.Not even a glance.I swallowed around the bitter lump in my throat.It's fine. It doesn't matter.
I pasted on my best blank face and followed them inside.
The air smelled of polished wood, old smoke, and cold stone — exactly like I remembered.
Exactly like the home that no longer belonged to me.
The conversation was stilted.
My father spoke only to the prince, asking after court politics, minor alliances, nothing that really mattered.
I sat like a ghost between them, smiling tightly when appropriate, pretending I didn't want to run screaming back to the car.
Then, after an unbearable stretch of awkwardness, my father stood.
"Walk with me, Your Highness," he said smoothly. "There are... matters I would discuss privately."
The prince hesitated for a fraction of a second — glancing at me — then rose and followed.
Leaving me alone.I stood in the great hall, feeling the emptiness crowd around me.
My heart beat uncomfortably fast.I shouldn't be here.I moved toward one of the tall windows, pretending to study the garden.
I didn't hear the footsteps behind me. Not until it was too late. A hand clamped over my mouth.
I struggled — claws flashing out instinctively — but something sharp pressed against my neck.
And then the handkerchief covered my nose.
Sweet, sickly fumes filled my head, dragging me down into darkness no matter how hard I fought.
The last thing I heard before the world dissolved was a low, guttural laugh.
---
I woke with a start, coughing.
The air was thick with dust and rot.
I lay sprawled on a cracked stone floor, wrists tied, vision swimming.
A dingy warehouse, judging by the broken crates and hanging cobwebs.
And surrounding me — a ring of rough-looking thugs.
Eyes gleamed hungrily in the dim light.
"Well, well," one of them sneered. "Royal brat's awake."
I pushed myself upright, spitting dust from my mouth.
Fear clawed at my throat — but anger burned hotter.
"If you know what's good for you," I rasped, "you'll let me go."
They laughed.
Loud. Ugly. Confident.
I tried to shift but it felt like something was wrong. I just couldn't and as if on sync, they said "It's of no use princess. Not even the fittest of all can shift after inhaling what you did."
He laughed bringing a pocket knife close to my face but he pulled away as quickly as he came close. For a terrifying moment, I thought they might actually hurt me.Really hurt me.
"Look I don't know who or what sent you but whatever they're paying I'll pay three times more."
"We thought as the most powerful Caracal Wild Cat shifter you claim to be, you would put on a fight. Looks like we were wrong."
"What's wrong cat got your tongue?" One said laughing as the others joined in.
"Looking at her from this angle makes me want to have some fun with her." One said with lust lingering in his eyes disgustingly.
"Well what's holding you back. We were given orders to ruin her. I don't think it'll hurt to have some fun before that." Another said grinning.
"You're definitely right." He said as he tried to force himself on me. I struggled to push him away with every ounce of strength left in me.
But then the door slammed open so hard the hinges screamed.
And there he was. The vampire prince.
Cold. Furious. Radiating a murderous aura that froze the thugs mid-laugh.
"Touch her," he said, voice low and terrifying, "and you die."
In less than a minute, it was over.
He didn't even need to lift a hand.
The sheer pressure of his presence had them cowering, stumbling over each other to escape.
He crossed the room to me, yanking off my bindings with brutal efficiency.
His hands were cold — but his touch was careful.
"You're safe," he said, voice rougher than I had ever heard it.
For one dizzy second, I thought I might cry.
But I shoved it down.
Hard.
Instead, I forced out a shaky laugh.
"About time, bloodsucker," I said, trying for lightness. "I was getting bored."
His mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close.
Then he lifted me easily into his arms and strode back into the night.
And for the first time since this nightmare started, I let myself lean into the warmth of someone else's strength.
Even if it was his.
Even if I knew better.