nine years later
Moonlight slanted through the arched window, brushing soft silver onto the walls of a small bedroom tucked deep within the outer wing of the Crimson Palace estate. The light pooled gently on the bed where a nine-year-old girl lay, sheets tucked tight around her shoulders, eyes fluttering shut beneath pale lashes.
Jonathan Ambrose sat at the edge of the mattress, watching his daughter's breathing slow. A chill lived in the air, but his hands were warm against her arm, calloused from blade and bow. The way she curled into the pillow made something twist in his chest—something raw and sharp, like regret.
He smoothed a strand of blonde hair from her forehead and leaned in.
"Goodnight, little star," he whispered, brushing a kiss against her brow.
Scarlett didn't respond. Her lashes twitched slightly, and he let himself pretend she was already asleep. It was easier that way.
Jonathan stood slowly, knees cracking beneath his weight, and crossed the room without turning back. The door clicked softly behind him as he stepped into the dim corridor beyond.
He lingered there, just outside, and leaned his back against the stone wall. For a moment, he let his head rest against it too. A long breath shuddered out of him.
It wasn't the story that haunted him. It was the way she asked for it—like it meant everything. Like it made her feel powerful. Safe. Unknowing.
If only she knew.
He dragged his hands down his face, fingers digging into his stubble. She deserved better than this life. Better than the lies. Better than him.
"Is she asleep?" came a quiet voice, velvet-soft.
His head snapped up.
Josephine stood a few feet away, backlit by the candlelight spilling from the hallway. She looked like a ghost. Her leather armor clung to her lean frame, dried blood smearing across her sleeves and thighs. Not her blood—never hers. Ruined blood. Vampire filth.
Her snow-blonde hair was tied in a messy tail high atop her head, strands loose around her face. Her blue eyes still burned from the high of combat, but beneath the adrenaline was something more tired. More worn.
Jonathan straightened, suddenly aware of how long he'd been standing still. "Yeah. She's out. But only after asking for her favorite story."
Josephine stepped closer. Her brow knit. "Which one?"
Jonathan's lips twisted into something between a smirk and a sigh. "She got into your library again."
Josephine arched a pale brow.
He continued, voice lower now, as they started walking slowly together toward their shared quarters at the far end of the corridor. "She wanted The Huntress."
Josephine stopped in place.
He felt her body freeze beside him.
"That's not just a bedtime story," she whispered, her voice sharp with unease. Her fingers went instinctively to her neck, nails scratching at the skin in a nervous tick. She always did that—when she was thinking too hard. Remembering too much.
"I know," he said simply.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then, with a reluctant nod, she followed him the rest of the way down the hall. Their steps echoed in the quiet as the candlelight flickered across old stone.
Back in the bedroom, Scarlett lay motionless, waiting. She'd heard everything.
The door had closed. The voices had faded. The hush had returned.
Now, in the silence, her heartbeat felt like thunder in her ears.
She let it race.
One second. Two. Three.
Then she moved.
The sheets fell away with a whisper of fabric, her small body wriggling free. Her bare feet hit the wooden floor, hissing against the cold. She hissed too—quietly—but didn't stop.
Scarlett turned toward her window.
The smile that played on her lips didn't belong on a child. It was too knowing. Too wild.
She tiptoed across the room, fingers finding the brass latch and flicking it open. The night air surged in, cool and clean. Moonlight spilled over her skin.
She drank it in like water.
The moon was full tonight—high and silver, a perfect circle hung above the forest canopy. Scarlett grinned. Her tiny hands gripped the window frame as she hauled herself up onto the sill.
She hated that her room was on the second floor. If she were on the ground floor, she'd already be in the woods by now. But her parents—always with their rules, their warnings, their invisible fences—kept her high and locked away like some delicate thing.
She was anything but.
Outside, the world stretched far and wide. The treetops shimmered in silver. The scent of pine and soil curled upward on the breeze. Flowers lined the garden path in ghostly shapes, and beyond that—Crimson Capital rose in the distance like a dream.
Scarlett's eyes lit up as she spotted the faint silhouette of the Crimson Palace beyond the forest. Its towers gleamed faintly, pale stone glistening beneath the moon like bone.
She'd seen pictures, watched broadcasts, heard the stories—but none of it ever felt real. Not from here. Not from her tower.
Still, she watched.
Maybe someday she'd see it up close. Maybe she'd meet the King and Queen—Vladimir and Fionna—and their two sons. Prince Vance and Prince Axel.
She'd read about them. Everyone adored them.
She kicked her legs against the outer wall softly, rocking on the sill.
Below her, the world glittered like something forbidden.
She sighed and let her cheek fall against the wooden frame, eyes distant, full of quiet longing.
It was a dream. All of it.
But dreams were all she had.
The Ambrose family lived far beyond the bustle of Crimson Capital, nestled on the quiet edge of the Commons. Their home sat tucked between forest and gravel road, one of only a few scattered houses this deep into the territory. Here, the trees grew wild and ancient, and the night stretched longer than it did in the city's heart.
Scarlett had never visited the Capital herself.
But she knew its stories.
Her parents brought them back like souvenirs—fragments of gossip, bits of news, observations of people and buildings and places she could only dream about. After every trip, her mother would sit her down at the dining table, roll out parchment and maps, and begin her schooling.
Scarlett never minded.
History was her favorite.
She knew the layout of the Crimson Palace by heart. The names of the royal family. The dates of the wars. The laws that shaped the land and the blood that had been spilled to keep it standing.
But it was always secondhand—always a whisper of a world she wasn't allowed to see.
Now, she leaned out over her windowsill, the night air kissing her cheeks. The streetlamps lining the narrow road below flickered softly, throwing gold and silver patches of light across the gravel and gardens. The only other houses near theirs sat a few hundred meters away, silhouettes tucked behind patches of trees or buried in hedges.
She'd never met the neighbors.
She wasn't allowed to wander far enough to try.
The wind picked up, sweeping her long hair across her face. The chill snuck under her nightgown, raising goosebumps along her arms. She shivered but didn't retreat. Instead, she hugged herself tighter, chin resting on the frame as her wide eyes scanned the landscape below.
She searched for something new—something undiscovered.
A shadow. A light. A secret.
And then—she saw it. Her breath caught. Something moved. Just beyond the last row of hedges, near the place where their yard melted into wild grass, a figure emerged from the tree line. Silent. Still. It didn't move like an animal. It moved like a person.
A dark silhouette against the moonlit backdrop, barely distinguishable except for the way it stood. Upright. Alert. Staring. Scarlett's gaze locked with it from her perch. Her smile faltered, the excitement draining slowly from her face. The figure didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched. It stood half-shrouded in shadow, the forest behind it like a curtain of teeth and bark, the field ahead like a stage.
And Scarlett?
Scarlett sat beneath the spotlight of the moon.
In a flash, the person sped off at an impossible speed, Scarlett's eyes widening when her focus on the person couldn't keep up with the figure. She huffed in annoyance, scanning the open area and trying to find the person once more.
A quiet squeal escaped her lips when the dark figure returned, this time closer and making Scarlett jump with a fright. She sucked in a breath, almost losing her balance on the window as her eyes locked onto the figure. Then, it began to walk towards her. Scarlett's heart started to thump obnoxiously loud, drowning out all other senses beside her sight. Loud enough she thought the figure could certainly hear it.
The person reached the edge of the border between the houses and the open field, but it didn't stop. It walked odd, Scarlett thought to herself, its form lanky and unnatural. In the next moment, the figure stepped into the illuminated from the street lamps.
Scarlett nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight, a scream building up in her throat as her eyes took in the thing that stalked towards her home. It looked like a normal person, even had the body parts to prove it, but she knew it definitely was not that.
Dark crimson was pooling within its mouth, a small trail of the liquid streaming down its neck and soaking up the collar of its white tattered shirt. As it continued to come closer, Scarlett took note that it was a male. His eyes were pitch black, the darkest color she'd ever seen and rivaling a thunderstorm at midnight.
His canines were lengthened like fangs, his white teeth soaked with clotted blood. She couldn't make out the hair color, the strands clotted with more blood and mud from what she assumed was the forest.
Scarlett froze in her spot on the window sill, her body shaking slightly with her heart pounding out of control. If she couldn't calm down as soon as possible, she knew it would beat itself out of her chest. Scarlett gulped down her fear, reaching out to her bed on her left. Her fingers skimmed the soft fabric, feeling around for her weapon.
Her parents didn't know she had it, but then again, they didn't know a lot of things Scarlett tended to do in her free time while they were at work. Scarlett got creative, and she liked it that way.
Her fingers skimmed something cold, latching onto it with a white-knuckled grip. She drew the blade out from under her pillow, keeping it behind her back without removing her eyes from the monster. She'd never hurt someone before, let alone kill anyone, but by the look in this beast's eyes, she knew it was either him or her coming out of this alive.
The "man" kept its steady pace, inching closing to Scarlett's house, his black eyes never leaving her form on the window. For once, Scarlett sent out a praise for her bedroom on the second floor.
The thing finally reached her yard, his bare feet on the pavement, but not quite on the grass yet. It stayed still, but he cocked his head to the side, observing Scarlett from the small distance between them. His nose lifted, as if smelling the air around them as a small breeze drifted through Scarlett's hair, and through the beast below.
The wind picked up and the beast growled, locking its eyes on the girl with a ferocious snarl. Scarlett gasped, her grip on her blade tightening, if that was even possible. Her hand was starting to go numb from the loss of blood circulation to her hand.
Bringing it around to her front, Scarlett glanced down and loosneed her grip a touch. But when she looked back up, the nine-year-old nearly screamed her head off. The figure was now latched on to her window, its face mere inches from hers. The blood from its mouth started to pour out and splatter against her bare legs. The creature's veins were black and sticking out unnaturally against the monster's skin.
The creature opened its mouth, unhinging it like a snake. Its jagged fangs gleamed just inches from Scarlett's face, stained with blood and framed by blackened gums. Her scream finally rose, scraping up her throat like shattered glass. Her lips parted to release it, but the sound never came.
Before the scream could leave her mouth, the monster was violently torn from the window. It vanished in an instant, yanked backward with such force that it disappeared from view entirely. The suction of its departure left the air cold and strange, and Scarlett sat there in stunned silence, her body frozen, her thoughts scrambling to catch up.
She blinked slowly, her mouth still slightly open, the scream caught somewhere between her lungs and her lips. For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, with a shaky breath, she closed her mouth and swallowed the scream down, forcing herself to breathe. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. Again. And again. Her pulse thudded so hard in her ears she could barely hear anything else.
Once she could move without trembling, she inched forward and leaned over the windowsill, her eyes wide and searching. Below, in the dim moonlight and the soft glow of the streetlamps, the beast stood again—but it was no longer alone.
Someone was facing it.
Scarlett's heart skipped.
A second figure had joined the scene, and it stood between the house and the monster like a shadow cast in defiance. The creature snarled at him, low and rumbling, baring its bloodstained teeth in a challenge that dripped with hunger and rage.
And yet the boy—because it was a boy, she realized—did not flinch.
He looked young, no older than she was. Maybe nine, perhaps ten. His body was smaller than the monster's, much less imposing, but he stood firm, his feet planted in the grass, his posture unshakable.
Scarlett's gaze roamed across him in wonder. His dark brown hair was tousled and windblown, sticking out in jagged tufts that made him look like he'd just emerged from a storm. Even from a story above, she could see the brightness of his green eyes—sharp and focused, gleaming under the moonlight with intensity far too old for someone his age.
His hands were curled into fists at his sides, knuckles pale with pressure. Every muscle in his body appeared locked in place, but not with fear—with restraint. Controlled. Ready.
The two figures circled each other slowly, the space between them thick with tension. Neither made a sound. Neither looked away. The boy's expression never shifted from its steely determination, while the monster twitched with barely contained violence, the tips of its claws digging into the grass.
Scarlett could feel the shift before it happened.
The monster struck first.
It lunged with a feral screech, arms outstretched and reaching for the boy's chest, claws angled to tear flesh from bone. Scarlett gasped, flinching as her hands gripped the windowsill.
But the boy was faster.
He pivoted with fluid precision, his body dodging with practiced ease. In one swift motion, he grabbed the creature's arms and slammed it to the ground in front of him. The impact sent a shudder through the earth, dirt and leaves scattering beneath the weight.
Before the monster could recover, the boy stepped forward and brought his heel down hard on its throat.
The sound of bones cracking was unmistakable.
Scarlett stared, her mouth slightly ajar, unable to look away.
With one final movement, the boy wrapped his hands around the creature's skull, dug in deep, and with a ferocious cry, ripped the head clean from its body. The spray of blood was immediate, arching high into the air and splattering the grass around him in thick, dark waves. The head rolled once before coming to a stop, eyes still wide with unspent fury.
The body collapsed like a ragdoll, spasming once before going still.
Scarlett didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
She only stared in stunned silence as the boy stood calmly over the corpse, his chest barely rising and falling. He was still. Quiet. As if nothing extraordinary had just occurred.
Without a word, he reached down and wiped the blood from his hands onto his trousers, the movements smooth and unbothered. The crimson smeared across the fabric, but he didn't seem to care. He didn't even look at the body.
He turned his head upward.
Their eyes met.
From that distance, the connection should have been fleeting. But Scarlett felt something lock between them, like a thread had been pulled taut. His green eyes held hers for several seconds, unblinking and sure.
Then—he smiled.
It was small, subtle, but it reached both corners of his mouth. Dimples appeared on either side of his face, softening the harshness of blood and moonlight with a warmth Scarlett hadn't expected.
She blinked slowly, still stunned, and then lifted her hand in a quiet wave. It was uncertain, her fingers stiff and awkward from the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. But the gesture felt necessary. Like thanks. Like curiosity. Like something she couldn't yet name.
The boy didn't return the wave.
He only stood there, calm and quiet, like he hadn't just decapitated a monster with his bare hands. Like this was just another night.
And somehow, in that moment, Scarlett believed it was.
Scarlett didn't move.
She kept her face still, her expression carefully unreadable, though her grip around the small blade in her hand tightened instinctively when she saw him step toward her.
Just one step.
Her breath caught sharply in her throat.
The boy paused immediately.
His brow furrowed, and something in his bright green eyes shifted—an emotion that looked suspiciously like concern. Or maybe understanding.
Without speaking, he lifted both arms slowly, palms turned upward and facing her in a clear gesture of peace. His posture softened, non-threatening, like he knew she needed to see him as something other than dangerous.
Scarlett didn't answer right away.
She simply gave a small nod—slow, uncertain—but did not release the blade still gripped tightly in her lap. Its cold weight grounded her, reminded her that the night wasn't over yet. She had survived, but she hadn't yet come down from the cliff's edge.
The boy watched her, then something strange happened.
Before her eyes, the sharp fangs that had protruded from his mouth began to shrink, sliding neatly back into place behind his lips. His jaw shifted slightly, realigning with practiced ease until his mouth looked entirely human again—normal. Almost.
Scarlett blinked, startled.
"Why did you save me?" she asked, her voice breaking the silence between them. "You don't know me."
The question hung in the air for a moment.
The boy didn't answer right away. His expression changed—something thoughtful passing over his features, like he wasn't sure how to explain it. Or maybe, he didn't fully understand it himself.
"I felt like I had to," he said at last.
His voice surprised her. It wasn't high-pitched or timid like some of the boys in her village. It was steady, solid. Grounded. It carried a kind of certainty she didn't expect from someone who looked her age.
Scarlett tilted her head slightly. "Why?"
Again, he didn't respond.
Instead, he asked something else. "What's your name?"
She hesitated for only a heartbeat before answering. "Scarlett."
It felt like the least she could give him after what he'd done. He had saved her life, after all—risked his own to tear that thing apart before it could reach her. That had to mean something.
"What's yours?" she asked in return.
The boy didn't answer. He glanced away, then back, changing the subject altogether. "You're nine, right?"
"Yeah," she replied. "Nine."
He nodded slowly, almost as if the answer mattered to him more than it should. His lips curved into the faintest smile, the earlier dimples peeking through again beneath the drying blood on his cheeks.
"Goodnight, Scarlett," he said softly.
Then he turned, preparing to leave.
Something about the suddenness of it struck her.
Her heart leapt, unwilling to let him vanish into the dark like a fading dream. She leaned forward instinctively, her voice rushing out in a hoarse whisper.
"Wait!"
The boy paused, his head turning slightly so he could look at her from over his shoulder.
Scarlett shifted on the windowsill, her fingers tightening around the blade again—not from fear this time, but urgency.
"What if... what if something like that comes back?" Her voice trembled, lips beginning to quiver. The fear she had buried beneath adrenaline started to rise again, inching up her throat like ice water. "What if I'm not so lucky next time?"
The boy's expression darkened—not with anger, but with something else. A quiet kind of discomfort. He looked at her closely, the tremble in her voice clearly affecting him in ways he probably didn't understand yet.
He didn't think. He just spoke.
"I won't let anything hurt you, Scarlett."
His words were firm. Absolute. A promise carved from something older than his years.
Scarlett sat up straighter, her brows knitting as she tried to make sense of it. "But... you don't even know me," she repeated, softer this time. Not in accusation—but in awe.
The boy rubbed the back of his neck, fingers dragging over his skin as if wrestling with something he didn't quite know how to say. For a long moment, he hesitated. Then, with a small breath, he seemed to decide—his shoulders squared, and he took a few slow steps toward the base of Scarlett's house.
Moonlight cast silver across his hair and cheeks, softening the edges of the blood still drying along his collar. He stopped just below her window, looked up, and offered a hesitant smile.
"My name is Axel," he said at last.
Scarlett's brow furrowed almost instantly.
"Axel?" she repeated, squinting at him in disbelief. "Like... Prince Axel?" A grin tugged at her lips, but her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. "That's the same name. Are you the prince?"
Axel blinked, visibly caught off guard. Then he huffed a short laugh and shook his head, waving both hands as if swatting the idea from the air.
"No, no—definitely not," he said quickly, the corners of his mouth twitching. "It's just a name. I'm not him."
Scarlett studied him closely, not quite convinced. "You even kinda look like him... in the face," she muttered, leaning forward slightly over the windowsill.
Axel raised an eyebrow, then laughed again, this time more relaxed. "Well, I'm not him. Trust me. I don't even live in the Palace."
That seemed to satisfy her, at least for the moment.
Still grinning, she nodded and said, "Hi, Axel."
He returned her smile with one of his own. "Hi."
"How old are you?"
Axel's grin widened. "I'm ten."
Her eyes widened. "You're only ten?" she asked, clearly impressed. "You're so strong! Hey—that means you're only one year older than me!"
She laughed, the sound bright and full of genuine joy. The tension that had lingered in the air just moments before began to melt away like early morning fog.
Axel blushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck again. "Yeah, I guess I am."
Her legs began to swing back and forth off the edge of the window frame as she peered down at him, curiosity dancing behind her eyes.
"So, why were you in the forest?" she asked bluntly.
Without missing a beat, Axel shrugged. "I like to walk at night when I can't sleep."
Scarlett tilted her head in understanding. "I do the same thing, except I stay here. I like to watch the Capital's lights. Sometimes I see the Palace gates open and close." She sighed, her tone turning wistful. "I wish I could go there one day."
Axel didn't respond.
Scarlett lowered her gaze to find him no longer looking up at her, but down at his feet. A small frown had taken shape on his lips, his shoulders just barely tensing.
"What's wrong, Axel?" she asked softly.
His head snapped up, and he pasted on a smile so quickly she knew it wasn't real.
"Nothing," he said too fast.
Scarlett frowned, her tone sharpening just a little. "Why are you lying to me? I thought we were friends."
The word seemed to rattle him more than the question.
"Friends?" he echoed, blinking.
She nodded without hesitation. "Yes," she said. "We're friends."
Axel's fake smile faltered into something quieter, something uncertain but warmer. "Sorry, Scar," he said with a sheepish shrug. "I guess I've never had a friend before."
Scarlett tilted her head and shrugged. "Me either," she admitted. Her fingers brushed against the blade still nestled in her lap as she looked back down at him. "But I'm your friend now."
Axel's lips tugged into a real smile this time—dimples appearing again as he looked up at her.
"You're right," he said. "We're friends now."
"Will I see you again tomorrow?" Scarlett asked, the question escaping before she could talk herself out of it.
Axel's nod was immediate. "Yeah, Scar. You'll see me tomorrow."
Scarlett yawned, her arms stretching above her head, the dagger still resting across her lap. Her eyelids drooped.
"Okay, well... goodnight, Axel," she said sleepily, her words already melting into the hush of midnight.
"Goodnight, Scarlett."
Axel turned, giving her one last look—green eyes bright beneath the moon—before he slipped into the shadows from which he'd come.
Scarlett watched him until he was gone, her heart still racing in the most unexpected way.
Her first friend.
Even if he had the same name as a prince.