As they walked away from Dante's room, Margaret couldn't help but think of him. She hadn't stopped thinking about him since the moment she met those eyes.
It was sad—the way he looked. So lifeless, so dead. And she didn't like it. Despite every warning, something in her wanted to draw closer.
Although tragedy had once followed when a shadow vampire felt emotions, it was still possible—they could feel—and perhaps, just perhaps, tragedy would not happen again.
She wanted to ask her father more about the shadow vampires, but she knew he wouldn't like it. No one liked to speak about what had happened.
So instead, as they walked quietly down the hallway, she asked, "Father, have the guests for the ball arrived?"
"Hmm," he nodded.
"So... what will happen if I don't show my face?" she asked carefully.
He paused, turned, and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"We could simply turn it into a feast," he said, "and tell them the princess isn't well and must not be disturbed."
"That's a lie," she gasped, throwing him an accusing look. He had always told her it wasn't good to lie.
"Of course it is, my dear," he said with a grin. "But it's for your peace—so it's an exception."
They resumed walking. This time, they left the left wing of the palace and entered a tea room where the ceiling was open and the moonlight poured in. A long settee rested at one end, where her mother often sat, watching them play chess at the table in the center of the room.
"I don't want to play chess," she said quietly.
He led her to the long blue settee.
"We don't have to," he said. "I just want you to relax. I know the chaos downstairs with the maidens and your mother. They'll all be trying to get you to finish dressing."
He sat down beside her. She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Are you not you worried about what Mother will say?" she asked.
He snorted. "Trust me, Maggie, I have a way to coax her," he said with a mischievous grin. "I'll go down there, calm her down, and then we can say it is finally safe for my dear Margaret to return to her room."
Margaret grinned—but not for long.
The door burst open with a bang, and in stormed the furious queen.
Queen Madeline's white hair had been swept into a bun, though loose strands framed her sharp face. Her blue eyes burned as she fixed them on the pair. She wore a flowing white dress trimmed with blue satin, the fabric at the edge of her dress swirling around her like a living thing.
She was dangerously beautiful—that was how Margaret would describe her.
"No amount of coaxing will ever make me forgive this," Queen Madeline fumed, striding toward them.
Margaret and her father exchanged a quick glance—and gulped.
"My love," the king cleared his throat and stood, reaching for his wife. But she raised her hand, dismissing him.
"You're supposed to be scolding her. She ran." Then, she turned her gaze to Margaret, who sat stiffly on the settee.
"Where have you been? The guests have arrived."
"She doesn't want to attend," her father said, walking over to his wife and gently rubbing her shoulder.
"What?" Queen Madeline blinked, clearly taken aback. "But the suitors are here."
"I know," he whispered in her ear, his words seeming to calm her just a bit.
"But our dear daughter is uncomfortable with our rash decisions, I'm afraid."
"I thought..." Madeline glanced at her daughter. "I thought every maiden would wish to marry." But she knew it was a lie. She herself had not wished to marry her husband all those years ago, yet she had come to love him. Perhaps Margaret would come to feel the same. But seeing her daughter's sad face, something inside her softened.
"Oh, Margaret," she whispered, reaching for her daughter and pulling her into an embrace. "I'm so sorry. I forced this on you."
Margaret turned in her mother's embrace. "It's not your fault, Mother. You're only doing what you think is best."
Madeline rubbed her daughter's shoulder, her heart aching.
"I should send the guests away," she said, turning to her husband. "Should I not?"
A smile curved Draven's lips.
"Of course, I would love that, my queen," he said, his eyes narrowing mischievously. "After all, I have better things to do."
Madeline blushed, and he grinned, but quickly cleared his throat when Margaret looked up. "But I'm afraid we cannot do that. While Margaret rests, we still have to entertain our guests."
Madeline nodded. "I' will send tea over. Is that alright?"
Margaret nodded, then frowned. "But how will you handle the guests?"
Madeline waved her hand, stepping closer to her husband. "Don't worry. We brought this upon ourselves, and we will have to find a way out of it. Right, my beloved?"
Draven nodded, taking Madeline's hand, then turned to Margaret. "Do not worry, Princess. Rest as much as you like. We will attend to the guests."
But as Margaret watched them leave, she couldn't help but smile at how confused they looked. She knew it was going to be difficult, which was why she would have to...
A knock came through, startling her.
How odd.
Had the tea arrived too early?