The grand hall of Evendale's castle glistened under the light of countless suspended crystal lanterns, casting dancing shadows on stone walls etched with centuries of legacy. Music, elegant and lively, flowed from the corners of the room, where skilled musicians strummed on lutes and violins, their notes winding through the air like silk ribbons. Perfumed smoke curled upward from golden censers, blending with the aroma of roasted meats, candied fruits, and spiced wine. Servants glided between nobles with silver trays raised above their shoulders, careful not to disturb the flow of movement.
Ladies in flowing gowns, each shimmering with embellishments of silver thread and tiny gemstones, twirled as they danced. Gowns of deep reds, greens, royal blues, and delicate pastels filled the floor like a blooming garden. Laughter spilled from every direction—young lords charming maidens with polished words, older nobles trading knowing glances and subtle whispers.
Vivienne, her soft lavender gown still slightly torn at the hem, now hidden in the folds of her skirt, had slipped away from the main crowd after her earlier, strange encounter. The moment with Lucian clung to her skin like the whisper of a storm—not loud, not obvious, but heavy with unspoken meaning. Now, she stood near one of the tall arched windows, sipping from a goblet of honeyed wine, her mind spiraling elsewhere as dancers spun before her.
Lucian himself was positioned at a shadowed corner of the hall, apart from the noise, his brothers Elias and Soren flanking him casually. Soren, ever the more outspoken of the trio, leaned into Elias's ear with a grin as they watched the festivities unfold. Lucian remained still, fingers wrapped around a crystal chalice, his gaze intermittently scanning the room as if searching for a threat no one else could sense—or perhaps, merely watching her.
The celebration continued in its rhythm: children weaving between guests, nobles raising toasts to the newlywed princess, and courtiers basking in the warmth of royal grace. The moment was one of unity. One of joy. One of perfect calm.
Until—
A scream.
Sharp. Piercing. Echoing from above.
The music faltered. The dance stilled. Every voice dropped into an eerie silence as heads turned upward toward the grand staircase that spiraled along the far wall, climbing toward the upper floor of the castle.
Then came the sound—a thud. Loud. Sickening.
A body hit the marble floor at the base of the stairs with brutal finality.
Gasps. Shouts. The silence broke like glass underfoot.
The woman lay sprawled on the floor in a ruined emerald gown. Her limbs were twisted unnaturally. Blood pooled beneath her head and neck, vivid against the pale stone. Her eyes stared blankly into nothing.
Guards rushed forward. Screams erupted. Nobles stumbled back in horror. Someone whispered, "Who is she?"
But it wasn't the fall alone that caused the panic.
It was her neck—torn open. Jagged, deep. Bite marks. Red. Raw. Still bleeding.
Lucian's eyes narrowed. The chalice in his hand cracked.
The celebration had fractured.