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The moon had shifted again.
Its light poured like silver blood through the high archways of Nocthollow Castle, bathing the throne room in a cold glow. Prince Michael Qui stood at the far end, his back straight, arms crossed behind him.
He wasn't alone.
Not in the way others thought.
Across the room, near the draped columns, she stood—Princess Alice Kai. Untouchable. Unseen. Her translucent figure flickered like a dying flame, her pale dress sweeping through air no one else felt.
Everyone else in the room ignored her completely.
Because they couldn't see her.
Not even Kael of the Blackfangs, the proud Alpha who now paced the floor before the throne, his boots echoing loud and sure.
"I don't trust the silence in your lands," Kael was saying. "Vampires lie best when they smile."
Michael's lip curled. "Then it's fortunate I rarely smile."
Kael scoffed but said nothing more. He was powerful—towering, broad-shouldered, with a voice that rattled bones—but to Michael, he was noise. Impulsive. Distracted. Blind.
Especially to the woman standing just behind him.
Alice tilted her head curiously, watching Kael as if observing a beast in a cage. Her arms folded across her chest, eyes glinting with quiet judgment.
"He speaks loudly," she muttered, knowing only Michael could hear.
Michael didn't move, but his eyes flicked toward her—just a sliver.
"He's a wolf," he murmured under his breath. "They bark."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Did you say something, prince?"
Michael turned his gaze back to the Alpha. "Nothing worth repeating."
Alice smiled—just barely. It was quick, almost sad.
Kael continued talking, something about border disputes and broken treaties, but Michael's mind had already drifted.
Back to the first night he'd seen her.
The flash of moonlight. Her silhouette near the sealed corridor. He had thought her a dream at first—some blood-soaked memory that clawed its way from the past. But she spoke. She watched him. She knew pain in the same quiet way he did.
And only he could see her.
That truth had settled into him like an unspoken curse.
"Your war council will expect an answer," Kael said sharply.
Michael's voice came smooth and cold. "Then they can wait."
Kael growled beneath his breath, clearly unused to being dismissed.
Alice stepped closer to Michael, her voice now soft by his ear. "He's angry."
"He always is," Michael replied.
"Do you dislike him?"
"I dislike noise."
Alice gave a ghost of a laugh—light, almost musical. Michael hadn't heard a sound like it in years.
But Kael scowled, sensing the shift in mood. "You find something funny?"
Michael didn't blink. "Just the assumption that your threats mean anything in this castle."
Alice stepped in front of Kael now, studying him closely. "He can't see me. Not even a flicker."
Michael barely nodded. "He doesn't have the blood. Not like I do."
"Demon," she whispered.
Michael's face remained unreadable. "Half."
She moved beside him again, her voice lower now. "I used to hate demons."
"I still do," he replied.
They stood there in silence together while Kael paced restlessly, oblivious. The werewolf prince had presence, power—but none of it reached Alice.
Only Michael did.
After a few more minutes of fruitless talk, Kael gave a sharp bow—half respectful, half sarcastic. "Keep your ghosts, Cold Prince. I'll keep my warriors."
As he left the throne room, Alice stared after him, her expression unreadable.
"He's in love with your sister," she murmured.
Michael's eyes narrowed. "You see that?"
"He thought about her the moment he looked at the mirror wall."
"He's a fool, then."
"Or brave," Alice said softly.
Michael turned to face her, his voice low and sharp. "Don't romanticize wolves. They would have killed you in your true form."
"I'm not in my true form anymore," she replied bitterly. "I'm not anything."
He took a step toward her—just one. She didn't move away.
"You are something," he said. "You linger. That means power. Purpose."
"I thought maybe it was punishment," she whispered.
He stared at her, the shadows of the torches flickering in his silver eyes. "Maybe it's both."
Alice looked down at her hands—barely visible, shifting like fog. "Kael looked through me like I was air."
"He is air," Michael muttered. "Loud, fast, forgettable."
"But you…" she said carefully, meeting his gaze, "you see me like I'm made of stone."
Michael didn't reply.
His fingers twitched slightly at his side. The urge to reach for her—just to test the boundary again—burned in his skin. But he didn't. Not yet.
"I can't touch anything anymore," she said. "But when you speak, I feel heavy again. Like I'm sinking into something real."
His breath caught faintly.
Then, quiet as death: "Then stay."
Alice blinked. "Stay?"
"This castle. This wing. I'll make sure it stays sealed."
"Why?"
He hesitated. "Because I hate forgetting things."
And she knew what he really meant:
He didn't want to forget her.
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