Seraphina's POV
I stared at Elder Rowan, at the impossible black rose in his wrinkled hands, and laughed.
It started as a small giggle that bubbled up from my chest. Then it grew louder, wilder, until I was doubled over, clutching my stomach, laughing so hard tears streamed down my face.
"Vampire prince," I gasped between fits of laughter. "You—you actually said vampire prince with a straight face."
Elder Rowan didn't smile. Didn't even blink.
My laughter died in my throat.
"This is a joke, right?" I looked past him into the empty hallway. "Is this some kind of prank? Did Thomas put you up to this because I rejected his proposal?"
"This is no jest, child." Elder Rowan's voice was grave. "The treaty has held for five hundred years. One bride per year, chosen by the ancient lottery. Your name was drawn three days ago."
Three days ago. The same day I got my death sentence.
The universe really did have the cruelest sense of humor.
"Vampires aren't real," I said, but my voice wavered. Because deep down, in the part of me that remembered my mother's terrified face the night she disappeared, I knew I was lying.
"Your mother believed they weren't real too." Elder Rowan held out the black rose. "Until I brought her this same rose fourteen years ago."
The world tilted sideways.
"My mother..." I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself. "She was taken by vampires?"
"She was chosen as a bride, yes. Just as you are now."
"But she never came back. She never—" My voice cracked. "They killed her."
"The treaty states one bride per year. What happens to that bride after the bonding ceremony is not our concern." Elder Rowan's face was carved from stone. "Our concern is maintaining peace. Without the bride, the vampires would descend upon Ashenhaven and drain every man, woman, and child dry. Would you prefer that?"
Horror crawled up my spine. "You're serious. You're actually serious."
"As the grave." He pushed the black rose toward me. "You have been chosen, Seraphina Novak. You leave in two days."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then the treaty breaks. And everyone you've ever healed, everyone you've ever cared for in this village, dies screaming." His ancient eyes bore into mine. "Your choice."
My hands shook. This couldn't be real. Vampires, treaties, sacrificial brides—it sounded like something from the horror stories old Marguerite told to scare children.
But my mother's face flashed through my memory. The terror in her eyes that last night. The way she'd clutched me and whispered, "If they ever bring you the black rose, run."
She'd known. She'd always known.
"How long?" I asked quietly. "How long do I have with the vampire prince before he kills me?"
"One year. That is the treaty term."
One year.
I almost laughed again. I didn't have one year. I had twenty-seven days.
The tumor would kill me long before any vampire got the chance.
"If I go," I said slowly, "if I accept this... do I get a choice in what happens during that year?"
Elder Rowan's eyebrows rose slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." I thought of my bucket list, still sitting open on my desk. Kiss someone. Make love. Fall in love. Feel alive. "Do I have freedom? Or am I just locked in a cell waiting to be drained?"
"The vampire prince is bound by the treaty to treat his bride with respect. You would live in the palace, be given chambers, servants, everything a princess would have." Elder Rowan's expression softened slightly. "Though I cannot promise you happiness, child. The vampire prince is said to be cold as death itself."
Cold. But alive. More alive than I would be in a month.
I looked at the black rose again. Its petals seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, darker than anything natural should be.
Twenty-seven days left in Ashenhaven, wasting away in bed, waiting for the tumor to steal my last breath.
Or...
Or I could spend whatever time I had left in a vampire palace, experiencing things I'd never imagined. Maybe the prince would ignore me. Maybe he'd kill me on sight.
But maybe—just maybe—I'd finally feel something real before I died.
"I'll go," I said.
The words hung in the air between us.
Elder Rowan looked shocked. "You... accept? Just like that?"
"I have my reasons." I took the black rose from his hands. The stem didn't have thorns, but the moment my fingers touched it, a sharp pain shot through my palm. "Ow!"
Blood welled from a small cut. The rose seemed to drink it in, its petals growing even darker, more vibrant.
"The rose marks you as chosen," Elder Rowan said. "Now the prince will know you're coming."
My palm throbbed. The cut looked deeper than it should have been, and the blood wouldn't stop flowing. It dripped onto my floor in steady drops—drip, drip, drip.
"What happens now?" I asked, pressing my other hand against the wound.
"In two days, I will come for you at dawn. Bring nothing—everything you need will be provided. Tell no one where you're going. Say your goodbyes as if you're leaving for the city." Elder Rowan's face was impossible to read. "And Seraphina?"
"Yes?"
"Pray the prince is merciful. Not all of them are."
He turned and walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the darkness.
I stood in my doorway, holding the black rose, watching my blood drip onto the floor. The pain in my palm was sharp and real and somehow the most alive I'd felt in three days.
I was going to marry a vampire prince.
I was going to die anyway.
At least this way, I'd die doing something other than waiting.
I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart pounding. The black rose pulsed in my hand like it had a heartbeat of its own.
That's when I heard it.
Whispers. Coming from outside my window.
I crossed the room and pulled back the curtain. Below, in the street, a group of villagers stood clustered together. Mrs. Chen from the bakery. Thomas Reed and his father. Even drunk Mr. Halverson from the tavern.
They were all staring up at my window.
"Another one chosen," Mrs. Chen whispered, her voice carrying in the night air.
"Poor girl," someone else said. "Just like her mother."
"They never come back alive," Thomas said, his voice thick with something that might have been grief. "Not a single one in five hundred years."
My blood turned to ice.
Not one bride had ever returned alive.
I looked down at the black rose, at my bleeding palm, at the blood that just kept flowing no matter how hard I pressed.
The rose's petals began to glow with a faint red light.
And somewhere, in a kingdom of eternal darkness, I swore I heard laughter.