Seraphina's POV
"Anyone but her," Prince Lucien repeated, his silver eyes blazing with rage.
I stood frozen in the throne room, my heart hammering against my ribs. What did I do? I just got here. I hadn't even spoken yet.
An old vampire in dark robes stepped forward. His face was ancient, wrinkled like tree bark. "Your Highness, the treaty requires—"
"I know what the treaty requires!" Lucien's voice cracked like a whip. Every vampire in the room flinched. "But this—this is impossible. She can't be here."
"Nevertheless, she is." The old vampire gestured to me. "The blood portal accepted her. The black rose marked her. She is this year's bride, whether you will it or not."
Lucien's hands gripped the arms of his throne so hard the stone cracked. His eyes never left my face, burning with such hatred I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.
What was wrong with me? What had I done to make him look at me like I'd murdered his family?
"Please," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I don't understand. What did I do wrong?"
For a moment, something flickered across his perfect face. Not quite pain. Not quite grief. Something deeper.
Then his expression went cold as ice.
"Elder Cassius," Lucien said, his voice now empty of emotion. "Proceed with the ceremony."
"Your Highness, if you're unwilling—"
"I said proceed." Lucien stood, descending from his throne with movements too smooth to be human. "The treaty demands a bonding ceremony. Let's get this over with."
He walked toward me and I had to force myself not to run. Up close, he was even more terrifying. Tall—at least six feet. Beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. His silver eyes glowed like actual moonlight.
And he was looking at me like I was something rotting.
Elder Cassius cleared his throat. "The bonding ceremony requires blood from both parties. A mingling of mortal and immortal, binding bride to prince for one year."
One year I didn't have.
Cassius pulled out a silver knife—the same kind Elder Rowan had used. My cut palm throbbed at the sight of it.
"Your Highness, your hand please."
Lucien held out his right hand without hesitation. Cassius drew the blade across his palm. Blood welled up—dark red, almost black.
It dripped into a silver cup that another vampire held out.
Then Cassius turned to me. "Your hand, child."
I held out my already-bleeding palm. When the knife cut across it again, reopening the wound from the black rose, I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
My blood dripped into the cup, mixing with Lucien's. Red and black swirling together.
"Now drink," Cassius said, handing the cup to Lucien first.
Lucien stared at the mixed blood like it was poison. His jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body screamed resistance.
But he lifted the cup to his lips and drank.
The moment he swallowed, his eyes flashed brighter—silver-white like lightning. He closed them, his breath coming faster.
Cassius took the cup and offered it to me.
I looked at the blood inside. My blood. His blood. Mixed together like some kind of dark magic potion.
This was insane. I was about to drink blood. Vampire blood.
But I'd come this far. And honestly? I'd drunk worse medicine when Marguerite was trying to cure my headaches.
I lifted the cup and drank.
The blood tasted like copper and roses and something electric that made my tongue tingle. It burned going down my throat, spreading heat through my chest, my arms, my whole body.
Then the world exploded.
Pain crashed into me—not physical pain, but emotional pain so intense I gasped. Rage. Grief. Loneliness that stretched back centuries. A hole in someone's heart so deep and dark I could fall into it forever.
And underneath all of it—want. Desperate, aching want.
"What—" I tried to speak but the emotions kept flooding in. They weren't mine. They were his.
I looked at Lucien. He'd stumbled back a step, his hand pressed to his chest. His eyes were wide, shocked.
He was feeling it too. The bond snapping into place between us like an invisible chain.
"The blood bond is complete," Cassius announced. "Prince Lucien Nightshade and Seraphina Novak are bound for one year, as the treaty requires."
The vampires in the room started whispering.
"She looks just like—"
"Impossible. It's been two hundred years—"
"The prince's face when he saw her—"
Lucien's head snapped up. "Silence."
Everyone went quiet.
Then he looked at me, and this time the hatred was mixed with something worse. Fear.
"You'll be given chambers in the east wing," he said, his voice flat. "Servants will attend you. You'll have everything you need."
"Wait—"
"Stay out of my sight." He said it quietly, but every word cut like the silver knife. "Don't seek me out. Don't speak to me unless absolutely necessary. You're here because the treaty demands it. Nothing more."
"But I don't understand—"
"You don't need to understand." Lucien turned away, his white-blond hair swinging. "When the year is up, you'll leave. If you survive that long."
The threat hung in the air.
Then he walked toward the throne room doors, his black cloak billowing behind him.
I stood there, my bleeding palm throbbing, my whole body still buzzing from the blood bond, completely lost.
What just happened? Why did he hate me? What did those vampires mean when they whispered that I looked like someone?
A female vampire approached me. She was beautiful like all of them, but her face was kind. "Come, dear. I'll show you to your chambers."
I followed her in a daze through endless hallways. The bond between Lucien and me still hummed in my chest, but he'd done something—slammed up walls so high and thick I couldn't feel his emotions anymore. Just cold emptiness.
"My name is Elena," the vampire said gently. "I'll help you adjust."
"Why does he hate me?" I whispered. "I just got here. I haven't done anything."
Elena's expression turned sad. "It's not what you've done, child."
"Then what?"
She stopped in front of an ornate door. "It's what you look like."
Before I could ask what she meant, she pushed open the door to reveal chambers more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. But I barely noticed.
Because hanging on the wall was a massive portrait.
A woman with red hair and golden-brown eyes. Delicate features. Fair skin with freckles.
She could have been my twin.
"Who is that?" I breathed.
Elena's voice was barely a whisper. "Arianne. Prince Lucien's lost love. She died two hundred years ago in his arms."
My blood turned to ice.
"And you, Seraphina," Elena said, her kind eyes now filled with pity, "are her perfect mirror image."