Liora's POV
The name hangs in the air like a death sentence.
LIORA ASHBORNE
For three heartbeats, nobody moves. The village square is frozen, everyone staring at the flaming letters floating above the crystal. Then chaos erupts.
"No!" Papa lunges forward, but village guards block his path. "You can't take her! She's sick! She's dying!"
Neighbors gasp. Mrs. Henderson covers her daughter's eyes like the sight of me will curse Rose too. The Blackwood twins start crying. Someone whispers a prayer.
I stand perfectly still, watching the flames spell out my name over and over.
Five generations. Five generations of safety. And now it's my turn.
Cassiel moves through the crowd toward me, his steps silent and graceful. People scramble out of his way, terrified to be too close to a vampire. When he stops in front of me, his kind eyes study my face carefully.
"Liora Ashborne." His voice is gentle, which somehow makes this worse. "Do you understand what has been asked of you?"
"I'm to be the bride of Prince Theron Nightshade for thirty nights." My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "Then I join the immortal court."
That's the official story. Everyone knows it's a lie.
"Will you come willingly?" Cassiel asks. "Or must we use force?"
Papa breaks free from the guards and grabs my arm. "Don't answer him, Liora. We'll fight this. There has to be a way—"
"There's no way, Papa." I turn to face him, memorizing his features. The lines around his eyes. The gray in his beard. The way he's looking at me like his heart is breaking. "You know that."
"I can't lose you too." His voice cracks. "Not after your mother. Not like this."
Tears burn my eyes, but I don't let them fall. "You were already losing me. The blood sickness was going to take me in two weeks. At least this way, maybe my death means something."
"Your death means everything to me," he whispers.
I kiss his cheek, tasting salt. "I love you, Papa. But I'm tired of fighting."
Then I step away from him and straighten my spine. The red dress I wore for the tavern suddenly feels appropriate. Like I dressed for my own funeral without knowing it.
I face Cassiel. "I'll come willingly. I was dying anyway."
The words fall into stunned silence. Then whispers explode through the crowd.
"Did she say dying?"
"The blood sickness?"
"Poor Marcus, losing his daughter twice over."
Cassiel's eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Surprise? Understanding? "Interesting," he murmurs, so quietly I almost miss it.
He offers his hand. "Then come, Liora Ashborne. Your carriage awaits."
I take his hand. His skin is cold as winter, sending shivers up my arm. But his grip is gentle, almost careful, like he's afraid I'll break.
Maybe I will.
Papa makes a sound like a wounded animal. I don't look back. If I look back, I'll run to him. If I run to him, I'll never leave. And then I'll die in that cottage having never experienced anything beyond Ashwood's walls.
At least this way, I'll see the vampire kingdom before I die.
At least this way, I'll have an adventure.
Cassiel leads me toward the black carriages. Up close, they're even more terrifying. The wood is polished to a mirror shine, carved with symbols that hurt to look at directly. The horses stamp their glowing hooves, steam rising from their nostrils.
"In you go." Cassiel opens the door.
The interior is plush red velvet, soft as blood. I climb inside, my weak legs barely managing the step. The moment I sit, exhaustion crashes over me. The confrontation with Papa, the shock of being chosen, the fear I've been holding back—it all catches up at once.
Cassiel leans in before closing the door. "You said you're dying. Does anyone else know?"
"Just Papa. And now you."
"Keep it that way." His voice drops to a whisper. "Don't tell the prince. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because knowledge is power. Even for the powerless." He straightens. "We leave immediately. Say your goodbyes now if you have any left."
He closes the door before I can respond.
Through the window, I see Papa fighting to reach me. Village guards hold him back as he screams my name. Neighbors watch with pity and relief—relief that their daughters are safe for another year.
Sarah Miller meets my eyes across the crowd. We're not friends, but we've known each other our whole lives. She mouths something. I think it's "I'm sorry."
I nod. At least someone is.
The carriage lurches forward. Papa breaks free and runs alongside, pounding on the door. "Liora! Liora, please!"
I press my palm against the glass. He presses his palm against mine, separated by barrier neither of us can break.
"I love you, Papa," I whisper, knowing he can't hear me.
The horses speed up. Papa's running turns to stumbling. He falls to his knees in the dirt, and the last thing I see before we turn the corner is him sobbing into his hands.
Then Ashwood disappears behind us.
The only home I've ever known.
Gone.
I slump back against the velvet seat, my whole body shaking. What have I done? I volunteered for this. I could have stayed silent. I could have let them drag me away. But no, I had to be brave. I had to make it look like my choice.
Was it my choice? Or was I just too tired to fight?
The carriage rolls through the village gates and into the open countryside. Fields stretch out on both sides of the road, golden wheat swaying in the evening breeze. It looks peaceful. Normal.
Like the world doesn't care that I'm being taken to my death.
I should be terrified. I should be crying like all the other sacrifices probably did. But all I feel is numb.
And tired.
So tired.
I close my eyes, letting the rocking of the carriage lull me. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll fall asleep and never wake up. Maybe the blood sickness will take me on the road, and I'll die before I ever reach Nightshade Castle.
That would be easier.
For everyone.
But sleep doesn't come. Instead, questions circle my mind like vultures.
What does Prince Theron look like? Is he as cruel as the stories say? Will he kill me quickly or slowly? Does he enjoy it?
And the question that scares me most: Will I regret volunteering when the thirtieth night comes?
Outside the window, the sun sinks below the horizon. Darkness swallows the fields. And somewhere ahead in that darkness waits a vampire prince who has killed three hundred women.
I'm about to become three hundred and one.
The thought should horrify me.
Instead, I feel nothing at all.