Steffen steps into the grand hall, his gaze scanning the room. Laughter and music fill the space, nobles and warriors alike indulging in a rare moment of celebration. But his focus is singular, Ella.
She isn't here.
His jaw tightens. He had expected to find her waiting, perhaps lost in thought or debating strategies with Balu. Instead, all he finds is Balu herself, standing by the wine table, swirling a glass of deep crimson liquid. She meets his eyes the moment he spots her, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
"She stepped out for a moment," Balu says before he can even ask, taking a slow sip. "Ladies' matters."
Steffen exhales, running a hand down his face. He doesn't quite believe her, but pressing won't change anything. If Ella has gone somewhere, she must have a reason.
Balu watches him with interest, her eyes glinting under the candlelight. "You know, standing around brooding isn't very becoming of a king."
His brow lifts. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely." She downs the rest of her wine and steps closer, tilting her head. "Tell me, Steffen, do you dance?"
His eyes flick toward the dance floor, where pairs move in elegant sways and spins, caught in the rhythm of the music.
"Right, I forgot you don't do dance" Balu said, aware he isn't the dancing nor the ball type. But still,
Balu grins. "I don't care , dance with me."
Steffen hesitates, but only for a moment. She's testing him, as she always does, but there's no malice in it. Just amusement. And perhaps… something more.
Being the gentleman he is, he offers his hand. "One dance."
Balu's fingers slip into his, cool and smooth. "Of course," she muses, letting him lead her toward the floor.
The music shifts into a slow, haunting melody as they move together. Balu glides effortlessly, her body fluid, graceful, entirely in control. Steffen matches her steps, steady and composed.
They twirl once, twice, before she breaks the silence. "You're tense."
He exhales sharply. "A war is brewing, Balu. There's little reason to be at ease."
She hums in agreement, her gaze flickering with something unreadable. "And yet, you find time to worry about your mate."
His grip tightens slightly, but Balu only smirks. "She's a human in mist of supernaturals , of course am bound to worry about her," he mutters.
"She's capable," Balu counters smoothly. "And you know it."
They move in perfect synchronicity, a striking contrast, him, a king weighed down by duty, her, a vampire unburdened by consequence.
The music shifts, a slow, sultry melody winding through the air like a whispered promise. Balu leans in, breathing in the intoxicating scent of Steffen's cologne. How long had it been since she was this close to him? Since she could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breath?
Too long.
And damn it, she's missed it.
Her fingers tighten slightly on his shoulder, her body moving effortlessly with his as they glide across the floor. But then…
"Speaking of returning ghosts," Steffen murmurs, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "When's your brother coming back?"
For just a fraction of a second, Balu falters. It's barely noticeable, a hesitation so slight it could be mistaken for part of the dance. But Steffen is no fool.
She recovers swiftly, painting a soft, easy smile onto her lips. "He should be back next month."
"Next month?" Steffen's voice shifts, edged with something dangerously close to desperation. "You told me it was this month."
His grip on her waist tightens ever so slightly—not in aggression, but in urgency. He's been waiting too long. Every day spent with Ella only deepens the gnawing uncertainty inside him. Now that he's certain of his feelings, he fears what he does not know. Ella's past. Her secrets. And more than anything—the truth about the mating mark that binds them.
And only one person can unravel it.
King Kpakpa.
Balu tilts her head, feigning innocence. "I know what I said," she admits, voice smooth as silk. "But he extended his stay in Italy for political reasons. Next month isn't so far away, is it?"
Not that she cares about politics. The truth is, she'd rather Kpakpa stay gone. Because if he returns and looks into Ella's past, if he sees something that strengthens her bond with Steffen, everything Balu has worked toward will be ruined.
She cannot allow it.
Ella needs to be gone before Kpakpa returns.
"You'll inform me the moment he arrives," Steffen says, his tone leaving no room for argument. The sooner he learns the truth, the better.
Balu meets his gaze, her smile unwavering. "Of course."
And so the dance continues, one step forward, one step back. A game of power and patience.
And neither is willing to lose.
At another end of the castle, cold air presses against Ella's skin as she moves through the dimly lit corridors, her leather suit molding to her form, allowing her to move without sound. The second she slipped away from the crowded hall, she had changed, shedding the elegant disguise for something built for speed and survival. Every step is deliberate, her senses sharp. The blueprint she memorized plays in her mind, guiding her through the maze of the witches' stronghold.
But something is wrong.
The paths don't match what she studied. A staircase that should lead to an open hallway is sealed by an ornate wall, its surface shimmering faintly with magic. A doorway that was supposed to take her to the upper chambers has shifted entirely. She retraces her steps, turning corners with practiced ease, but the route keeps twisting back on itself, looping her toward the same place again and again.
It's not a mistake. The castle is enchanted.
The realization sinks in fast. The stronghold is shifting, redirecting her every time she tries to reach the chamber where the earrings are kept. It's a trap, a living, breathing defense designed to disorient intruders. Panic won't help. Adjusting on the spot, Ella scans for anything out of place—something real, something fixed. Her eyes catch faint scratches on the floor near a statue. A seam in the wall. A hidden door.
Pressing her fingers against it, she slips inside.
Now, every step is measured, every turn calculated. The castle won't trick her again. Finally, she reaches the main chamber.
The door looms before her, carved with ancient runes. Balu's warning echoes in her mind: Highly protected. Spells that could kill you if you touch it unprepared. She isn't a witch. She doesn't have magic. There's no way to bypass the enchantments.
Her options shrink with every second.
No time. She grits her teeth and reaches for the door handle.
The second her fingers make contact, reality lurches. There's no resistance. No searing pain. Just—
The chamber opens.
Ella barely has time to register the eerie blue glow washing over the room. Why? How did she bypass the spell? But the thought is fleeting. The earrings sit atop a pedestal at the center of the chamber—delicate, shimmering, pulsing with power.
They seem innocent. A simple pair of ornaments.
But she knows better.
Moving forward, she keeps her breathing steady, hyper-aware of the charged air thick with unseen magic. Step by step, she approaches, extends her hand—
The moment her fingers brush the metal, the room detonates with energy.
A sharp ringing shreds the silence. The floor trembles. Shadows stretch unnaturally, warping as the stone beneath her splits open. From the depths, bones rise, clattering together as skeletal warriors claw their way into existence.
Hollow-eyed. Ancient. Armed. Their swords gleam under the ghostly light, their empty sockets locking onto her.
She's triggered the curse.
A sword slices through the space she occupied a breath ago. Ella twists, barely avoiding the strike, her twin daggers flashing as she draws them from her boots. One against many.
They move in unison, attacking with the precision of warriors long dead but never defeated. She parries, ducks, counterstrikes, but they keep coming. For every one she shatters, another pulls itself from the ground. The air reeks of decay and dark magic.
Then, footsteps.
Echoing down the corridor.
Mistress Lily is coming.
Ella curses. If she's caught here, it's over. The earrings are clenched in her grip, but escape won't be easy. A skeleton lunges, she ducks, rolling under its blade, but time is slipping away. The main entrance is suicide. Lily and her subordinates will be on her in seconds.
Then she sees it.
A high window. Narrow, but possible.
Another strike comes for her. She sidesteps, drives her dagger into a ribcage, and sprints.
But just as she prepares to flee, a voice cuts through the chaos, freezing her mid-step. Cold chills race down her spine.
Her body stiffens. Slowly, she turns.
Mistress Lily stands in the doorway, watching her.
And in that moment, Ella knows, she's caught.