Nighttime in Arthandica was a sight to behold. The people did not sleep, for the city thrived on scandalous whispers of the royals and high society. When the sun set, the empire truly came alive. Arthandica was a place both feared and coveted—a land of millennia-old power, where style and glory reigned supreme. Even after centuries, its people held their heads high with unwavering pride.
Gaining entry into Arthandica was no easy feat. The reigning monarchs had put strict protocols in place, not only to protect their people but to safeguard their supernatural identity from the outside world. To outsiders, the empire was a utopia where poverty did not exist—a place where the very name itself dripped with luxury and influence. Some even whispered that Arthandica held the reins of the entire planet.
But what the poor and ignorant didn't know was that Arthandica was a kingdom of merciless bloodsuckers and supernatural beings—predators who saw lesser races as food, sacrificial lambs, and weaklings. Yet, outsiders still called it the City of Kings and Queens, the only nation that upheld true monarchy.
Massive screens stood at every corner of the Dominion, broadcasting messages from the royals at their whim. To the outside world, it was paradise—practically heaven on earth. A city worth dying for.
But not all that glitters is gold. Behind every beauty, behind every wonder, lurked something minacious. That was simply the nature of life in Arthandica.
Tonight was far from a disappointment. The emperor himself had taken over the big screens, his voice echoing across the Dominion as a monumental announcement played.
He was declaring the engagement of his only son and heir, Crown Prince Alaric Emrick Dunkan, to the beautiful yet elusive illegitimate first princess of the Amber Kingdom—Keket Ambrosia Bathory.
Shoppers paused, workers on their way home stood still, and citizens halted mid-task. No one dared to ignore the emperor's words. They refused to settle for secondhand whispers from friends and family—stories that would inevitably be twisted with exaggerated suspense for the amusement of gossipmongers.
"For the greater good of this Dominion," the emperor's voice rang with authority. "I hereby announce the union between the Dunkans and the Bathorys."
Suddenly, an uproar erupted across the empire. Every street, every corner of Arthandica trembled with disbelief. Aghast was an understatement for what the noble citizens felt.
There was no way they would swallow the bitter pill of watching an illegitimate child rise to be their future empress. Their pride would not allow it. Especially not the vampires and witches—creatures known for their arrogance, their unshakable sense of superiority.
"Why the Bathorys?" A passerby, trapped in the human cage of stunned citizens, muttered in frustration. But no one had an answer.
Beneath the imperial family, Arthandica ruled over many powerful kingdoms, each belonging to a different supernatural race—all sworn to the emperor. The witches of Salem, the elves of Elfinwood, the shifters of Celestial (encompassing all shape-shifters), the faes and harpies of Fairyland, and even the remnants of ancient creatures thought to be extinct.
In Arthandrakukan, the capital of the empire, many vampiric kingdoms had risen to power, only to become vassal states under the Amber Kingdom—the sole vampiric realm that had maintained its dominance for centuries, serving directly beneath the vampire monarch. Among the kingdoms under the imperial family, Amber stood at the pinnacle of both power and wealth.
But that alone did not justify why a bride for the Dauphin had been chosen from their house. And why Keket?
Centuries ago, the ruling houses—alongside the imperial family—had established a strict protocol for selecting the crown prince's bride, a tradition upheld to this day.
By this decree, a bride would be secretly chosen from one of the kingdoms. After undergoing necessary procedures and receiving approval from the High Priestess and royal court, the chosen woman's name would then be announced to the public. This process ensured fairness and prevented unnecessary conflicts, maintaining the delicate illusion of monarchy over outright autocracy.
Yet, no such selection had taken place. No daughters, no nieces of noble blood had been taken in secret. The season for choosing a bride hadn't even begun.
They didn't need to be told—this engagement had bypassed the agreed procedures.
And that was precisely why chaos erupted in the throne room the day the emperor and empress, in a court session attended by every King and Queen, declared their intent to make Keket Ambrosia Bathory the crown prince's wife.
*FLASHBACK*
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, if she is truly destined, then there is nothing we can do.
But if she has been chosen out of personal interest, I suggest you reconsider."
Charles Blackwell, King of Elfinwood, spoke with measured defiance, his words slicing through the tension in the throne room.
A low, menacing growl rumbled from the emperor's throat.
Charles quickly bowed his head in submission, but his aura burned like the hot embers of Lucifer's lair—unwavering, unyielding. He would not back down in spirit.
What they all feared most was dictatorship. An illegitimate child ascending as empress was not just a break from tradition—it was dangerous. What if she forgot her place? What if she sought revenge?
Illegitimate children, though not forbidden, were scorned by high society. Having as many as one could provide for was not a crime, but their worth was always questioned.
Sensing the tension thickening, Arnold Bathory—head of the very house in question—stepped forward. His voice was calm, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Your Majesty, may we know your intentions behind this decision?"
It was both a diversion to spare the Elf King from further wrath and a pressing question that demanded an answer.
He was curious—why her?
Why his illegitimate daughter?
Don't get him wrong. But why would the almighty imperial family of Arthandica—a lineage bound by tradition and prestige—choose an illegitimate daughter as the wife of their precious son, the future emperor?
Vampires were known for their pride. And as a vampire himself, he could testify to that. Surprised was an understatement for what he felt upon hearing the emperor's bold proclamation.
The throne room was suffocating with unspoken protests when the emperor's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"This court session is adjourned."
His tone left no room for argument.
"If you have any further concerns, voice them at our next scheduled session. But let me make one thing clear—no one will question why it is Ambrosia again."
Without another word, the emperor turned on his heel and strode out of the throne room, his empress following close behind.
None of the gathered kings were surprised. The emperor was infamous for his temper—walking away when things didn't go his way was his signature move. But this time?
This time, they wouldn't let it slide.
Either he explained himself...
Or there would be no crowning for that illegitimate witch.
**END OF FLASHBACK**
---
Ambrosia was, without a doubt, the least favorite person among young ladies—and, frankly, among every single soul in Arthandica.
Too arrogant, too headstrong for an illegitimate child, she had earned herself few allies within the empire. Unlike other young nobles, who thrived at soirees and political gatherings, Ambrosia barely attended any.
No—scratch that.
She didn't attend at all.
Hell, she hadn't even bothered to appear at her own coming-of-age ceremony. When the nobles had gathered to celebrate her official step into adulthood, she had been nowhere near the empire.
Now, she sat quietly in a darkened office, the dim glow of the city casting long shadows around her. She turned idly in her plush, expensive swivel chair, a glass of rich O-negative blood resting between her fingers.
Ambrosia preferred her meals in a glass, rather than feeding like a savage—sinking her fangs into the throats of her unfortunate victims.
It had nothing to do with sympathy. Maybe it was because she was a half-breed.
Maybe.
But she didn't care enough to find out.
All that mattered was that she could enjoy her meal in peace, with darkness as her only companion.
Most vampires claimed there was a certain satisfaction in drinking straight from their victims. Even the Shallows—the lowest of their kind—swore by it.
Ambrosia, however, was not curious enough to test the theory.
She loved the dark.
There was something comforting about it, something that made her feel… at home.
Darkness had been her solitude since the day she first opened her beautiful turquoise eyes and saw this cruel world for what it was.