In the land of Tenebrous, a realm shrouded in eternal darkness, power was the only law. At its heart stood King Viktor Mikhail Romanov, a ruler of unyielding might and wisdom. His gaze burned with an otherworldly intensity, his presence towering, his will unbreakable. A legend forged in the fire of countless victories, he was both feared and revered—an unshakable force that commanded the very shadows to his side.
Beside him, Queen Irina Elizabeth Romanov embodied both grace and strength. With an air of regal poise, she was no mere consort, but a warrior in her own right. Born into a lineage of fierce fighters, she had been tempered by the flames of battle, her spirit unyielding, her resilience unmatched.
It was this fire within her that had captured Viktor's heart—his queen, his equal, the only one he had ever vowed to protect with every fiber of his being.
---
The royal family stood tall, their alabaster skin glowing under the cold moonlight, the very embodiment of their vampiric essence. Queen Irina's lips, a deep, blood-red hue, were her most striking feature—one she had passed down to her daughters, a haunting yet beautiful inheritance.
Their only son, in contrast, bore the chiseled features and imposing physique of their father, King Viktor, a testament to the powerful bloodline that pulsed through their veins.
Yet, among this brood of fierce warriors, one child longed to be different. She yearned for a life beyond the confines of royalty, a path untethered from the weight of her lineage.
"I want a life of my own," she would often whisper, a quiet defiance against the traditions that had bound her family for centuries.
---
First in line to the throne was Nikolai George Romanov, a mirror of his father in both appearance and temperament. As the eldest son and heir, he bore the weight of the empire's expectations—destined to inherit the throne, lead battles, and carve his name into history with blood and steel. His parents' pride rested on his shoulders, and he had no intention of disappointing them.
Then came Anastasia Beverly Romanov, a woman of sharp wit and colder resolve. With a mind as calculating as her father's and a beauty inherited from her mother, she commanded both admiration and fear. Her piercing green eyes scrutinized everyone, stripping them down to their weaknesses.
Though not the heir, she was no less formidable, and beneath the polished surface of royal duty, a simmering rivalry brewed between her and Nikolai—a constant battle of wills, neither willing to yield.
---
Olga Maria Romanov, the quiet and enigmatic sister, was a stark contrast to the imposing figures of her parents and siblings. With delicate features and porcelain skin inherited from her mother, her beauty was undeniable—yet she shied away from the spotlight.
Unlike the others, she found solace not in power or battle but in the world of books, where knowledge offered her an escape from the relentless political intrigue surrounding her family.
Olga's aversion to the public eye was unmistakable.
She yearned for a simpler life, one where she could disappear into the pages of her beloved books without the crushing weight of her family's expectations.
Yet, despite her desire for anonymity, she loved being a vampire. It was this contradiction—her longing for freedom and her attachment to her bloodline—that left her torn, unable to decide where she truly belonged.
---
Tatiana Vladimira Romanov was the epitome of charm and elegance, a true belle of the ball.
With her raven-black hair, porcelain skin, and full lips that always curved into an inviting smile, she was a vision of effortless grace.
Her bright, mischievous eyes sparkled with a knowing glint, and her slender figure was always adorned in the finest, most fashionable attire.
Tatiana thrived in the limelight, effortlessly commanding attention wherever she went.
A true daddy's girl, she basked in King Viktor's adoration, her confidence soaring under his favor. Unlike her more studious siblings, she had little interest in books or scholarly pursuits.
Instead, she possessed a keen understanding of people—their desires, weaknesses, and secrets. She was a master of persuasion, wielding her beauty and charm like finely honed weapons, effortlessly bending others to her will.
---
Natalia Victoria Romanov, the youngest daughter of King Viktor and Queen Irina, was a vision of delicate beauty. With her cascading curls of chestnut brown and bright, inquisitive eyes, she possessed a grace that mirrored her mother's elegance yet carried the sharpness of her father's features.
But beneath the surface of her striking appearance lay a storm of uncertainty—a tangled web of doubts and insecurities she could never quite escape.
As the last-born in a family of powerful vampires, Natalia often felt like a shadow cast behind her siblings' brilliance.
Anastasia, Olga, and Tatiana each possessed remarkable qualities that made them stand out, while her brother, Nikolai, was destined to rule. Natalia, however, felt like an anomaly—a misplaced puzzle piece in a world where she didn't quite belong.
Her heart longed for adventure, for a life beyond the cold marble halls of the palace. But her desire for freedom clashed with the rigid expectations of her royal bloodline. Whenever she dared to dream aloud, her siblings would remind her of her place—mocking her for what she lacked.
"Of course, you wouldn't understand... You're not even a real vampire, remember?"
Tatiana's voice dripped with amusement, her taunt followed by the laughter of the others.
Natalia swallowed the sting of their words, forcing a smile. But deep down, the ache remained—a silent reminder that she would never truly be one of them.
---
The sting of their laughter and the weight of her family's disappointment pressed down on Natalia like an iron chain, threatening to crush her spirit. Yet, she refused to be silenced. The more they tried to mold her into something she wasn't, the more fiercely her desire to carve her own path burned.
King Viktor's rules were absolute, his expectations suffocating—especially for Natalia.
As the ruler of the vampire clan in Tenebrous, he was a man of power, strategy, and tradition. His vision for his daughters was clear: they were to be elegant, poised, and dutiful, their marriages carefully arranged to strengthen alliances and secure the Romanov bloodline. To him, their futures were not their own to decide.
But Natalia had other ideas.
The thought of being paraded like a prize to be claimed, reduced to nothing more than a political asset, made her stomach twist. She didn't want a life dictated by duty or tradition. She wanted freedom—to discover who she was beyond the title of "princess."
And she would find it, or atleast she thought she would.
---
The thought of being married off to some distant prince or duke filled Natalia with dread. She refused to be just another piece in her father's endless game of power and politics. She wanted more—freedom, choice, and the right to be her own person.
Yet, in a world where duty outweighed desire, Natalia found solace in the one person who understood her longing for something beyond the palace walls—Clarke Everett, the son of the head chef.
Clarke was more than just a servant in the royal household; he was her confidant, her closest friend. Unlike her siblings, he never ridiculed her for what she lacked.
Where others saw weakness, Clarke saw a girl desperate to belong, to prove that she was more than the shortcomings that defined her in the eyes of her family.
Determined to help her, he took it upon himself to train her—to awaken whatever dormant vampire abilities might lie within her. They spent hours in secret, practicing techniques meant to heighten her senses, strengthen her reflexes, and sharpen her instincts.
But no matter how hard she tried, nothing changed.
Her fangs refused to descend. Her vision remained as human as ever. Her strength was no greater than that of a mere mortal.
With each failed attempt, the truth became harder to ignore.
She was a Romanov in name alone.
---
No matter how much Clarke reassured her with his easy smiles and encouraging words, the truth gnawed at her. She was weak. Useless. A disappointment.
What was the point of being born a vampire's daughter if she lacked everything that made them powerful?
The weight of her inadequacy pressed down on her, heavier than the expectations of her family.
Was she truly a Romanov, or had nature made a cruel mistake?
---
Beyond the palace walls, the world of Tenebrous pulsed with a dark, supernatural energy. Vampires, with their immortal lives and extraordinary abilities, held power and influence, ruling from the shadows of their grand cities. Their society thrived on politics and control, every move calculated, every alliance forged in blood.
Then, there were the werewolves.
Unlike vampires, who thrived in luxury and manipulation, werewolves followed the ancient ways of honor and instinct. They lived in packs, bonded by loyalty, their strength drawn from the moon itself. Where vampires schemed, werewolves trusted their primal nature, embracing the balance between their beast and human forms.
But the harmony between the supernatural races had long been shattered.
Ages ago, the werewolves and Lycans were one people—until the Blood War divided them.
The Lycans were no mere werewolves.
They were larger, faster, monstrous. Their bodies, a mass of raw muscle and sinew, stood on two feet like men, but their faces were pure beast—jaws wide enough to devour a man whole, eyes burning with an unnatural hunger. They were what happened when a werewolf lost all restraint.
The war began with a betrayal.
The Lycans, once respected as the strongest among werewolves, turned on their own kin. They sought dominance, rejecting the old ways of the pack in favor of raw power. Where werewolves believed in balance, Lycans believed in conquest.
They slaughtered their own kind, declared themselves rulers of the wilds, and formed a kingdom built on blood and fear.
To this day, werewolves refuse to fight against them—bound by memories of their once-brotherhood. But Lycans have no such sentiment. They are the nightmares that haunt the forests, the beasts whose howls bring nothing but death.
And their hunger is never satisfied.
---
Natalia's usual spot at her balcony, closing her eyes and letting the night's air fill her lungs..
The night's faint breeze whispered secrets only she could hear....
She finally retired to bed after a long day of wasted efforts.
Natalia stirred in her bed, twisting under the silken sheets. A chill wrapped around her skin, sinking into her bones like ice. She wasn't awake, but she wasn't asleep either.
She was somewhere in between.
Then—
A shadow moved.
She was no longer in her chambers. The walls of the palace had vanished, replaced by a vast, endless forest. The trees loomed over her like ancient gods, their twisted branches reaching for her, closing in, suffocating her.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and wet earth.
And then came the growling.
Low. Deep. Hungry. Distant but close.
Natalia turned, her heart hammering, and saw them.
Lycans.
Not werewolves. Lycans.
Towering creatures with blackened fur, their bodies twisted in unnatural ways, standing on two legs yet moving like something that should not exist.
Their eyes gleamed with a feral hunger,bright bloody dripping red, their jaws wide enough to tear through flesh in a single bite.
One stepped forward.
A deep snarl rumbled from its chest, its claws flexing.
And then, it spoke.
"Mine."
A voice like gravel and smoke.
A voice that didn't belong to any man, nor any beast. It crawled under her skin, wrapped around her throat. She couldn't scream.
"Mine."
"«Наша королева»"
The ground cracked beneath her feet. Hands—no, claws—shot out from the earth, gripping her ankles, pulling her down into the abyss.
The Lycans howled.
And she fell...and kept falling
---
Natalia jolted awake, a scream lodged in her throat. Her hands clutched the sheets, her body drenched in cold sweat. The fire in her chamber had died out, leaving the room bathed in shadows.
She gasped for air.
It was a dream. Just a dream.
But it felt so real.
Her heart still thundered in her chest as she sat up, pressing a hand to her forehead. The sensation of those claws—of those eyes—still burned in her mind.
She had to tell someone.
---
"It was just a dream, Natalia."
A dream that couldn't bring her to rest again.
The next morning, Natalia sat in the grand dining hall, her untouched goblet of blood-red wine trembling in her grasp.
Across the table, Nikolai was sharpening a blade, the soft scraping sound filling the silence.
"I had a nightmare," she said suddenly.
Olga sighed, barely looking up from her book.
"You always have nightmares."
"This was different." Natalia's voice shook.
"I saw them. The Lycans. They spoke to me."
That got their attention.
Nikolai raised a brow. "The Lycans? What nonsense is that? They don't even talk in their form"
Anastasia glanced at her, hesitant. "Maybe it's an omen?"
Tatiana scoffed, setting her cup down. "Or maybe Natalia just wants attention again...whiny whiny!"
Her hands clenched into fists. "I don't!"
"Then stop acting like a child," Olga muttered.
Natalia glanced over at her father for help.
King Viktor, who had been silently reading a scroll, finally spoke. His voice was calm, firm, and absolute.
"You are a Romanov, Natalia. Stop chasing shadows and meaningless things...it'll do you no good dear"
And just like that—they dismissed her.
As if her fear was meaningless....MEANINGLESS?
As if the nightmare was nothing but a child's fantasy.
But deep down, Natalia knew.
It wasn't just a dream.
It was a warning.
And no one listened.
To be continued...