---
Natalia exhaled a soft, breathless "Woah."
Her wide eyes flickered from one shimmering surface to another—the soaring ceilings, the intricate carvings along the marble walls, the cascading crystal chandeliers that bathed the palace in golden light. Every inch of the place screamed wealth, power… and something else. Something unsettling.
Neil chuckled beside her, the sound low and velvety, laced with amusement.
"Indeed," he murmured, watching her closely.
"A sight to behold, is it not?"
Natalia's gaze snapped to his face, her momentary awe replaced with wary suspicion. She didn't respond. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her wonder.
As they walked, Natalia caught sight of the maids—dressed immaculately in dark, fitted dresses with pristine white aprons and knee-high stockings.
They moved with precise, graceful efficiency, their hands folding linens, adjusting grand floral arrangements, and polishing already gleaming surfaces.
But then… they stopped.
One by one, as soon as they noticed Neil, their movements ceased entirely. Their gazes dropped, their bodies dipping into deep, synchronized bows.
Natalia's stomach twisted.
Her steps slowed as she whispered to Neil, "Why are they bowing?"
Neil's lips curled at the edges, his golden eyes glinting with something unreadable.
"You are their Queen," he said smoothly, his voice a dark caress against her skin.
Natalia laughed.
A sharp, incredulous chuckle left her lips before she could stop it. "Wait, what?" She yanked her hand free from his grasp, her pulse spiking.
The maids remained bowed, unmoving, heads lowered in complete deference.
Natalia swallowed hard. She hesitated for a moment before clearing her throat. "Stop that. Stand up."
The reaction was instant. The maids straightened swiftly, their movements quick and precise, before returning to their work as if nothing had happened.
Natalia's fingers twitched at her sides. Her heart pounded.
Something was very, very wrong.
Neil simply smiled.
And without another word, he continued walking, forcing Natalia to follow.
---
Natalia whirled on Neil, her pulse hammering against her ribs. "If this is some twisted joke, drop it now." Her voice was sharp, edged with rising panic. "I just want to go home. I need to see my family."
Neil's golden eyes remained unreadable. His expression, cool and composed.
"Unfortunately, that can't be arranged, my princess…" His lips quirked, deliberately drawing out the word before smoothly correcting himself. "I mean, Queen."
Natalia's breath hitched. "What do you mean, Queen? And why—" she exhaled sharply, "why can't I go home?"
Neil's fingers twitched at his sides, as if suppressing amusement. "Hush, now." His voice dipped into something gentler—mockingly so. "Let's continue our journey."
Before she could react, he reached for her hand once more. His grip was firm, guiding her forward, but Natalia resisted, her steps dragging against the polished marble floors.
"Talk to me" she demanded, yanking at his hold. "I don't understand what's going on."
Neil's face softened with something eerily close to sympathy, but his words remained maddeningly cryptic. "Sadly, I'm not the one to give you those answers."
Natalia's frustration flared, her jaw tightening. "Why not?"
Neil's smirk deepened. "Because, my Queen," he said smoothly, "some things are better learned from those who own the truth… rather than those who simply deliver it."
A chill slid down Natalia's spine.
Her fingers curled into fists, her breaths turning uneven. Neil must have noticed—his grip on her hand tightened just slightly, a silent warning.
"You must calm down, my Queen," he murmured, his voice taking on a deceptively soothing lilt.
Natalia recoiled, her nails digging into her palms. "I'm not a queen!" she hissed. "My name is Natalia Victoria Romanov—Princess of the Vampire Empire!"
Neil's expression didn't shift, but something dark flickered in his gaze.
"Such wonderful names…" he mused, tilting his head slightly. Then, with a deliberate pause, his lips parted, and the words that followed sent an icy shudder through her veins.
"Welcome to the Likarian Empire."
Natalia's steps faltered. She nearly stumbled, her bare feet slipping on the smooth floor.
"You—" she swallowed. "You can't be serious."
Neil's smile was slow, taunting. "Oh, but I am."
Natalia's stomach twisted as a deep, gut-wrenching dread settled inside her.
"You will not bear the name Romanov again."
The words were like a slap.
"Excuse me?" Natalia whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.
Neil's expression was impassive, detached. "You belong to the Likarian Empire now, my queen. And you'll be staying here."
Natalia staggered, her breath hitching as her fingers instinctively clenched around his. "No" she choked out. "No, this isn't real. I am not— I'm not staying here!"
Neil exhaled a quiet laugh, his voice laced with something dark. "Oh, dear..." He leaned in slightly, his voice dipping lower. "You still don't understand, do you?"
His next words came slow, deliberate.
"You're a prize. A vessel. A valuable asset to our empire..." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And to our dear Marshall."
Natalia's entire body turned cold.
Her hands trembled. "A... prize?...A vessel?" she echoed, her voice cracking. "The heck does that even mean!?"
Neil simply smiled.
And kept walking.
---
Neil's voice was detached, his words dropping like bombs.
"I'm done answering your questions."
Natalia's world tilted. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as the realization set in. No. No, this isn't real. She felt like she was being pulled into an abyss, her mind spinning, desperate to latch onto something—anything—that made sense.
"No... this can't be happening." Her voice was barely a whisper, lost in the cavernous halls.
Neil's grip on her hand tightened—not in comfort, but in control. His pace quickened, forcing her to move faster. "You'll need to get used to your new surroundings, Princess." His voice was eerily smooth, dripping with something dangerous. "You'll be staying here... indefinitely."
Indefinitely.
The word lodged itself deep in Natalia's chest like a dagger, twisting.
Her breath hitched. Her pulse pounded against her skull. The grand palace around her—the glittering chandeliers, the pristine marble floors, the bowing maids—blurred into nothing. The reality of where she was, of what was happening, closed in on her like a vice.
She wasn't going home.
She wasn't leaving.
A cold dread curled around her ribs, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Neil's voice cut through her panic, each word a precise, merciless slice.
"You'll need to forget your old life. Forget your family, your friends… everything."
Natalia's body went rigid.
Her gaze snapped to his, searching—pleading—for something humane in his expression. But Neil's golden eyes were unreadable, his face carved from stone.
Forget?
Her family.
Her home.
Her name.
She couldn't breathe.
It was as if the floor had vanished beneath her feet, leaving her suspended over a bottomless void.
Every nightmare, every whispered fear, every moment of not knowing where she was or why—it was all coming true.
And there was no way to stop it.
Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where… where are you taking me?"
Neil didn't slow his pace. His grip on her wrist remained firm, his expression unreadable. "To get ready," he answered, his voice detached, devoid of any sympathy. "You're to meet Marshall."
Natalia's stomach twisted. The name sent a ripple of unease through her. Lord Marshall? The way Neil said it, so matter-of-fact yet weighted, made her skin prickle.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to ask, "Who is this Marshall?"
Neil's grip subtly tightened, his eyes flicking toward her for a fraction of a second before looking ahead again. "You'll find out soon enough." His tone was final, clipped. "As I said, I won't be answering any more of your questions."
Cold dread settled in her bones.
Her breath hitched, and the weight of it all threatened to consume her. Her legs wobbled, her steps faltering. The dizziness swam through her head as the echo of their footsteps bounced off the stone walls.
Just as her knees buckled, Neil's hand clamped down on her arm, steadying her. "Don't." His voice was firm, but there was no cruelty in it. Just a quiet warning.
Natalia exhaled shakily, willing herself to stay upright.
But no matter how much she tried to steel herself, one truth loomed over her like a shadow.
---
Queen Irina's voice was a gentle whisper, slicing through the heavy silence of their chamber. "Viktor?"
King Viktor's pacing remained relentless, his crimson eyes unfocused, locked onto some invisible point in the distance. His jaw worked rhythmically as his fingers dragged through his hair, the weight of failure pressing down on him like an iron shroud.
Irina stepped closer, her presence a calming force against the storm raging within him. "Viktor?" she repeated, this time placing a soft hand on his shoulder.
His reaction was instant. He spun around with vampiric speed, his instincts sharpened by grief and rage. His hand shot out, grasping her wrist with a force that would have shattered human bones.
But Queen Irina did not flinch. Her own strength matched his, her gaze steady as she held his eyes.
Recognition flickered across King Viktor's face. His grip loosened, his shoulders sagging as regret clouded his expression. "Irina... I—" His voice faltered, thick with guilt.
She didn't let him pull away. Instead, she took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. "You're troubled, my king," she murmured. "I see it. I feel it. But you have not failed."
Viktor let out a ragged breath, his head dropping slightly. "I have," he whispered. "I failed to protect our people, our children—our daughter. Natalia is gone, Irina. Our home, our legacy—it's in ruins." His voice cracked. "And I stood there. Powerless."
Queen Irina's jaw tightened. "You fought. You bled for this kingdom. That is not failure." Her forehead pressed lightly against his, a silent plea for him to hear her, to believe her. "We will get her back. We will rebuild."
King Viktor shook his head. "But at what cost?" He hesitated, then finally admitted, "Lady Frieda suspects a traitor."
Irina's breath caught. "A traitor?"
Viktor nodded grimly. "Someone within the palace helped them. That's the only way the Lycans got in so easily. They don't care for politics, Irina—they see themselves as above it. And yet, they came with purpose. They had inside knowledge." His jaw clenched. "Someone opened the gates for them."
The weight of his words settled between them like a thick fog.
Irina's mind raced through the faces of those closest to them—trusted advisors, loyal guards, servants who had been in the palace for years. Who among them would dare betray their own?
Her fingers curled into fists. "Whoever did this… they will suffer."
Viktor's eyes darkened, a flicker of his former self returning. "They will," he vowed. "But first…" His voice hardened, steady with resolve. "We bring our daughter home."
---
As she spoke, Queen Irina gently guided Viktor toward the bed, her touch light yet firm. He resisted at first, tension still coiled in his frame, but eventually, he let himself be pulled down beside her. His fingers rubbed at his temples, the weight of grief pressing heavily against him.
For a moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the crackling of the fireplace, its golden glow flickering across the room.
Then, in a near whisper, Irina broke the silence. "How do we tell Clarke about his mother?"
Viktor inhaled sharply, his fingers curling into his lap. His crimson eyes, dulled with sorrow, met hers. "We tell him the truth," he said, his voice steady despite the pain beneath it. "She died in the war… as many did."
Irina's gaze dropped to her hands, tracing the delicate embroidery on her gown. "True," she murmured. "But it will break him. They've been nothing but loyal to us..."
Viktor's throat tightened. "It saddens me too," he admitted. "But we owe Clarke and his family honesty. Not saying anything to him would only dishonor her sacrifice."
Irina nodded, though her expression remained troubled. She glanced toward the window, her gaze unfocused. Then, after a beat of silence, Viktor exhaled deeply and spoke again.
"And Tatiana?" His voice was softer now, cautious. "How is she?"
Irina sighed, turning back to him. "Still in shock," she said. "But she's recovering. The healers are tending to her, and I've sat with her myself. She hasn't spoken much, but..." A sad smile ghosted her lips. "She's strong. She always has been."
Viktor let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "She's been through too much."
"Yes," Irina agreed. "We all have."
Silence settled again, heavier this time, wrapping around them like a shroud.
Then Irina straightened, squaring her shoulders with quiet resolve. "I'll go check on them now," she said, rising gracefully to her feet. "Please, be okay, Viktor."
He caught her hand before she could pull away. His lips pressed against her knuckles, lingering just long enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath.
Irina's gaze softened. Bending slightly, she placed a tender kiss on his forehead before stepping away, her skirts whispering against the floor.
Viktor watched as she disappeared through the door, leaving him alone with the ghosts of his thoughts.
The war has only began.
To be continued..