---
Natalia's mind spun, her thoughts fragmented and chaotic. She had no idea what was happening or what these people wanted from her. All she knew was that she was at their mercy. For now, she had no choice but to comply.
But how had it come to this?
Her thoughts drifted to the stories she'd heard about the Lycans—the creatures of nightmares, whispered about in fearful hushes. Ancient. Legendary. Merciless. Twice the size of a bear, their raw power rivaled even the strongest vampires. They weren't just beasts. They were warriors. Predators.
And now, somehow, she was in their world.
A sharp snap of fingers jolted her back to reality. The door to their left swung open, revealing a breathtaking sight.
Natalia's breath hitched.
The room before her looked like something pulled from a dream.
Soft hues of white and blush pink bathed the space in an ethereal glow. A massive bed sat in the center, its plush duvet dusted with flower petals. The air was warm, laced with the delicate scents of blooming roses, vanilla, and lavender.
Across the room, a grand dresser gleamed with golden accents, a large ornate mirror above it catching the light. Next to it, an elegant wardrobe stood slightly ajar, revealing an array of exquisite gowns—silk, satin, embroidery so fine it looked woven from moonlight itself.
And then… the balcony.
She barely noticed Neil leading her inside, her eyes drawn to the wide open doors, where sheer curtains billowed from the soft breeze. The sunlight streaming in felt foreign against her skin.
Too bright. Too warm. Too open.
She had grown up in the eternal twilight of the Vampire Empire, where darkness was a constant companion. Shadows were familiar. Safe. But here?
Here, everything felt wrong.
This room was a cage—one wrapped in silk and roses, but a cage nonetheless.
---
Neil's voice shattered the silence. "Agatha."
A soft rustling came from the doorway, followed by the quiet steps of a demure maiden. She moved gracefully, a delicate golden tray balanced in her hands. On it sat a small steaming cup, wisps of fragrant vapor curling into the air.
Neil's gaze flickered to Natalia, unreadable. His voice was firm but composed. "Take this drink. It will help you… refresh."
Natalia hesitated, her eyes shifting between Neil and the cup as Agatha stepped closer, offering the tray with a gentle nod.
She eyed the tea warily before lifting it to her nose, inhaling deeply. The scent was sweet—floral, almost intoxicating—but something about it made her wary.
What is this? she thought, her fingers tightening slightly around the cup.
"What is this?" she asked aloud, directing her question at Agatha rather than Neil.
Agatha's smile was soft, her voice smooth and reassuring. "It's Petal Tea, Your Highness. A special blend made from the rare Moonpetal flowers—ones that only bloom under the full moon. It's a Lycan tradition, often served to our queens when they are in distress."
Natalia's breath hitched. Queen. There was that word again. As if she belonged here. As if she had already been claimed.
Her fingers tightened around the cup before she took a cautious sip. The warmth spread through her chest instantly, the taste rich with sweet floral notes and deep, earthy undertones. It was calming. Too calming. The tension in her shoulders eased against her will.
Before she could second-guess herself, she downed the rest in one swift motion, wiping her mouth with the hem of her shirt before setting the empty cup back onto the tray.
"Thank you," she mouthed to Agatha, giving the maiden a small nod.
Neil watched her closely.
There was something…different about her in that moment.
The way she stood—the way the light hit her skin, the way her lashes fluttered as she blinked, the way her presence seemed to shift, just slightly.
For the first time, he wasn't looking at a prisoner. Something more. Something he can't put to words that is.
The thought unsettled him, and he shoved it aside just as quickly as it came.
There was no time for useless distractions.
---
Agatha bowed her head, a soft smile still playing on her lips. "You're welcome, Your Highness." She turned to leave, but Neil's voice stopped her.
"Summon the remaining maidens, Agatha. It's time for Natalia's bath."
Natalia stiffened. Bath?
Agatha nodded, her eyes flicking to Natalia before she bowed and hurried out of the room.
A heartbeat later, four maidens, including Agatha, glided into the chamber, moving in perfect synchrony. Natalia barely had time to react before gentle hands—soft but firm—closed around her arms and shoulders.
It was as if they expected her to run.
Neil's voice cut through the sudden tension. "I shall excuse myself now."
He turned without another glance, his strides measured, his presence vanishing with the soft click of the door behind him.
The moment he was gone, the maidens moved with quiet efficiency. Natalia's breath hitched as fingers began working at the laces of her torn clothes, peeling away the tattered fabric with practiced ease.
A flush crept up her neck.
They weren't rough, nor were they unkind. But their touch was intentional—this wasn't a request, it was protocol.
Before she knew it, they were guiding her toward a grand, ivory bathtub, steam rising in delicate tendrils from the water. The scent of vanilla and rum curled in the air, thick and intoxicating.
Natalia hesitated at the edge.
One of the maidens—Agatha—tilted her head. "Your Highness?"
A beat passed before Natalia finally stepped in, the heat licking at her skin as she sank into the water.
A soft, unbidden moan slipped past her lips. "Mmm..."
"How does the water feel, Your Highness?" Agatha asked, standing over her with an almost motherly air.
Natalia exhaled, her body melting into the warmth. "Lovely." A small, contented smile tugged at her lips.
Agatha nodded, pleased. "I'm glad." Then, with quiet precision, they began.
The maidens moved in unison, their hands gliding over her body, working away the filth and exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin.
They started at her legs, their touch firm yet reverent, scrubbing away the remnants of dirt and dried blood. The washcloth traveled up her torso, circling her shoulders and neck, the fabric whisper-soft against her skin.
As they worked through her hair, the scent of the shampoo filled the air—something rich and floral, yet crisp, like a memory she couldn't quite place.
Fingers massaged her scalp, unraveling the tangles with slow, deliberate motions.
A sigh slipped past her lips.
For the first time since she'd awoken in this place, she let her eyes drift shut.
For the first time, she allowed herself to breathe.
---
The warm water and the maidens' careful ministrations lulled Natalia into a state of deep relaxation. Her muscles, taut from days of fear and exhaustion, slowly unwound beneath their touch.
The weight pressing on her chest seemed to lift—if only for a moment.
A soft sigh escaped her lips. This almost feels… normal.
But the moment was fleeting.
After ten minutes of blissful respite, the maidens resumed their task, rinsing away the last traces of soap and suds. One of them handed her a plush, embroidered towel, which she wrapped around herself as they guided her toward the grand wardrobe.
Natalia's fingers curled into the fabric, her gaze darting between the elegant garments they pulled forth. The dress they presented was unlike anything she'd ever worn.
A gown of Haven's white, its undertones kissed with soft gold. Delicate lace wrapped around the bodice, cinching at her waist before flowing into a cascade of layered silk. It was undeniably regal, reminiscent of the Victorian era—high collars, corseted waists, the embodiment of grace and power.
The maidens worked swiftly, their movements precise as they dressed her. The lace tightened around her torso, snug but not suffocating. Finally, a pair of sturdy, brown leather boots adorned her feet, a practical contrast to the gown's ethereal beauty.
Then, as one of the maidens reached for the necklace at her throat, Natalia's hand shot up, covering it instinctively.
"No—please," she said, her voice firmer than she intended. "I'd like to keep this. Thank you."
Silence hung in the air for a beat.
Her fingers brushed over the pendant, tracing its worn edges. The weight of it against her skin was familiar, grounding.
A flood of memories crashed over her.
Her grandmother's warm laughter. The scent of freshly made exquisite "Krovnyi Morozhenoe"
(Кровный Мороженое)
"Blood Frost"
A rich, velvety dessert made from the finest blood plasma, infused with hints of dark chocolate and a touch of frosty mint. Served chilled, in delicate, gemstone-encrusted goblets.
The way the old woman would tuck a loose strand of Natalia's brown hair—the very same shade they shared—behind her ear, calling her "my little flame."
Duchess Paloma.
The only one who ever truly understood her.
She had given Natalia this pendant before she passed, placing it around her neck with trembling fingers. She hadn't taken it off since.
The maidens exchanged a glance, but they did not argue. Instead, they adorned her wrists with delicate bangles and rings, each bearing the crescent moon—a symbol of the Lycans.
Natalia barely noticed.
Her gaze had drifted to the mirror.
And when she saw her reflection, her breath caught in her throat.
A jagged, C-shaped gash marred her left cheek, curving from her temple down to her nose. It was fresh, angry, a cruel reminder of what had been done to her.
Her stomach twisted.
That wound—it wasn't just flesh and blood. It was a
brand, a scar carved into her skin by the very creatures now dressing her like their queen.
Natalia's chest tightened. Her vision blurred.
But she blinked back the tears, swallowing hard.
She wouldn't break.
Not here.
Not now.
---
The maidens reached for the makeup kit, but Natalia's hand shot out, stopping them.
"I can do it myself," she said, her voice firm yet polite.
They hesitated for a moment before nodding in unison, stepping back into a semi-circle behind her. Natalia picked up the small, ornate case, her fingers steady as she selected a shade that matched her skin tone. With careful strokes, she worked to conceal the fresh gash on her cheek, the brutal reminder of her captivity. The wound was healing, but seeing it reflected in the mirror made her stomach twist.
As she finished, Agatha stepped forward, holding a delicate white veil between her hands.
Natalia's brows furrowed. "What's this for?"
Agatha's expression remained serene. "It is tradition, Your Highness. You will soon grow accustomed to our ways."
Natalia hesitated, unsure whether she wanted to embrace their customs. But she was exhausted—mentally, emotionally. Fighting this battle would serve no purpose, not now. So she simply nodded, allowing Agatha to drape the soft fabric over her head.
She turned back to the mirror. The veil framed her face, lending her an air of mystery—ethereal, untouchable. Behind her, Agatha smiled, admiration flickering in her gaze.
"You look breathtaking, My Queen," she whispered.
Natalia's lips curled into a faint, ghost-like smile. But her eyes—her eyes betrayed her. The light in them had dimmed, the fire that once burned so brightly now reduced to embers. The reflection before her was no longer her own.
Her gaze dropped, unwilling to face the stranger in the glass.
She wasn't truly happy. How could she be? The beauty surrounding her—the opulent gown, the delicate lace, the sweet scent of perfumed oils—felt hollow. A cruel mockery of everything she had lost.
Agatha's words, though meant to reassure, only deepened the ache in Natalia's chest. She was a pawn in a game she didn't understand, forced into a role that wasn't hers.
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
Neil entered, his eyes scanning her appearance. For a fleeting moment, something flickered across his face—something unreadable. Different. But just as quickly, it was gone, pushed aside beneath the usual veil of indifference.
Agatha stepped away as Neil extended his arm.
"Come," he said simply.
Natalia placed her hand lightly on his elbow, her touch hesitant. And with that, they began their descent down the grand staircase, the weight of the unknown pressing down on her with every step.
---
Neil's gaze swept over Natalia, taking in the sight of her dressed in elegant Lycan attire. The way the fabric hugged her form, the way the veil framed her delicate features—she looked... different.
Beautiful.
"You look ravishing, Your Majesty," he said, his voice low and smooth.
Natalia didn't respond. She didn't even acknowledge his words.
Neil only smiled, his lips curling slightly as he looked away. She's always like this. But for a moment—just a fleeting second—something stirred within him. Something unfamiliar. It had been years since he'd felt anything remotely close to this. And he wasn't sure he liked it.
So, as always, he pushed the feeling aside. There was no time for distractions.
At the base of the grand staircase, a tall figure awaited them.
Evans.
His dark eyes locked onto Natalia the moment she descended. He bowed low, his voice deep, steady.
"It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty."
Neil made the introduction smoothly. "Your Highness, this is Evans, our kingdom's first-ranking warrior."
Evans took Natalia's hand, bringing it to his lips in a respectful brush of his knuckles. His gaze never wavered from hers, studying her, assessing.
Natalia returned his stare with quiet intensity, offering only the faintest hint of a smile.
A beat of silence passed before Evans turned slightly to Neil, his voice dropping into a whisper.
"Is she... mute?"
Neil let out a quiet chuckle, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Oh, no, dear Evans. Our dear Natalia here is quite... voluble. She talks a great deal, I assure you."
Evans arched a skeptical brow.
He took a step closer to her, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed the air around her. Natalia stiffened, her confusion deepening.
"All clear," Evans murmured to Neil, his voice barely above a breath. "But she doesn't smell like a vampire. Are you sure she's one of them? "
Neil's expression remained unreadable, but his tone carried a quiet edge.
"Yes. She is. She's the last child of the Romanov Empire."
Something inside Natalia twisted at those words.
The last.
The weight of it settled over her like a cold, heavy shroud.
And yet... she still didn't belong. Not here, not among them.
A lump rose in her throat as realization set in like a cruel whisper—she wasn't even a vampire. That truth had haunted her for years, but standing here, surrounded by powerful Lycans who were supposed to be her enemies, it struck her differently.
She was nothing but an outcast.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The sharp sting barely registered against the numbness settling over her.
Then, a faint, warm trickle.
Natalia released her grip, glancing down at her palm. Blood. A thin line of crimson beading against her pale skin.
She quickly curled her fingers over it, hiding her hand behind her back before anyone could notice.
---
Evans bowed toward Natalia once more before turning to Neil. "I'll leave you to it, then." With that, he strode up the staircase, his presence fading into the grand halls.
Neil turned back to Natalia, offering his arm once more. She hesitated before taking it, her fingers barely grazing his sleeve. There was no comfort in his presence—only uncertainty.
They walked in silence, the air thick with something unspoken. As they approached a set of towering double doors, Neil abruptly stopped. His grip on her arm slackened, his gaze fixed on the door as if seeing something she couldn't.
Natalia frowned, nudging him gently. "What's wrong?"
Neil blinked, his expression smoothing over like glass. "Nothing," he said, too quickly. "You shouldn't concern yourself."
Before she could question him further, a warm yet aged voice called out from inside the room.
"Neil, dear Neil..."
The voice was like a whisper from another time—gentle, familiar, and laced with something unplaceable.
Neil's head snapped toward the sound, and for the first time, Natalia saw his features soften. He let go of her arm and turned, a genuine smile ghosting his lips.
"Auntie Ruth," he murmured. "I wasn't expecting you."
From the shadows of the corridor, an elderly woman emerged with a grace that defied her years. Silver strands wove through her dark hair, her eyes crinkling with warmth as she took Neil's hands in her own.
"Oh, you smell lovely!" she teased, drawing him into a brief embrace. "What's the occasion?"
Neil chuckled, though something in his posture remained tense.
As Ruth turned her gaze toward Natalia, the warmth in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something unreadable.
"Oh dear," she murmured. "She's stunning. An angel."
But then, as if realization struck, her expression tightened.
"Who is she?" Her voice lowered, a thread of suspicion running through it. "And why is she here?"
Natalia swallowed, suddenly feeling small under Ruth's scrutinizing stare.
Neil exhaled, his voice measured. "She is—"
But Ruth cut him off.
"She doesn't smell Lycan."
The room fell deathly silent.
Then, her gaze drifted toward the grand doors, and her entire demeanor shifted. Her shoulders sagged, and a deep, sorrowful sigh escaped her lips.
"...Not again," she whispered.
Natalia felt a sharp jolt of unease. Not again?
Neil stiffened, his face draining of color. For a moment, he looked as if he'd been struck.
"We have to," he finally said, his voice strained, "until we find the right one."
Ruth turned away, blinking rapidly as if holding back tears. "You always say that," she muttered. "You always say that..."
Then, without another word, she stepped forward and
took Natalia's hand.
Her grip was warm but trembling. "You're a beautiful girl," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry things came to this."
Then she let go.
Natalia barely had time to react before Ruth turned and walked away, her silhouette disappearing into the halls.
Her last words hung in the air like a curse.
To be continued...