Page 190 of The Vampire's Bride

Worry creases her brow, but she remains silent. As she settles in my arms, I send a silent prayer to the gods to watch over my bride.

CHAPTER 82

JULIET

Darkspire castle is the winter home of the royal court. The rest of the year is spent in the capital of Alyria. With thick obsidian stone walls and high towers that seem to stretch to the clouds, it appears to have been built more for defense than aesthetics.

The great hall is a cavernous expanse of dark stone and shadow. Flickering torches cast eerie shadows across the floor. My gaze travels over the high arched ceilings and the intricate tapestries depicting ancient battles. Crimson banners hang from the walls with the royal family crest, adding to the oppressive grandeur of the space.

The court is filled with Vampires of all ranks, their faces pale and sharp, their eyes glinting with intrigue as we enter the throne room.

Valaric stands at my side, his arm looped through mine. Dozens of eyes are fixed upon me, some with fascination and others disdain.

Hushed whispers rise up from the crowd as we wait to be announced.

“Sanishon,” a voice says.

“The Fallen Knight of the prophecy,” another speaks out.

“Shadow Blade,” someone else whispers nearby.

It seems the priests and priestesses of the old gods have been spreading their belief that we are part of the Lythyrian prophecy throughout their temples. I’m sure Prince Raine has been encouraging this as well. It’s the reason he wanted Valaric’s loyalty, believing it will lend strength to his voice among the High Council when it becomes known that Valaric supports him.

Although I’m uncomfortable being associated with this ancient prophecy, Damar pointed out that it may offer us more protection. There are very few people who would want to risk the wrath of the old gods by trying to harm us.

A Vampire wearing a tunic with the sigil of the Royal House of Blackthorne gestures to us as he loudly announces. “The Great House of Greyvale.”

Valaric walks beside me, my arm looped through his, and Lysander walks to my left. Damar stands on the other side of him, his shoulders set in a tense line as we make our way toward the raised dais at the front of the room.

My gaze is drawn to the three thrones at the center of the dais—each one carved from black stone, etched with glowing purple runes that remind me of the Ancient Gate. Prince Raine lounges upon the one on the left, his sharp features half-veiled by the soft glow of the torchlight.

The largest throne in the middle, where the king would sit, is oddly empty as is the one to the right of it. Damar had told us to expect the Queen’s throne would be vacant, as she rarely attends any official functions, but King Corvin was supposed to be here.

Dread trickles down my spine as I wonder if the king not attending today is some form of a statement—an ominous warning of some sort.

Concern flows across the bond, but Valaric quickly cuts it off, obviously not wanting to worry me.

The heavy doors behind the thrones swing open with a low groan that reverberates through the hall, followed by the echoing footsteps of two guards stepping forward, their dark armor glinting beneath the torchlight as they move.

They part to reveal a Vampire that can only be King Corvin. His posture is rigid, his expression carved from stone. Everyone falls completely silent as his sharp red eyes scan the hall, his mere presence commanding both fear and respect from the crowd without uttering a single word.

His hair, the same color as Raine’s, begins as a deep, fiery red at the roots but fades into silvery-white strands at the ends, cascading down to his shoulders. A large golden crown rests upon his brow, its intricate design drawing the eye to the centerpiece—a massive ruby the color of fresh blood.

The announcer gestures to us and then bows low to the king. “The Great House of Greyvale.”

The King’s gaze sweeps over the hall once more before settling upon me, his crimson eyes burning with an intensity that borders on hatred. They seem to pierce straight through me as he takes his throne.

My heart hammers as I fight against the instinct to lower my gaze and shrink under the oppressive weight of his disdain. Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin and meet his gaze evenly. I refuse to show him any fear.

Prince Raine’s lips twitch in amusement at my defiance, a glint of something almost like approval in his gaze.

As the High Lord of our House, Damar steps forward. “House Greyvale has added two new members to our Clan.” He gesturesto Lysander. “I present Lysander Winter, who shall henceforth be known as Lord Lysander Greyvale.”

It was agreed that Lysander would be presented first. Damar argued that since he is a Vampire, there would be little to no resistance from the royal court to accept his new title and status.

The king’s face remains expressionless, regal in its coldness, but there’s something there, just beneath the surface—a flicker of interest, almost like a recognition. “Lysander Winter,” he murmurs as he leans forward, studying every feature as if searching for something.

Lysander stands tall, unflinching under the scrutiny, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before. Color darkens his face as the king repeats the name marking him as the illegitimate son of a Vampire.

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