VERA’S POV

“I brought the dress, Your Highness.”

The voice yanked me out of sleep like a splash of ice water.

I sat up instantly, heart still hammering from the tail end of some half-formed nightmare. I wondered if that failed awakening was a dream or the reality. The memory of power burning beneath my skin felt too real to dismiss.

The moonlight filtered through the carved obsidian lattice windows, scattering silver shapes across the marble floor. My chambers smelled faintly of jasmine and aged leather, calm, expensive, regal.

Too regal.

I rubbed my face, still adjusting to this new existence. “What time is it?”

“Past second bell,” my attendant, Maren, replied gently, stepping forward with that practiced vampire silence. “You’re expected in the council chamber. It’s… a mock debate.”

“A what?” I sat up straighter, fully awake now.

She lifted a silver hanger with today’s chosen dress, sleek midnight blue silk embroidered with silver threads, more formality than comfort. I stared at it like it might bite me.

“They’re waiting,” she said quietly, those pale eyes holding just a hint of sympathy.

I let out a slow, panicked breath. “Of course they are.”

“Your Highness,” Maren said as she helped me dress, “if I may, the council can be challenging.”

“Challenging how?”

“They’ll test more than your political knowledge. They’ll test your resolve. Your ability to think under pressure.” She fastened the collar with practiced efficiency. “Some of them still question whether you belong here.”

I brushed my hair back into a simple braid, ignoring the trembling in my hands. “And what do you think?”

“I think,” she said carefully, “that you have your mother’s fire. And your father’s steel. That combination terrifies them.”

“What even is a mock debate?” I muttered, pacing near the wardrobe.

“An exercise, Your Highness. To test your decision-making. Your composure. Your ability to hold your own among vampires who’ve had centuries to perfect their political games.”

“So… trial by political fire.”

Maren gave a sympathetic smile. “Pretty much.”

I nodded grimly. Perhaps this had something to do with my failed awakening. But I still couldn’t figure out if it was real or if it was a dream.

The hallway leading to the council chamber stretched forever. Every step echoed too loudly despite my attempts at vampire silence. I passed armored guards who bowed with polite stiffness. Servants carrying scrolls. Whispered greetings.

I nodded where appropriate. Smiled when necessary. Inside, I was absolutely unraveling.

The massive doors opened with a resonant groan.

Every eye turned to me, ancient, calculating, predatory.

Eight council members sat at the crescent table, each a power player in their own right. Some bore the weight of centuries, others were relatively young by vampire standards. None of them looked welcoming. King Aldric sat at the center throne, arms crossed, face unreadable.

I stepped inside, spine straight despite the tightness in my chest.

“Princess Vera,” one of the councilors greeted, a graying man named Alrik whose voice could cut silk. “Let us begin.”

“No pleasantries?” I asked, taking my designated seat.

“This isn’t a tea party, Princess,” Councilor Vellan replied, his tone falsely cordial. “We have business to discuss.”

The first scenario was straightforward, or so it seemed.

A territorial dispute between two neighboring covens. Blood supply dwindling. Tensions high. One coven accused the other of illegal expansion into their hunting grounds.

“What do you do, Princess?” Vellan asked, leaning forward slightly.

“I’d call for both coven leaders to meet under a neutral banner,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “Gather firsthand reports. Cross-examine facts before any judgments.”

“Neutral banner?” Alrik arched a brow. “You mean the Crown?”

“Yes. The Crown should act as mediator.”

“And if both refuse?”

“Then we press for accountability through—”

“Through what, exactly?” Councilor Hiran interrupted, his ancient eyes gleaming with something like amusement. “We don’t have the forces to police every territorial spat. You’d drain resources chasing your idealism.”

I clenched my jaw. “So the solution is to let covens war with each other?”

“No,” Hiran said, leaning back in his chair, “but the solution isn’t fantasy diplomacy either. These are vampires, Princess. We don’t negotiate—we dominate.”

Murmurs passed around the table.

Another councilor, Lady Meran, tapped her quill thoughtfully. “You’re passionate, Princess. But passion doesn’t prevent bloodshed. It often causes it.”

“I’m not suggesting we let things slide—”

“Then say what you would do directly, without circling,” she pressed, her voice sharp. “In the real world, hesitation gets vampires killed.”

I felt the trap closing around me like a vice.

“The real world?” I shot back. “You mean the world where vampires hide in shadows and feed on humans like parasites?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“Careful, Princess,” Vellan said softly. “Some might interpret that as… disloyalty.”

“I’m not being disloyal. I’m being honest.”

“Honesty,” Alrik mused, “is often a luxury we can’t afford.”

My mouth opened, but hesitation held the words hostage. Every response felt like stepping into quicksand.

King Aldric finally raised a hand, silencing the room.

“Enough.”

Silence fell like a sword through the air.

“She’s learning,” he said calmly, those ancient eyes studying me. “And that’s what today is for.”

“But with respect, Your Majesty,” Alrik began, “learning should not come at the cost of national policy. Perhaps the Princess would benefit from… assistance.”

I bristled. “I don’t need—”

“Assistance,” Hiran cut in smoothly, “not because you’re weak, Princess. But because being new to our world means you don’t yet understand the weight of it.”

“And we can’t afford delay,” Meran added. “The world moves fast. Our enemies move faster.”

“What enemies?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“The ones who would see us extinct,” Vellan replied. “Other supernatural factions. Human hunters. Rival covens who would challenge our authority.”

Aldric didn’t react, but I could feel his attention like a physical weight.

I looked to him, uncertain, uneasy, but forcing myself to stand tall.

“You think I’m incapable,” I said, facing the council. “Because I didn’t grow up here. Because I’m half-human. I get it.”

They didn’t answer, but I could see it in their eyes—the doubt, the calculation, the barely concealed disdain.

“But I’m here now,” I continued, my voice growing stronger. “And if that means I have to take twice as many lessons and fall flat on my face ten times just to rise stronger on the eleventh, then I’ll do it.”

I turned to my father.

“I’m ready to learn,” I said, steady despite the way my stomach turned. “If you believe I should have help, bring them in. I won’t argue.”

Aldric regarded me for a moment longer, those ancient eyes searching my face for something I couldn’t name.

Then he stood.

“Very well.”

He gestured toward the guards at the far end of the room.

“Send him in.”