The corridor leading to the banquet hall was alive with color.

  Fresh flowers lined the polished stone walls—white lilies, midnight irises, and red moon-roses—all shimmering faintly under the sunlight pouring through tall, glass-carved windows. Soft curtains in pale gold drifted lightly with the morning breeze, casting wandering patches of light that danced at Joseph’s feet as he walked.

  Joseph adjusted his collar for perhaps the tenth time.

  The ceremonial coat he wore—deep midnight blue, embroidered with curling gold patterns—fit him perfectly… maybe a little too perfectly. The heavy gold epaulets resting on his shoulders marked him unmistakably as royalty, the Prince of the Vampire Kingdom. But the collar felt uncomfortably snug.

  He stopped by one of the long, arched windows. Sunlight poured in through the crystalline glass, scattering rainbow fragments across his uniform.

  Joseph inhaled slowly.

  He paused by one of the tall windows, letting the morning light brush across his face. His reflection glimmered faintly against the glass—stern, regal, but visibly fighting a small internal battle.

  “…Right. Deep breath.”

  He let out the air slowly, squared his shoulders, and nodded to himself.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  Even in the quiet, he felt the weight of the outfit he wore—

  The long sweeping coat of deep navy, embroidered in shimmering gold threads.

  The high, stern collar.

  The heavy cloak draped with tasseled golden epaulets signifying high rank.

  The dark red sash at his waist that somehow made him look even more like royalty than he was comfortable with.

  He tugged his collar slightly, trying to create distance between the fabric and his neck.

  “I swear this thing wants to choke me alive… Who designed this collar?”

  Social events… were not his specialty.

  After a final inhale, he straightened himself and walked forward.

  The corridor opened into the Banquet Hall, though the hall today looked nothing like a place for eating. It looked like a celebration—no, a festival.

  Tall red-and-gold banners hung from the vaulted ceiling.

  Golden chandeliers dripped with crystals that caught every flicker of candlelight.

  Dozens—no, hundreds—of guests filled the room, creating a soft storm of chatter and laughter.

  Joseph swallowed.

  Crowds.

  Not his thing.

  He stretched his collar again. “Why does this thing choke me more than demons do…?”

  He scanned the hall—and spotted two familiar faces on the far side.

  David and Thomas.

  Joseph lifted a hand to wave. “David! Thomas—!”

  But the noise swallowed his voice. Both men looked the other way, completely missing him.

  Joseph sighed and started pushing through the crowd.

  A passing nobleman suddenly grabbed Joseph’s arm.

  “Prince Joseph! Good morning! An honor—”

  “Yes, hello—thank you—sorry—urgent matter—excuse me—”

  Joseph politely but desperately wiggled free.

  Another lady leaned in with a full curtsey.

  “Prince Joseph, might I request—”

  “Yes, yes, we’ll talk later, I promise, I swear on… uh… royal paperwork, now please let me pass—”

  He kept slipping between groups, dodging enthusiastic nobles like a hunted deer.

  Then at last he finally broke through the wall of people and exhaled like a drowning man reaching the surface.

  And then—

  Something in the air shifted.

  Joseph felt it before he saw her.

  His gaze drifted toward the grand entrance at the front of the hall—

  —and time slowed.

  His eyes stopped.

  A set of sheers, pale curtains swayed gently as a figure stepped through them. Her silhouette appeared first: graceful, feminine, perfectly poised. She lifted a hand, tucking a loose curl behind her ear as the sunlight framed her form like a halo.

  A woman.

  No—Amayra.

  She emerged from behind the curtains, and the hall’s noise seemed to dim around Joseph.

  Her gown was breathtaking—royal blue velvet flowing like liquid night, embroidered with silver-white patterns that shimmered like frost. The sleeves draped in soft, cool blue folds, fluttering with every step. Her hair, lightly curled now, framed her face in soft waves, giving her an effortlessly elegant yet warm aura.

  Joseph forgot to breathe.

  What the…

  How can someone look like that this early in the morning?

  She scanned the hall, looking for someone.

  When her gaze finally found him—

  She smiled.

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  A small, warm, genuine smile.

  Joseph's heart tripped over itself for a moment.

  Amayra lifted her hand and waved.

  Joseph, still stunned, managed a wave back.

  She walked toward him, her steps soft but confident.

  “Good morning, Joseph,” she said, her voice gentle but clear.

  “Hi—Good… morning.” He cursed internally at the pause.

  Silence stretched between them for a heartbeat.

  Joseph cleared his throat. “Uh… you look… good.”

  Amayra chuckled softly. “The maids made a big fuss dressing me up. I told them I don’t need all this. I thought fancy clothes wouldn’t look good on me.”

  Joseph cut in, unable to stop himself.

  “No, no—It’s good they insisted. You… really look gorgeous today.”

  Her cheeks tinted pink instantly.

  She looked away for a second. “Thank you… You also look very… you know… handsome.”

  Joseph nodded awkwardly.

  Silence fell again—

  awkward, warm, fluttering silence.

  Amayra finally spoke, “Where are the others? Did you meet them?”

  “Oh! Yeah—saw them earlier, but, uh… reaching them feels like battling a crowd of angry werewolves.”

  She laughed lightly.

  But before Joseph could continue, a man stepped into their space.

  A noble.

  Too nicely dressed.

  Too confidently smirking.

  “Hello, young miss,” he said directly to Amayra. “Are you alone? I could accompany—”

  Amayra stiffened, clearly uncomfortable, panic flickering across her eyes.

  “I—I—um—”

  Joseph’s smile faded as he saw her discomfort.

  He stepped closer—close enough that his arm brushed hers—and placed a firm, protective hand around her waist.

  “I apologize, mister,” Joseph said smoothly. “But she already has someone with her today.”

  The man scoffed. “And who exactly are y—?”

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  His eyes widened.

  “Oh—Prince!” He bowed so fast he almost broke his spine. “My deepest apologies! I didn’t realize she was your… fiancée!”

  Joseph blinked.

  “What—no, wait—she’s not—”

  But the man was gone before the sentence could escape.

  Joseph muttered under his breath,

  “Great. Fantastic. Why does everyone always jump to that conclusion?”

  Amayra’s entire face was bright red.

  Joseph noticed. “Why is your face so red? Are you okay?”

  “I—I’m fine. I think I… need some fresh air…” She tried to turn away.

  But her heel caught in her gown.

  “AH—!”

  She stumbled forward—

  Joseph reacted instantly.

  He caught her around the waist, holding her firmly, her face inches from his. The world seemed to freeze for a heartbeat. Her curls brushed against his cheek. Her breath warmed his skin.

  Their eyes met.

  For a moment, neither spoke.

  Then Joseph broke.

  He burst into laughter. “HAHAHA—oh man—”

  Amayra blinked at him, confused. “What? Why are you laughing?”

  Joseph tried to hold it in but failed miserably.

  “It’s—haha—it’s just—this reminds me of the first time we met! You fell exactly like this back then too!”

  Amayra covered her face with one hand.

  “Oh my god… are you serious, remembering it now?”

  Joseph steadied her on her feet, still smiling.

  And for the first time that morning…

  he felt the tension in his chest ease.

  Joseph and Amayra were still recovering from their tiny embarrassing moment—both smiling, trying not to look directly into each other’s eyes—when a cold voice floated from behind them.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Both of them flinched.

  Joseph actually jumped, grabbing the front of his own ceremonial coat as if someone had stabbed him with a hairpin.

  “WHAT—!? DAVID!? Why do you walk like a ghost!? Give footsteps! Warn people!” he gasped.

  Amayra pressed a hand to her chest. “Gods, David… don’t do that!”

  David blinked. “I literally just walked here.”

  “You materialized here,” Joseph shot back dramatically, still holding his chest. “There was no walking. No sound. Just YOU suddenly popping out of nowhere!”

  David rolled his eyes. “Relax, drama prince. I just asked a question. What’s so funny? That’s all!”

  Joseph cleared his throat, trying to reclaim dignity. “Nothing. Just… reminiscing old memories.”

  He glanced at Amayra with an unmistakably teasing smile.

  Amayra shot him a glare that promised two things:

  She was definitely embarrassed a little. She was absolutely going to punch him later.

  Thomas arrived beside David, folding his arms, observing the tension between the two young adults with an amused fatherly sigh.

  “It’s good to be young,” Thomas said, as if he were watching two kids flirting instead of grown royal figures.

  David immediately cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, old man wisdom—BUT—can we talk about something serious? Do you know people in this castle STILL think I am a human!?”

  Joseph blinked. “…Wait, they WHAT?”

  “It’s actually good if they don’t know,” Thomas said, tone light but carrying weight. “If they find out you’re a werewolf, things may get… complicated.”

  He spoke casually—he wasn’t ruining the mood—but his words held the heaviness of truth.

  A reminder. A warning.

  Joseph’s smile faded a little.

  The topic pierced him—the hidden history between the two races.

  David looked down for a moment, the corner of his jaw tightening.

  And Joseph finally asked the question that had been living quietly in the blind spots of his broken memories.

  “David,” Joseph said softly. “Is there something I still don’t remember? I know vampires and werewolves aren’t exactly… friends. But I don’t remember why. And your dad—he was furious last time he called you when he came to know you were with me. What happened? What… did I forget?”

  The air between them grew still.

  David’s expression shifted—pain, guilt, something unspoken flickering through his eyes.

  Thomas took a slow breath, as if deciding whether to interfere or let the truth come out.

  Amayra’s fingers subtly brushed Joseph’s sleeve—supportive, silent.

  But before David could answer—

  The atmosphere of the hall changed.

  A wave of silence rippled through the crowd.

  Conversations died mid-sentence.

  Fans stopped fluttering.

  Chairs stilled.

  Someone dropped a glass, and no one even looked.

  Joseph, Amayra, David, and Thomas all turned toward the source.

  The crowd was parting—slowly, respectfully, fearfully—creating an aisle straight toward the grand doors.

  Amayra whispered, “Joseph… I think they’re here.”

  Joseph’s heartbeat deepened—not in fear, but in instinct.

  The two figures who stepped into the hall commanded instant attention.

  The ones this entire ceremony was built around.

  His elder half-brother.

  And his eldest half-sister.

  The pure blood heirs of the Vampire Throne before him.

  Born from another mother.

  Raised in royal politics.

  Trained for war, diplomacy, and rule.

  The ones who never showed themselves casually.

  The ones whose names carried equal weight as his father’s…

  …and the born of the first Wife of Lord William II.

  The hall felt colder.

  Nobles bowed deeply.

  Servants nearly pressed their foreheads to the floor.

  Even high-ranking generals went stiff.

  Joseph’s siblings stepped in—tall, regal, powerful.

  And as they approached—

  Joseph…

  Joseph felt an unfamiliar storm rising in his chest.

  Because this moment— was not ordinary.

  This was the moment his past, present, and throne collided.

  To be Continued...

  Of blood.

  Of loyalty.

  Of who truly belongs near the throne.

  Some were masks.

  And some arrivals… were always going to change everything.

  where power speaks louder than titles,

  where silence can be as dangerous as rebellion,

  and where the past is no longer willing to stay buried.

  Things are about to move very fast from here.

  — Ak31