[Tessa's POV]
"Arms up."
I raise my arms for the hundredth time while the seamstress pins another layer of fabric. The ceremonial robes are ancient—older than most vampire houses, woven with threads of silver and midnight blue that shimmer with embedded magic. They're also heavy enough to crush a lesser vampire.
"How much longer?" My shoulders are screaming.
"We're almost finished with the outer mantle, my lady." The head seamstress steps back, examining her work with a critical eye. "Just another hour for final adjustments."
Another hour. I've been standing here for three already.
The door opens. Sebastian enters, his silver eyes scanning the room with automatic efficiency before landing on me. On the ridiculous amount of fabric weighing me down.
"Security check," he says, but his lips twitch. "Making sure no one's smuggling weapons in the ceremonial robes."
"Very funny." I try to shift my weight. The robes don't budge. "Find any?"
"Just excessive amounts of embroidery." He moves closer, examining the intricate patterns worked into the fabric. "This is what you're wearing tomorrow?"
"This is the lightweight version. The actual coronation robes are worse."
His expression shifts. "Worse how?"
"Heavier. More layers. Apparently tradition requires me to look like I'm wearing half the treasury." I attempt a shrug. The robes make it impossible. "I'm pretty sure I'll need someone to carry me down the aisle at this rate."
"I volunteer."
The words are immediate. Automatic. And the way he's looking at me makes breathing difficult.
"Sebastian—"
"I'm serious." He's closer now, and I catch that scent of leather and night air that's become dangerously familiar. "You need someone to carry you, I'm your vampire."
Heat floods my cheeks. Before I can respond, the door opens again.
Soren. Looking better than yesterday, but moving with more strength. He takes in the scene—me buried in ceremonial robes, Sebastian standing too close, the charged silence.
"Silas sent me to review tomorrow's protocols," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "But I can come back—"
"No, stay." I need the distraction. Need something other than Sebastian's steady gaze making my pulse race. "Help me figure out how to walk in this thing without falling on my face."
Soren approaches, his eyes traveling over the elaborate robes. "That's... impressive."
"That's one word for it." I try to take a step. The fabric pools around my feet. "I made a joke about needing someone to carry me. Sebastian volunteered."
Something flashes across Soren's face. "Did he?"
"Obviously." Sebastian's tone is mild, but there's steel underneath. "Someone needs to make sure she doesn't collapse under the weight of tradition."
"Funny. I was thinking the same thing." Soren's good hand rests on his hip. "I'd be happy to assist."
The tension in the room thickens. Both men watching each other. Both watching me. The seamstresses have gone very quiet, suddenly fascinated by their needle work.
"I'm sure I'll manage," I say weakly.
"You shouldn't have to manage." Sebastian doesn't look at Soren. "That's what we're here for."
"We?" There's an edge in Soren's voice now. "I wasn't aware you spoke for both of us, Enforcer."
"I speak for those who actually support her." Sebastian's eyes are cold. "Present company included. Mostly."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning some of us have been supporting her from the beginning. Others are playing catch-up."
Soren's jaw clenches. "At least I'm trying—"
"Enough." My voice cuts through before this escalates. "Both of you. Out."
Sebastian's eyebrows rise. "Tessa—"
"Out. Now. Before I use my new heir powers to throw you both through a wall."
Soren leaves first, his expression unreadable. Sebastian lingers a moment longer, something like concern in his silver eyes, before following.
The door closes, and I hear soft, friendly laughter behind it. I sag against the fitting platform.
"Men," the head seamstress mutters, returning to her work. "Always making everything complicated."
I don't disagree.
The rehearsal chamber is breathtaking.
Ancient stone carved with symbols that predate written language. The floor is inlaid with silver that traces a path from the entrance to the raised dais where Silas waits. Torches burn with cold fire that doesn't smoke, casting everything in ethereal light.
"The coronation follows the old paths," Silas explains, his voice echoing. "You'll enter from the west, walk the silver road while reciting the oath of House Nyx. At each marker, you'll stop and accept power from the land itself."
"What does that feel like?"
"Like being struck by lightning while drowning." He smiles at my expression. "But you'll survive. Nyx blood always survives."
Comforting.
The rehearsal begins. I practice the walk—slow, measured steps while reciting words in a language so old I barely understand them. At each marker, I stop and Silas describes what will happen. Power entering through my feet, traveling up my spine, settling into my bones like liquid fire.
"You'll feel like you're being torn apart and remade," he says calmly. "This is normal."
"Normal," I repeat numbly.
Sebastian stands at attention near the dais, positioned where the Enforcer traditionally stands during coronations. His silver eyes track my every movement, watching for threats that don't exist yet.
Soren is positioned among the noble witnesses, representing the houses that have sworn support. He watches too, but differently. Like he's memorizing this. Like he's afraid to blink and miss something.
"Now the final portion." Father gestures me forward. "The Witness."
"The what?"
"At the moment of coronation, the heir must choose someone to stand with them as they accept the full weight of power. Traditionally, it's a spouse or blood family. Someone to anchor you to this world while magic tries to consume you."
My stomach drops. "One person?"
"One person." He looks at me steadily. "The choice matters. Whoever you choose becomes bound to you in ways deeper than blood. They'll feel your pain, share your burden, stand as your equal in power if not in title."
I look at Sebastian. Then at Soren. Both of them staring back.
"Who do I choose?" The question comes out small.
"That's not my decision." Silas's expression is kind but firm. "This is the first choice you make as heir. Choose wisely. Choose honestly."
The rehearsal continues, but I'm barely present. My mind is racing, heart pounding against my ribs.
Sebastian, who's been there from the beginning. Who caught me when I fell. Who sat outside the preparation circle because I was afraid. Who looks at me like I'm something precious and dangerous and worth protecting at any cost.
Or Soren, who destroyed me and rebuilt himself trying to make amends. Who took an arrow meant for me. Who showed me yesterday what partnership could look like. Who whispered "I love you" while we were tangled together in the dark.
One choice. One person.
And I have no idea who to choose.
"Tessa." Silas's voice pulls me back. "Are you listening?"
"Yes." Lie. "Sorry. Continue."
But I'm not listening. Can't listen. Because tomorrow I have to make a choice that will define everything that comes after.
And both men are watching. Waiting.
Hoping they'll be chosen.
The rehearsal ends. I walk through the motions, say the right words, stand in the right places. But my mind is elsewhere.
Tomorrow I become heir.
Tomorrow I bind myself to someone.
Tomorrow I choose.
And gods help me, I don't know which choice will destroy me more—picking one, or walking away from both.