The moment Kaedan saw Ariaxa’s name on the rebel kill list, something inside him snapped.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t rage.
He simply turned to Riven and said:
“Lock down the entire palace. No one leaves. No one enters. Hunt them.”
Riven saluted sharply. “By your command.”
Kaedan pointed at Ariaxa, voice like iron dipped in ice. “She does not step beyond the harem door. If she fights you, bind her. If she tries to run, drag her.”
Ariaxa stiffened. “I am not—”
“You are not safe,” Kaedan growled, stepping close enough that she felt the heat of his breath. “And until I know who’s hunting you, you’ll obey.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw, something primal twisting behind his eyes.
“Take her,” he ordered.
Guards swept toward her instantly. Not gently.
“Wait—!” Ariaxa struggled, heart pounding. “Kaedan, listen—”
“Go,” he snapped, turning away so she would not see the panic he couldn’t hide.
But she saw anyway.
She always saw.
***
The palace plunged into chaos.
Iron gates crashed shut.
Magic seals flared.
Distant horns sounded — warning of a breach.
Servants scattered like frightened birds while armored guards stormed through the hallways, weapons drawn.
Ariaxa was shoved bodily into the harem wing. The heavy doors slammed behind her and locked with three bolts.
The impact shook the floor.
Slaves huddled against walls, trembling.
Tynia cursed under her breath. “We’re trapped.”
Mirel grabbed Ariaxa’s hands, eyes wide with terror. “What did Kaedan see? What did they want?”
Ariaxa tried to steady her voice. “A list. I was on it.”
Mirel’s face drained of color.
“They want you dead?”
Ariaxa swallowed, throat tight. “Maybe.”
A voice drifted from the far corner, smooth as venom:
“No,” Seren sang softly, stepping into view. “They want her alive.”
Everyone froze.
Seren leaned against a pillar, her white silk stained with something darker. She stroked the scratches on her arms almost lovingly.
“Rebels don’t kill symbols,” she murmured. “Not when they can parade them.”
Ariaxa glared. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know enough,” Seren whispered, tilting her head. “They want the Sun Princess. They want the prophecy I told you about. And if Kaedan dies out there…”
Her smile split wider.
“…the nobles will use you as their prize for whoever takes the throne.”
A shiver crawled down Ariaxa’s spine.
Mirel shook her head violently. “Don’t listen to her! Seren wants chaos. She feeds on it.”
But Seren only giggled, the sound eerie against the stone walls.
“The Blood Moon rises tonight,” she said, as if reciting poetry. “And under the Blood Moon, vampires lose control.” Her eyes slid to Ariaxa, glowing with something unhinged. “Tell me, little Sun Princess… who will save you when the palace decides you’re a liability?”
Ariaxa opened her mouth to answer—
The ground trembled.
A deafening crash thundered from the outer corridor.
Slaves screamed and scattered.
Tynia clutched Ariaxa’s arm. “That wasn’t guards. That wasn’t storms. Rebels breached the wing!”
Another crash.
Then another.
Then a scream — choked, cut off abruptly.
Mirel grabbed the nearest group of younger slaves. “Move! Now! Run!”
Torches shook violently as Ariaxa and the others fled deeper into the harem’s inner tunnels — a maze of velvet halls, gold screens, private alcoves, and shadowed corners.
The harem wasn’t built for defense.
It was built for display.
And tonight, it became a deathtrap.
***
The Blood Moon’s crimson glow bled through stained-glass windows, spilling red light onto the marble. Every vampire slave’s pupils dilated, instincts sharpened to a razor edge.
The air itself tasted metallic.
Ariaxa ran down the corridor, breaths sharp and uneven. Behind her, the harem doors shuddered violently as someone — or something — pounded against them.
“Faster!” Tynia hissed. “They’re coming!”
Ariaxa stumbled over a fallen cushion, nearly crashing into a gold screen.
Mirel grabbed her elbow. “Stay with us, Ariaxa—”
The corridor ahead erupted in screams.
Slaves came sprinting back the way they’d come.
“Rebels!” one cried. “They’re in the inner hall!”
The harem dissolved into chaos.
Some slaves fled to servants’ passageways.
Some dove behind furniture.
Some simply froze in terror.
Ariaxa’s heart hammered as she ducked behind a velvet column, trying to see through the crimson-filtered shadows.
Footsteps.
Soft.
Controlled.
Predatory.
Her pulse spiked.
Tynia shoved her. “Run. Now.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“Ariaxa, go!”
A crash sounded behind them — a stone pillar splitting under a blade.
Ariaxa sprinted deeper into the harem wing, weaving through curtains and alcoves. Her bare feet slapped against cold marble.
Voices echoed:
“Find the girl!”
“She has the Sun blood.”
“Bring her alive—kill the rest!”
Ariaxa’s lungs burned.
Her vision blurred.
Every corner felt like a trap waiting to snap shut.
She reached the central bathing chamber — steam rising from the shimmering pools, mist distorting columns.
The room was empty.
Silent.
Too silent.
She backed toward the far wall, chest heaving.
Then—
A hissing whisper sliced the air:
“Found you.”
Ariaxa spun.
A masked figure lunged from behind a column, dagger flashing under the Blood Moon’s glow.
She gasped, stumbling backward, hand flying up to shield herself—
But then the rebel’s glove caught the moonlight.
A crest glimmered.
A symbol she knew by heart.
The golden sunburst sigil of Elyndor.
Her kingdom.
Her lineage.
Her father’s crest.
Her people.
Engraved into the leather of the man trying to kill her.
Ariaxa’s blood froze.
“No,” she whispered, voice breaking.
The rebel lunged again, dagger aimed at her heart—
And she saw clearly, undeniably:
The Elyndor crest on his glove.