The walk from her chambers to the Queen's Tower was a long, cold study in how small Isolde was in this world. The hallways were vast, cut from black stone that seemed to absorb all light and sound. Every step she took echoed back at her, a constant, low reminder of her isolation. She remembered Nyx's sharp, simple warning. Do not speak unless spoken to. In this court, silence was the only shield.
She was escorted by two tall, silent Vampire guards. Their eyes were deep, unactivated, grey and they moved with a frightening lack of effort. Isolde kept her own gaze fixed ahead, her mind cataloging the turns, the layout, and the chilling absence of any human life.
The Queen's private chamber was less a room and more a ritual space. It was located in the highest point of the Citadel, a high, cold space with heavy black curtains drawn across the windows. The air was dry and smelled faintly of ancient musk and iron.
Queen Livia sat on a throne like chair carved from dark, polished wood. She was older than Damon, but the aging process had only sharpened her features, turning her beauty into something hard and utterly relentless. She was the absolute matriarch of the Vampire royal line, the source of the deep, cold cruelty that defined the kingdom. Like Damon, her eyes were a permanent, deepest Crimson Blood-Red... the mark of their power.
Two Pureblood aides stood by, silent and still as statues. Isolde knelt immediately, her head bowed low. She hated the submission, but she recognized the danger.
"Rise, Princess." The Queen's voice was low, smooth, and colder than the stone beneath their feet.
Isolde stood, keeping her eyes fixed on the Queen's black leather boots.
"You have caused a great deal of trouble in the short time you have been here," the Queen began, not as a question, but as a statement of fact. "Your father's weak blood, your defiance at the ceremony, and the Dragon's display. All are insults to this house, Isolde. Insults that must be paid for."
Isolde remained silent. The Queen continued, her voice gaining a dangerous edge. "You are here for one purpose... to give my son an heir. A strong heir, one that carries the potency of his lineage and, perhaps, the subtle magic of your human lineage. This marriage is not about love, or even loyalty. It is about blood, power, and securing the survival of our line against the heat of Draconus."
The Queen gestured, and one of the aides stepped forward, holding a shallow, silver cup. The dark liquid inside shimmered.
"This is your first lesson, Princess," the Queen instructed. "You will drink this. It is a subtle mixture of herbs and blood, designed to cleanse your human body and prepare your womb for the strength of a Vampire child. It is bitter, difficult, and necessary."
Isolde's stomach twisted. She looked up briefly, meeting the Queen's relentless crimson gaze for a fraction of a second. She saw no mercy there, only ancient, consuming cold.
She took the cup. The silver was ice-cold.
The liquid smelled intensely metallic, sweet, and wrong. She knew better than to refuse. She raised the cup and drank.
The taste was overwhelming. It was heavy, coppery, and thick, mixing with the powerful bitterness of the strange herbs. It burned her throat going down, a sick, hot sensation that made her eyes water. She swallowed it all, forcing herself to be utterly still.
"Good," the Queen murmured, a sliver of satisfaction in her voice. "Compliance is the first step toward survival. But compliance is not enough. You must understand the stakes."
The Queen leaned forward in her throne, her crimson eyes piercing Isolde.
"Failure means more than execution, Isolde. Failure means the collapse of your kingdom, the end of your family line, and the end of any human protection under our treaty. My son, Damon, will dispose of you. I, however, will ensure that your failure is remembered for eternity."
The psychological pressure was a physical force, tightening in Isolde's chest until she could barely breathe. The raw humiliation, the forced consumption of the strange blood, and the Queen's casual threat were almost too much to bear.
I am not a sacrifice. I will not break. The thought was a scream in her head, and as it hit, something happened.
The air in the chamber, which had been perfectly cold and still, suddenly felt hot, intensely hot, right around Isolde's body. The silver cup in her hand, which had been frozen, felt strangely warm. The temperature spike was minuscule, not enough to melt the ice in the Queen's own nearby glass, but it was there.
One of the aides twitched, his black eyes briefly flickering toward Isolde, confused by the shift in the air pressure. The Queen, however, noticed it fully. Her crimson eyes narrowed, searching Isolde's face for the source of the momentary heat.
The Queen smiled, a truly cold, terrifying expression that did not reach her eyes. "Ah. There is a spark there, isn't there? A hidden resistance. Your mother's lineage was weak, Isolde, but not entirely useless." She waved a dismissive hand, and the momentary heat was gone, leaving the air colder than before.
"Do not think that tiny spark makes you special," the Queen stated, returning to the lesson. "It only makes you potentially valuable. You are to be a quiet bride. You will perform your duties. You will spend time with the family, starting with my youngest daughter, Silvana. She will teach you the proper manners of the court."
Isolde finally spoke, her voice dry and steady despite the burning in her throat. "I understand, Your Majesty."
The Queen nodded, a slow, predatory movement. "You will go now. When you see Silvana, remember that every moment in this Citadel is a test. And Isolde, you cannot afford to fail a single one."
The moment the Queen dismissed her, Isolde felt the profound exhaustion hit. Her legs were shaky, and the blood-herb mixture was doing something strange to her insides. The Witch blood in her, dormant since childhood, had responded to the highest level of threat with an instinctual, primal surge of heat... a subtle shield against the Vampire cold.
As the guards escorted her out, Isolde replayed the scene. The Queen hadn't been angry... she had been clinical. She had identified the weakness and the potential strength in Isolde. And she had assigned her youngest daughter, Silvana, to babysit her.
Isolde knew the assignment was not an honor for Silvana, but a test for both of them.
Nyx had already warned her about the internal politics. Now Isolde had to figure out if Silvana was a true threat, a pathetic pawn, or perhaps, the only person she could trust.
She walked back to her suite, feeling the subtle, strange thrum of her newly awakened power beneath her skin. She had survived the Queen's lesson, and now she had a new, treacherous tool to master.