4. Queen's Gambit

The room carried a light mix of metal and roses - Anna’s favorite scent, picked to feel welcoming and threatening all at once. Golden wall lamps threw shaky firelight across smooth stone walls as a midnight draft slid through. At the head of the black stone table, Anna Drazan sat perfectly straight, her deep red silk dress spreading like spilled blood around her chair. She flipped a slim dagger in her fingers, the blade catching the light with every turn.

Across from her, Owen Tucker lounged with the ease of someone who never feared the room he was in. Six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, a shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest the confidence of a man who knew he was being watched. His deep voice rolled across the room like soft-rumble thunder.

“You sent for me at midnight,” he said, leaning back. “Either you’re bored, or someone’s about to bleed.”

Anna’s smile was a blade. “Perhaps both.”

The door thudded shut behind the last departing guard. Silence folded in.

“You’ve seen them together,” Anna said. Not a question. “The Thornvale prince and the Viremonthe heir.”

Owen tilted his head. “If you mean the way Leo looks at him like he’s remembering a sin he wants to commit again, then yes. It’s… noticeable.”

“And Cris?”

“Reckless eyes. Quick tongue. He likes to pretend he doesn’t care who’s watching, but he cares.” Owen’s mouth curved slightly. “They burn for each other. Even a human can smell it.”

Anna set the dagger down, its tip clicking against stone. “Good. Desire is the easiest rope to pull. You will get close to him.”

Owen chuckled. “Cris? He’s a vampire heir with a guard who looks like she’d happily remove my head. What exactly do you want from me, flowers and a love letter?”

“I want access,” Anna said. Her voice cut through the chamber like winter wind. “I want his secrets. What moves him, what scares him. If he’s a threat to Thornvale, or to Leo. I want to know before anyone else does.”

Owen arched a brow. “And if seduction happens to be the fastest route?”

Anna’s eyes gleamed. “Then seduce him.”

For a beat, the only sound was the soft hiss of the wall lamps.

Owen leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re awfully calm for a fiancée discussing her beloved’s… extracurriculars.”

“I am not a fool,” Anna said. “Leo’s heart is not the prize. The throne is. And if Cris is what stands between me and the crown, then Cris will fall. Quietly, publicly, or spectacularly. Your choice.”

Owen studied her, amusement playing at the corner of his lips. “You don’t care who he sleeps with. You care who controls the story.”

“Exactly.” She traced the dagger’s handle with a manicured nail. “Stories win wars long before swords are drawn.”

He let out a low whistle. “I like the way you think.”

Anna’s gaze sharpened. “You like power, Tucker. Don’t pretend otherwise. Serve me well and you’ll have more of it than you’ve ever tasted. Seats on the high council. Your name in every ledger. Immortality by influence.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You won’t.”

Owen’s deep laugh filled the room. “No wonder Leo doesn’t smile. Living next to you must be exhausting.”

Anna only tilted her head. “Flattery is a poor disguise for fear.”

He met her eyes, unflinching. “I don’t fear you, Your Highness. I’m intrigued. There’s a difference.”

Their stares locked, predator to predator, neither blinking first.

Finally, Owen rose, the chair legs scraping a slow warning across the stone. “Fine. I’ll start with a conversation. Charm him. Maybe a little danger to keep it interesting.”

“Do more than start,” Anna said. “I want proof. Letters, confessions, something I can use when the time comes. Make him trust you.”

Owen paused at the door. “And when he does?”

Anna smiled, cold and brilliant. “Then we burn him with his own words.”

The moon sat low as Owen stepped onto the balcony outside the chamber. Below him, Thornvale sparkled—rooftops glowing silver under the stars, the river slicing a dark line through the quiet city. As the only human among immortals, he always felt the city’s danger buzzing in his chest. Tonight, that buzz was a full-on song.

He leaned on the railings, mind replaying Anna’s instructions. Seduce a vampire heir. Dig out his secrets. Deliver them like wrapped gifts.

Easy, if you ignored the fact that Cris Orven looked like trouble wrapped in midnight charm. Easy, if you ignored the flicker of curiosity already sparking beneath Owen’s ribs.

The door behind him creaked. Anna stepped onto the balcony, a shadow of silk and crimson.

“One more thing,” she said, voice soft as snowfall.

Owen didn’t turn. “There’s always one more thing.”

“Do not underestimate him. Cris is reckless, yes, but clever. He will test you.”

Owen’s grin deepened. “I like tests.”

“I like victories,” she replied. “Bring me both.”

The council chamber emptied like a draining vein, leaving only the echo of boots on marble. Owen lingered in the corridor outside Anna’s private apartments, the night air cool against his flushed skin. He could still feel the tremor of her command: Get close to him. Seduce if you must.

He headed down the spiral stairs and out into Thornvale’s midnight maze. Moonlight slid across the stone streets, and market stalls sat quiet under their canvas covers. At the end of an alley, a lone tavern lantern still burned - the Pike, the kind of spot where secrets got traded for coins.

Inside, smoke curled like lazy serpents. Owen’s presence drew a few startled glances; his tailored coat and clean scent didn’t belong here. He offered the barkeep a single silver crest.

“News from Castle Veilridge,” he said, voice smooth as aged wine.

The bartender’s brows rose. “And why would a court favorite be hunting gossip at this hour?”

Owen smiled, slow and disarming. “Because I enjoy hearing what the council pretends not to know.”

A rumpled merchant at the corner table snorted. “Rumor is the Viremonthe heir travels with only a single guard. Brave or foolish.”

“Foolish,” Owen replied, letting the word cut. “But brave men and fools start wars all the same.”

The merchant shivered at the chill in his tone. Perfect. Owen gathered each scrap of whispered conjecture - routes, guard rotations, speculation about Cris’s restless nature and filed them away like polished blades.

When he finally stepped back into the street, the moon hung lower, pale and sharp. He pictured Anna at her balcony, waiting for the pieces to fall into place. Power was a game of patience, but he could almost taste the crown’s iron tang already.

Owen cut through the quieter streets toward his quarters, cloak flaring behind him. A hush settled over Thornvale, the kind of silence that whispered of coming storms.

‎

‎In the distance, the neutral towers of Castle Veilridge shimmered against the dark horizon. Tomorrow the summit will resume, and with it, the slow dance of diplomacy. Owen’s pulse quickened. A new game had begun, and he was already two moves ahead - or so he thought.

High above, Anna did wait. She stood at the balcony of her private chamber, nightgown snapping in the wind. Far beyond the city walls, lightning flickered over Veilridge’s distant mountains.

“Burned once,” she whispered to the storm, repeating her own dark promise. “And they’ll burn again. All I have to do is strike the match.”