Chapter 3

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in two days of being a fictional vampire princess, it’s that this new life comes with a rulebook.

I mean, no one actually gave me the rulebook. But after being here for 48 hours, I’ve mentally compiled the essentials:

1. Don’t annoy my vampire father.

2. Don’t get caught wandering alone.

3. Don’t stare too long at anyone with fangs, because they can probably smell your heartbeat speeding up.

4. Always act like you know exactly what you’re doing, even if you have no idea what century you’re in.

Unfortunately, rule number three became physically impossible the moment Lucien Draeven entered the picture.

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It started with the garden.

The castle gardens weren’t just gardens—they were a gothic fairytale’s dream sequence. Black roses, petals tipped with silver dew. Marble statues of creatures that looked suspiciously like they’d move if you blinked. Moonlight spilling through gaps in the twisted iron trellis, painting ghost-patterns on the path.

I wasn’t supposed to be out here. The guards had been clear about “no unaccompanied walks after dusk,” but I’d convinced myself it didn’t count if I stayed within the castle walls. Besides, the moonlight was too pretty to resist, and after being stuck in my chambers all afternoon with a lecture on “proper etiquette for vampire royalty,” I needed air.

So there I was, crouched beside a particularly dramatic cluster of black roses, trying to see if they smelled like regular roses or something more “bloodthirsty chic,” when a voice drifted from the shadows.

“Lady Astrid,” it said, smooth as velvet wrapped around steel. “Enjoying the gardens?”

I froze mid-sniff and looked up.

He didn’t so much walk into view as materialize. Tall, dressed in a fitted black coat embroidered with faint gold threading that caught the moonlight. His hair—a burnished, dark gold—was tied loosely at the nape, and his eyes… oh. His eyes were a molten gold, bright even in the night, and they locked onto me like I was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Yes!” I squeaked. “I mean—yes. Very much. I love… flowers. Huge flower fan. Can’t get enough. I’m basically part bee.”

The corner of his lips tilted upward, not quite a smile, not quite mockery. “Part bee?”

“Yep. Just buzzing around, living my best pollen-collecting life.”

Oh no. My brain-to-mouth filter was broken again.

Lucien stepped closer, slow and deliberate. Not in a threatening way—more in the way of someone who knows exactly how much space he’s taking up in your head.

“You’ve been… different,” he said, voice low enough to make the hair on my arms stand up. “Since your recovery.”

I blinked. “Different?”

“Yes. Lighter. Brighter. As if you see the world with new eyes.”

I forced a breezy laugh. “Well, you know, near-death experiences tend to do that. Makes you want to seize the day. And night. And flower bushes.”

His gaze sharpened, like he was peeling away layers of me with nothing but a look. “It suits you.”

That shouldn’t have made my heart stutter, but it did.

We started walking together along the path. His stride was effortless, like he was gliding over the ground, while I was trying not to trip on my own skirts.

“Tell me, Lady Astrid,” he said suddenly, “are you afraid of the wolves?”

The way he said wolves wasn’t casual. It was deliberate, heavy with meaning.

I hesitated. “Should I be?”

“Yes,” he answered instantly. “They are not bound by the same rules we are. They take what they want, and they enjoy the hunt.”

The word hunt rolled off his tongue in a way that made goosebumps race across my skin.

I tried to keep my tone light. “Noted. Stay away from large, fur-covered predators. Sounds simple enough.”

He glanced sideways at me, and I had the distinct impression he thought I was underestimating the danger.

We stopped at a fountain shaped like two serpents coiled around each other, their fanged mouths spilling streams of silver water into a dark basin. The sound was soft but constant, like a whisper in the stillness.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said quietly.

“Why?” I asked, tilting my head. “Afraid a big bad wolf might snatch me up?”

Something flickered in his golden eyes. Not humor—something darker. “Something like that.”

My pulse skipped. Oh no. This was dangerous territory. Not just because he was a vampire prince who could snap my neck without breaking a sweat, but because… I didn’t want to look away.

“Tell me something,” I said, more to distract myself than anything. “Do you always appear out of nowhere to startle people in gardens, or is this a special service for me?”

Lucien’s lips curved, slow and deliberate. “Perhaps I was looking for something worth finding.”

Okay. Nope. Not fair. Lines like that should be illegal.

Before I could think of a reply that didn’t involve blushing or combusting, a faint rustle stirred the hedges behind us.

Lucien’s expression shifted instantly. The warmth vanished, replaced by something predatory. His posture changed—still, poised, like a blade ready to strike.

“Stay behind me,” he murmured, the softness in his voice replaced by command.

I obeyed without question.

The sound came again—low, deliberate movement. Too large to be human. Too quiet to be anything normal.

A flash of eyes—low to the ground—gleamed from the shadows. Not gold. Not red. Something colder.

Wolf.

My breath caught, but before I could get a better look, the shape melted back into the darkness.

Lucien didn’t relax until the garden was silent again. Then he turned to me, his voice calm but edged. “This garden is no longer safe. I’ll escort you back to your chambers.”

We walked in silence. The atmosphere between us had shifted—less playful, more… something else. The air felt heavy, like we were both aware that whatever had been watching us wasn’t done.

When we reached my door, he paused. “Lock this behind me.”

“Yes, your highness,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Astrid.”

The way he said my name made me look up.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “Be careful. The wolves will not stop until they have what they want.”

And then he was gone—just a whisper of movement, leaving me staring at the closed door, my heart pounding for entirely too many reasons.

One thing was certain:

Lucien Draeven was going to be a problem.

The kind of problem I might not want to solve.

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