The Vampire Prince's Human Bride Has No Heartbeat

The black carriage stopped outside our house at six in the morning, and every curtain on Alder Lane twitched at once.

I was at the kitchen sink with a cup of cold tea when Mum saw it through the window. She didn't say a word. She put the bread knife down very carefully, the way you do when you don't trust your hands.

"Lily," she said. "Go upstairs."

"Why?"

"Just go."

It was too late. Three knocks, slow and even, rattled the front door.

Dad opened it. A man in a grey coat stood on the step with the treaty seal pinned to his collar, a silver circle split down the middle, one half red, one half white. I had only ever seen it on the notice board in the square, under the words PEACE THROUGH UNITY.

"Mr. Everhart," the man said. "I'm Envoy Hallis. I'm here about your daughter."

Nobody breathed.

He didn't wait to be invited in. He let himself in and sat at our kitchen table like he'd done this before, and I felt a cold drop in my stomach at the thought that he probably had.

"You know about the Concord," he said.

Everyone knew about the Concord. Seven years ago the war between humans and vampires had burned three border towns to the ground, and the Concord of Ashfall was the only reason we weren't burying more people. Humans stayed on our side of the river. Vampires stayed on theirs. Eldoria agreed to protect any human living under its laws, and we agreed to pretend we didn't hate each other.

"It expires this year," Hallis said. "The Crimson Court won't renew it without a guarantee. A show of good faith on both sides."

"What kind of guarantee?" Dad asked, his voice too quiet.

"A marriage. Between a human woman and the Crown Prince of Eldoria."

Mum made a sound like she'd been struck.

"And what does that have to do with us?" I asked. It came out steadier than I felt.

"Every unmarried human woman between twenty and thirty was entered into the treaty registry. Names were drawn by lot before the Court, with witnesses from both sides." He looked at me. "Yours was drawn, Miss Everhart."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. It burst out of me, short and ugly. "That's not funny."

"It isn't meant to be."

"There must be hundreds of names in that registry. Thousands."

"There were. Yours came up."

"Then draw again."

"It doesn't work that way. The draw is sealed and witnessed. It can't be repeated without breaking the treaty itself."

Dad stood so fast his chair fell over. "She's twenty-four. She sells bread at the market. She isn't a piece of paper you can hand across a border."

"I understand that, sir. I'm sorry."

"Do you?" His face was red, his eyes wet. "You know what happened at Marrow Bridge. My brother was there."

"I know what happened at Marrow Bridge." Hallis's voice was quiet. "That's exactly why the Court wants this marriage. To prove the peace is real, on both sides, in a way that can't be denied."

"And if she says no?"

"Then the Court calls it a broken faith. I won't pretend to know everything that would follow. I know it wouldn't be good, and I know the border towns would feel it first."

Nobody spoke. The clock above the stove ticked. Outside, the neighbour's dog started barking and wouldn't stop.

I looked at my parents and saw how old they'd suddenly become. Mum gripped the counter. Dad's jaw worked like he was trying to swallow something too big for his throat.

"How long?" I asked.

"Six months. A term contract. At the end of it you're released, free to come home, with the Crown's protection and a settlement for life."

"Six months," I repeated. It sounded like nothing. It sounded like everything.

"Lily, no," Mum whispered. "We'll run. We'll go north, we'll…"

"And leave everyone else here?" I looked at her. "Mrs. Corran's children? The whole street? If Eldoria decides we broke the peace, it won't just be me they punish."

"It isn't your burden to carry."

"It's my name on the paper."

I don't know where the words came from. I had never thought of myself as brave. I was the girl who cried at funerals for people she barely knew, who apologised to furniture when she bumped into it. But sitting in that kitchen, something in me went very still and very stubborn. If someone had to be handed over to keep the peace, I'd rather walk in with my eyes open than be dragged.

"When do I go?"

"Nine days."

Mum started to cry. I went to her and held her, and over her shoulder I saw Dad pick up his fallen chair and stand there gripping it, not sitting, as if he'd forgotten what a chair was for.

"Could I have a moment with my parents, Envoy?"

"Of course." Hallis rose, and at the door he hesitated. "For what it's worth, Miss Everhart … I've delivered this news four times before. You're the first one who didn't ask me to leave."

He let himself out.

We didn't say much after that. Dad talked about writing to the mayor, to the council, to anyone who'd listen. Mum kept touching my face as if she were learning it by heart. I told them six months would go fast. I told them I'd be fine. I said all the things you say, and none of us believed a word.

That night, after the house had gone quiet, I sat by my window and looked down the lane toward the dark shape of the carriage, still waiting at the end of the road like it had never planned to leave.

I thought about the word *drawn*. About how many names must be in that registry, and how strange it was that mine, out of all of them, had come up.

I told myself it was only bad luck.

I was still telling myself that when I noticed the curtain in Mum and Dad's room across the hall was open, and both of them were standing at the window too, watching the same carriage … and Mum had her hand pressed flat against her mouth, the way she did when she was trying very hard not to say something out loud.