“There’s something horrific in how such a tragedy obtained such a frivolous name. The Night of Shattered Fangs may as well have marked the fall of a dynasty, and yet Kallistans hide smiles behind their hands as they talk about it, as if it were just some tawdry gossip.”

  -‘Kallistan Bloodlines and Battlegrounds’, authored by Count Ampelius Ulrich

  It was as the girl walked in, fidgeting and glancing around, that a pair of eyes tracked her from a balcony above. Pale lips stretched into a smirk, flashing a hint of fangs as a young woman watched the show unfolding down below. She didn’t pay attention to the two other women hovering around her, clinging to her arms like she owed them more than she already gave, and instead turned her attention to the maid standing behind her.

  “I figured that a debutante would just be filled with children; what’s a thing like her doing here?”

  Stiffening at the sudden address, the maid shifted her attention down to the lower floor before humming softly, “Supposedly, she’s the secret heir of the Liontáriou Barony, Your Grace. She’s a late bloomer that they’ve kept hidden, if I remember correctly.”

  Hearing that, the woman’s grin only grew, eyes practically dancing as she continued watching.

  “She’s not just some sheltered heir; the girl’s a complete mess. The way she’s flitting about, completely failing to fit in… it’s like she’s a nervous little bunny, the poor thing has anxiety. Did Yorick not have any further thoughts on her? She seems unusual enough that he’d have done his research.”

  Again the maid hummed, seeming to struggle to recall anything, but then she perked up. “Oh, yes actually! He didn’t seem particularly concerned with her, but apparently there have been a lot of signs that her aspect is at least somewhat valuable. He thought that she’ll be traded off to another noble family rather than inheriting the barony. Other than that though, not much was gathered on her, Your Grace. Our records suggest she’s been particularly isolated.”

  That last part had the woman pause, glancing back to the maid in her curiosity. “How isolated are we talking, Bessie?”

  The maid, Bessie, brushed a lock of auburn hair aside and glanced over the railing, taking a moment but finally finding the girl that had drawn so much attention.

  “Well… Yorick wasn’t entirely confident and just kinda waved the whole matter aside. Figured a lesser noble’s daughter wouldn’t matter. Also we assumed that you would already have enough distractions as is, so—”

  “Bessie,” the woman’s voice was firm as she cut the sentence short, only for the maid to let out a little huff.

  “Well I’m not wrong, but fine, I’ll focus. Based on a couple rumours we had to go off from back when your parents’ intelligence network was still active, the Liontáriou’s were suspected of having a daughter they were ashamed of. It was never a major focus to begin with but that trail of information has obviously completely dried up since three years ago. Based on just how anxious and twitchy she is though, I can’t imagine anything’s changed in that time. This might genuinely be the first time she’s been involved with the outside world.”

  Nodding, more to herself than anything else, the woman turned her attention back to the floor below, almost immediately singling out the head of platinum hair and hilariously flashy dress. The girl practically glowed amidst the other nobles and, while it might have been gaudy, she couldn’t help but appreciate it; after all, she was progressively finding that she didn’t want to take her eyes off her.

  Without another moment's thought, she brushed off the two women hanging off of her, not even sparing them a glance. “I appreciate both of your company, but I think it’d be better if we parted ways, no? I would hate for your reputations to be tarnished just from enjoying the night a little too much.”

  One of the two left just at that but the other hesitated, seeming almost desperate: “But Your Grace, even if it would harm my reputation, being with you would—”

  Just a single sharp glance was enough to silence her… ‘Colette’, she believed her name was. A sweet thing, really. Already engaged to a count’s son last she checked, though that had never stopped her before. Now though… she was just so tired. She didn’t want to hurt her, she seemed like a sweet woman, but they both knew going in that nothing further would have happened in their relationship: it never did. But gods was she tired. Instead of stewing on that, she just smiled and asked her to leave again, for which the poor noblewoman finally left with her head hanging low.

  “You could have at least spent a bit more time with them, that one girl seemed to be struggling.” Bessie had walked up to the balcony, replacing the other two and taking the comfortable place at her lady’s side. “It wouldn’t kill you to humour them just a little bit more.”

  There was no response at first, but finally the woman sighed, running a pale hand through silky black hair. “There would be no real point. Not really. She was just hoping to use me as an escape, which is completely fair considering how I encouraged it, but my reputation is too well known for her to have genuinely expected anything more than that. It’s better if she gets a proper support system instead, preferably one that isn’t going to ruin her own reputation by proxy.”

  The maid watched her, big cow-like eyes shimmering in the ballroom’s light as she tried to get a measure of her lady’s intent. She watched for some time before finally looking back at the girl on the floor below. “And she’s supposed to be different?”

  The question was met with a toothy grin, vampiric fangs practically glinting as red slitted eyes focused entirely on the woman’s new prey.

  “Yes Bessie, she’s different, or at least she has the chance to be. I can always hope though, no?” She tried her best to ignore the maid’s snort and pushed on, “Besides, at the very least she promises to be more entertaining than the rest of the people here, don’t you think?”

  It was hopeful, unreasonably so, she knew that. But as she looked down at Dahlia, she couldn’t take her eyes away. The girl was gorgeous, inarguably so, but more than that —more than her looks or the way she reminded the vampiress of an adorable small animal— she seemed to offer a chance. A chance for something new, unbothered by reputation, court gossip, or any other assumptions. And so Archduchess Valentina Amarei smiled wide, leaned against the banister, and watched as the girl lit up her evening.

  ~~~~~

  Dahlia tried to steady her breathing as she made her way across the ballroom floor. It was remarkable how, even in such a massive room, she could feel so claustrophobic. Eyes always flickered and lingered on her, nobles looking at her as if she was something beneath them and, even away from the centre where the crowds thinned, servants stood like statues along the walls, always watching and always waiting, like a cage of judgement and flesh.

  She made her way about the ballroom, overwhelmed all the while, yet keeping her head on a swivel as her eyes flitted from one person to the next. Black, red, and silver: those were the colours she needed to find. There were other attendees to be wary of, of course: those too lecherous for one, as well as the green, gold, and red of the Carphopoulos Duchy. Frankly, she wasn’t even entirely certain which posed more of a threat, but the idea of coming across either the Duke or her prospective fiancé had bile rising in her throat just from the thought of it.

  And so she searched.

  Red and yellow? No. Black and Blue? Absolutely not. Silver and green? Gods, the longer it went the more she wanted to pull her hair out and scream. It felt as if each passing moment brought her closer to catastrophe and a step further away from finding her prospective grandmother. There was even a point where the girl considered searching for older women instead, banking on the Archduchess to stand out like an aged diamond in the rough but, perhaps unsurprisingly, the Empire’s elite were often too physically altered by their bloodline to be easily categorised and, for those who still looked primarily human, the majority tended to be on the older side. It turned out that being wealthy had the perks of getting to grow old in comfort; who would have thought?

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  Despite her struggles though, Dahlia kept searching but it only seemed to get worse. She had been flitting about, ducking, weaving, and trying to crane her neck around throngs of nobles and she noticed that she had been gathering onlookers for some time now. At first it had started just as unwanted leers and judgemental sneers but, after having made such a scene and acted so unbecoming the whole while, the atmosphere had gradually changed. More eyes lingered, yes, but she couldn’t help but appreciate that it was more out of curiosity and amusement at her antics rather than anything perverse. She could almost put up with it all were it not just so overwhelming — near a quarter of the ballroom seemed to be tittering at her as she continued her search and it was only a matter of time before that attention escalated into something going wrong.

  Oh! Silver and red! …and no black. She almost swore out loud, reducing the frustration to grumbles as she turned, prepared to head to a different part of the ballroom when—

  “And what exactly might you be doing?”

  The voice was whiny, thickly accented with an odd mix of central Kallistan and an added Desrois drawl. Kind of squeaky too, she thought, like a young tenor struggling not to have his voice crack. Dahlia turned at the sound of it only to almost immediately feel sick. Curly locks the colour of cherry wood framed the boy’s face, while eyes like ripe apples ogled her the slimy way that only a pubescent boy could.

  “Why, you poor stupid thing, are you acting like that?” Stavian Carphopoulos asked, though he seemed entirely disinterested in hearing an answer as he continued to talk in that whiny, drawling tone. “Seeing you act like this, I suppose it really does prove some of the rumours. My father told me you were something of a homebound dunce and, frankly, I was worried you might miss your own debutante. I’m happy to see you managed to come for me though; now be good, just like they trained you, and follow me. I’m sure you were prancing around trying to find me but it’s alright, you can just stop trying to think and be my pretty little accessory, yes?”

  Dahlia thought back to just that morning where she had never quite so strongly felt the urge to throttle someone, and already she found that this noble prick had surpassed that in an instant. It wasn’t just his words either, no matter how demeaning they were: it was his entire body language. He looked as if she were a sexual doll for his amusement, he gestured and pranced about like a peacock that believed he already owned her and it made her blood boil even more. And yet… she couldn’t do anything. Not yet. Not without a safety net first. So instead she smiled her best smile and tried to deescalate what was rapidly turning into her worst case scenario.

  “My Lord, it’s so pleasant to see you. I was expecting you… later though? I thought you might arrive late as the main person being celebrated tonight. If you’re already out and joining the festivities though, I would hate to burden you while you interact with those more important than myself. Perhaps—”

  He clapped, practically in her face as he cut her off, and began to laugh as if he just heard his new favourite joke.

  “Oh, how lovely! They even trained you to try and sound smart! That’s cute —endearing even— but there’s no need for that, yes? They’ve trained you to pretend to be like the rest of us but you don’t need to worry about that anymore. You just stay by my side and be silent while I introduce you to my friends. I’m sure they can’t wait to see my new fiancée! I even hinted that they could enjoy you themselves later, so be sure to treat them well.”

  At that, the girl froze, completely unable to process what was just said. She could feel the anxiety sinking deeper and the bile rising in her throat as just being in the boy’s mere presence made her want to scream. Finally however, she gathered herself enough to focus on what he said and try to refute him. “My Lord, I believe your jokes are going too far, no? It’s in bad taste regardless but I believe you’re mistaken… Our fathers are still having talks about our engagement, I don’t think—”

  Again he cut her off, his expression growing both more amused and irritated in equal measure. “Excuse me? In bad taste? I suppose I’ll have to retrain you more than I expected. I understand why you’re confused though; my father has always said I’m too charming for my own good so I’m sure it’s easy to get distracted. But really, you must be quite forgetful. Last I heard, our fathers finalised our betrothal just last night. Do you understand? You’re mine now. Now behave the way you should and come with me!”

  Dahlia couldn’t move. She could feel it, as her mind began to collapse and spiral. Could feel the blood sink deep into her gut and her chest clench in anxiety and despair. This was it. All that she had planned —all that she had dreamed and hoped for— meant nothing because of the backroom dealings her father made and this disgusting rich brat who viewed her as nothing but a thing to flaunt and use.

  And she could do nothing.

  She was powerless as her ears rang and he raised his voice at her.

  She was powerless as he grabbed her wrist, yanking and pulling her like a puppet with lead feet and cut strings.

  She was powerless as the son of one of the nine most influential individuals in the entire Empire acted like he fucking owned her and everyone merely stood to the side and watched and—

  A hand gripped his face. Long, slender, and pale, with nails closer to claws than anything truly human. That hand —appearing so fast that Dahlia didn’t even notice its movement— stretched across the young Lord’s face, tensing just slightly as if wondering if it should claw and tear, or even crush the skull entirely.

  “What?! How dare you, do you know who I am you filthy—”

  The hand tightened, claws digging into flesh, as a voice like thorns and honey cut him off.

  “You sure you want to finish that thought, kid?” —a measured pause— “No, I didn’t think so. Daddy must have raised you smarter than that. Now go run off, and I’ll just be taking this young lady with me, yeah?”

  The hand pulled back, faint cuts left behind where claws pressed just a little too hard, and Dahlia could see the boy trembling, breath just a little too rough and mouth a little too agape. He was terrified, practically frozen in fear, and she could feel herself let out a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding. It was ok, she still had time. Yet as the hand retreated, she watched in horror as Stavian’s expression slowly regressed into pure petulant anger.

  “Who do you think you are?! You dare to touch me? You dare take what’s mine? I will have you hung! I’ll have you tortured! Ruined! I’ll make you beg for—”

  The kick landed faster than a blink and, just as fast, the young lord was sprawled on the ground screaming in agony as his broken nose gushed blood. And all the while, the source of the kick walked calmly past Dahlia and towards the collapsed boy. She tried not to stare too hard at the woman —the bleeding and screaming lord should have taken up all her focus— but she just couldn’t help but be entranced by her.

  Tall and lithe, she stalked up to the boy, his own blood seeming to be reflected in crimson eyes as she sneered down at him. The rest of the nobles were in an uproar, shouting and clamouring to help the young lord though each coming up short once seeing who stood over him.

  “I owe your father a favour, do you understand?” She didn’t raise her voice, it was quiet if anything, but there was an intensity there that was impossible to miss. “I didn’t come here out of a sense of camaraderie, I’m just here to clear my parents’ debts. So know that the fact I’m not wounding you or your pride further is just me just paying my debt, got it?”

  Her eyes flickered back to Dahlia, a measured look taking in the girl before she finally stepped away from Stavien and let the surrounding crowd finally rush in to coo and worry over him. As they did and the tense air finally dispersed into something more frantic, the woman walked up to Dahlia and, though it looked like she wanted to reach out, she paused instead, seeming uncertain what to do.

  Dahlia found her eyes wandering, flickering to all the different details even as she tried to ignore her own shortness of breath or the pounding in her ears. Deathly pale skin, long silk-like black hair, and eyes —slitted, vibrant crimson, and with flecks of silver— which seemed to only dilate as the woman approached and took the girl in. She could see her wet her lips as a look both possessive and predatory slipped into the woman’s eyes… and then Dahlia noticed her clothing.

  It was a suit, not traditional for women in the slightest but well tailored all the same, but it was the colours —not the design— that caught her attention. Black, red, and with accents of silver, the colours made the gears in Dahlia’s head begin to spin back to life, just in time for the woman to finally decide on a course of action. She bowed, low and at the waist, as she went to kiss the girl’s inner wrist. And even as the lips softly brushed skin, Dahlia felt a shiver as the slightest hint of fang was shown and those dilated, mesmerising, eyes never left her. And then a voice, low, soft, and just a tad husky, made her introduction.

  “Valentina Amarei, at your service My Lady.”

  here.

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