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Psst, Luna, you there?I call out silently, casting my thoughts toward my familiar, hidden somewhere among the shadows.Kinda could use an escape plan right about now.

Her reply is instant, a cool thread weaving through the hot tangle of my thoughts.East balcony. Hidden passage behind the tapestry. Move quickly, Thorn. The crowned prince is up to something and is on his way back. You can have a better vantage point from there.

East balcony,I repeat mentally, plotting my next move as I feign a stumble, using the momentary distraction to slip through the ring of encircling vampires.

Right. Because nothing says “cozy” like darting through cobwebbed secret corridors during a royal smackdown.

“Stay back!” Draven warns again, his tone dripping with the kind of menace that would make lesser creatures flee. There is a reason he is feared, respected—a predator cloaked in prince’s finery. And he is all mine. Talk about relationship goals.

Thorn, now!Luna’s urgent whisper echoes in my mind.

Not one to ignore sound advice—or the chance to avoid being vampire chow—I make a break for it, skirts whipping around my legs as I dart toward the balcony. The ballroom blurs past in a swirl of color and sound, my pulse pounding a staccato beat in my ears.

“Sorry, gotta dash. Wouldn’t want to ruin your fun,” I toss over my shoulder with a smirk, though it is mostly for show.

My skin prickles with awareness, the sensation of being hunted prickling along my spine. I’ve been playing this game long before tonight, and I’m not about to get caught now.

“Over my dead body,” Draven growls from behind me, a vow wrapped in shadow and steel.

Let’s not add that to the evening’s entertainment, okay?I try to think at him, hoping he catches the edge of desperation in my silent plea.

Focus, Thorn, I chide myself.You have a date with a dusty old tapestry to regroup and fight back.

With that, I leap onto the balcony, my fingers finding the edges of woven history and pushing them asideto reveal salvation—a narrow passage just waiting for a damsel in distress to make her less-than-graceful exit.

A group of vampires rushes me, attempting to climb up onto the balcony after me.

“Big mistake,” I mutter under my breath, feeling the energy pulse and swell within me.

With a defiant cry, I unleash it, sending a wave of force that knocks the vampires back. They stumble, surprise etched on their pale faces, and I don’t waste a second. I dart forward, slipping through their loosened grasp like water through fingers.

“Nice try, boys,” I taunt, my sarcasm a thin veil over the fear that claws at my insides.

“Thorn!” Draven call out, his gaze tracking my every move with fierce intensity.

“Keep your crown on. I’m not leaving you,” I shoot back even as my heart hammers against my ribs.

Just then, the grand doors swings open with a resounding thud, and in strides the crowned prince, his presence commanding the room’s attention. His hands are adorned with a pair of crowns that glint ominously under the chandelier’s light. He joins the king at the dais, and together, they begin to chant words that make my blood run cold.

“Son of a vamp,” I whisper, the realization hitting me like a thunderbolt.

The ritual. They are going to do it now while everyone is focused on me. This is part of the plan. No one will see what they are doing before it is too late. The king always knew who I was. Or did he?

As the chanting fills the air, an echo of ancient magic, memories surge within me, pieces of arcane knowledge slotting into place.

“Looks like story time is over,” I say to myself, steeling my nerve. This is bigger than any secret or fear I harbored. I must stop whatever madness is about to unfold.

“Thorn, what are you—“ Draven starts, but I wave him off.

“Trust me. I’ve got a history with dusty old books, and they’re about to pay off,” I reply, my focus narrowing on the prince and king.

The chants grow louder, the vibrations of power threading through the air, wrapping around us in an unseen snare, but I’m not about to let the past repeat itself—not here, not now. With everything at stake, I square my shoulders and prepare to rewrite our fates.

“I’m done letting someone else write my story,” I declare, my voice cutting through the cacophony of chants and murmurs that fill the opulent throne room.

The truth is a burning starburst within me, demanding release. It is time for Thorn, the unassuming half witch, half vampire with more secrets than a grave keeper, to step into the light. Time to take revenge for everyone and everything I’ve lost to this corrupted royal line.

“Who are you?” someone hisses from the crowd, their suspicion a tangible thing wrapping around my throat.