Chapter 2: The Crimson Court
Eira barely slept.
The bed was enormous—soft, warm, even luxurious—but her mind refused to quiet. She stared at the ceiling for hours, watching the violet crystal lights pulsing like a heartbeat. Her heartbeat, maybe. Fast. Scared.
The idea of being someone's bride—his bride—was wild enough. But a vampire king in a world ruled by magic?
She couldn't even pass high school algebra, and now this it was just too much for her to process all at once.
When the heavy double doors creaked open at dawnlight—though she couldn't tell if this world had a proper sun—a young girl stepped inside.
She couldn't have been older than sixteen, with short curly auburn hair and a kind, curious face. "My lady," the girl said, bowing. "I'm Mira, your handmaid. I've brought your dress for the Court."
"Court?" Eira groaned. "What is this, Game of Thrones?"
Mira blinked, confused. "I… don't know what that is."
"Right. Other world." Eira sat up with a sigh. "What kind of court are we talking about? Political? Magical? Bloodthirsty?"
"Um… all three, actually."
Eira gave her a long, deadpan look.
Mira winced. "They're just eager to meet the one the prophecy spoke of."
Eira rubbed her face. "No pressure, then I'll be fine."
The dress Mira brought was… ridiculous. A deep midnight blue, form-fitting with a flowing skirt and high collar. Embroidered vines curled along the edges, and sapphires sparkled like stars at the cuffs.
Eira considered refusing—but she had no jeans, no hoodie, and no way to blend in.
An hour later, she stood in front of a mirror, stunned by her own reflection. She looked nothing like the girl who'd died under rain and headlights.
And somehow, that made it harder to breathe.
⸻
The throne room was vast, cathedral-like. Black marble floors. Towering stained glass windows that shimmered with violet light. A long carpet of crimson velvet stretched from the arched doors to the high dais, where Lucien sat on a throne of dark stone and bone.
He was dressed differently now—less king, more warrior. Black leather, silver pauldrons, and a crimson sash that marked his rank. His gaze met hers the moment she entered.
She didn't look away.
Servants flanked the walls like shadows. Dozens of noble vampires lined the chamber, all dressed in extravagant robes, eyes gleaming—some curious, others hungry.
One figure stood out.
A tall man in black armor, with cold gray eyes and long, dark blond hair pulled back in a braid. He didn't smile, but he watched her closely. There was something wolfish about him.
"That's Ravien," Mira whispered as they entered. "The king's war general. He's… intense."
Lucien rose as she approached the dais, his voice carrying across the chamber. "Citizens of Noctharrow. You stand in the presence of Eira Monroe—the Bloodbound Bride."
A collective murmur rolled through the room like thunder.
Eira stepped forward, trying not to trip. Her heart beat so loud she swore they could hear it.
Lucien turned to her. "Eira. Kneel."
Her jaw clenched. She didn't like being ordered—but something in his tone wasn't commanding. It was ritualistic.
She knelt, and the room fell still.
Lucien placed his hand over her heart. His skin was cold. "By ancient law and divine decree, I acknowledge the blood-tie between us. I claim you under my protection, and bind you to the Crimson Court."
Magic rippled through the air—warm and electric. Eira gasped as a mark bloomed across the back of her hand, shaped like a crescent moon wrapped in thorns.
"What is this?" she whispered.
"The Crest of Noctharrow," Lucien said. "You are one of us now."
She stood slowly, still staring at the mark. It pulsed faintly, like it was alive.
Ravien stepped forward. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, a human cannot be trusted so easily. Prophecy or not, this is dangerous."
"I decide what is dangerous," Lucien said coldly. "And I trust fate."
Eira glanced between them. She could practically feel the tension between Lucien and his general. It made her stomach twist.
A woman's voice rang out next.
"Then let us test her, my king. If she truly is the bride of legend, she will pass."
Seraphine.
She stepped forward, draped in flowing crimson robes, her silver hair gleaming like starlight. Her smile was poison.
Eira stiffened. "Test me?"
Seraphine's eyes glittered. "We need to ensure your soul is truly reborn. That you are worthy of our king."
Lucien's expression darkened. "Enough. She has only just arrived."
Seraphine bowed her head. "Of course, Your Majesty. But the Council will not wait forever."
Lucien looked at Eira, and for a moment, there was something almost human in his gaze. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.
"Come," he said. "I will show you the gardens. You need air."
Eira hesitated, then followed him through a side corridor, away from the court.
⸻
The gardens of Noctharrow were unlike anything she'd seen.
Midnight flowers bloomed under a black sky, glowing faintly with internal light. Trees twisted into impossible shapes, and strange fireflies shimmered in the dark air.
Lucien walked beside her, silent.
Eira finally spoke. "Why did you really bring me here?"
He stopped beneath a flowering tree that bled silver petals.
"You think I chose this?"
He stopped in his tracks glancing at her
She blinked. "Didn't you?"
Lucien looked at her then, eyes haunted. "I've lived over a thousand years. I've ruled with strength, fear, and cold logic. But none of that could stop the madness creeping into my soul. The Bloodthirst. It is not my desire to be like this, but now at least I see hop, you might not understand now but just listen to what I have to say"
He closed his eyes. "Our kind was cursed long ago. Only the soul-bound bride can calm the king's descent. Without you… I will lose myself."
Eira's heart ached—not just for him, but for the sheer weight of it all.
She didn't ask for this.
But maybe… neither did he.