Tension in the Halls

Riona wasn't scared of anything.

Not the sunlight—even though it could give her a nasty sunburn, it wouldn't turn her to ash.

Not the punishment of working with the other servants in the palace—it was actually more comfortable for her than trying to fit into those stuffy royal coffins—ahem, rules.

And certainly not the stakes that could turn her into a permanent dust bunny if stabbed right in the heart.

There was only one thing—one person—that she was fearful of. And that person was Lisbeth's father.

King Valentin of the Kingdom of Eira.

The vampire king wasn't just the strongest vampire in the whole kingdom; he also had an imposing aura that could turn blood into acid—well, metaphorically speaking.

He rarely talked, preferring to order people around with his patented death glare. Somehow, his subordinates always seemed to understand his unspoken commands right away.

He did fire a lot of subordinates during the early days of his reign. By now, the ones who survived his thrilling evaluations were probably the best mind-readers in the kingdom.

"What's this?" he always growled, sounding like he gargled with rusty nails every morning.

Riona never knew if his voice was naturally like that or if he was just eternally cranky from a century-long coffin nap.

Even Lisbeth trembled in the presence of her father.

She stared at the floor, swallowing her anxiety like a garlic pill, while rubbing her arms together behind her back—a self-soothing technique that Riona knew like the back of her hand.

Growing up together, she recognized this habit; Lisbeth only did it when she was badly intimidated by her father.

"Don't you have a mouth to answer me, child?" the king demanded, taking several steps closer to Lisbeth. She flinched, looking like she'd seen a ghost—well, more like she'd seen a scarier ghost.

"I–I sparred with her," Lisbeth stammered. Her voice was shaky, even though she did her best to hide it. She glanced at Riona, who was trying to keep her cool and not start hyperventilating in that position.

"And?" the king pressed.

Lisbeth bit her lower lip, clearly dreading the confession. Nobody wants to tell their parents about losing a match, especially when your dad is famous for being the most notorious vampire across the kingdom.

But she had no choice; King Valentin wasn't one to take no for an answer.

"I lost," she squeaked. Her voice was so weak that even if Riona could turn into a bat, she'd need the bat's sonar just to catch that faint confession.

"You l–" King Valentin paused as if the word lost was stuck in his throat.

Typical of him to avoid even uttering something so disgraceful, especially when the victor happened to be the fangless outcast—a creature he deemed so insignificant, she wouldn't even register on his radar if she wasn't constantly causing chaos.

His angry expression softened, but this wasn't a sign of mercy. No, it was worse. The disappearance of that sharp glare meant something far more ominous was brewing. The room seemed to drop a few degrees, and even the shadows in the corners seemed to shiver.

He shook his head, his voice dropping to a low, gruff murmur, "I shouldn't have harbored expectations from you. Clearly, I overestimated your capabilities. How foolish of me."

Lisbeth's eyes widened, and Riona swore that the tension was choking her. His words cut deeply. King Valentin's disappointment was more terrifying than his anger, at least to his daughter.

Her self-soothing technique went into overdrive, her arms rubbing together so fast she might have started a fire if she wasn't already cold-blooded.

"I... I'll do better next time," Lisbeth stuttered, her voice barely a whisper.

King Valentin refused to stoop so low as to cast a glance at his daughter. With a flick of his wrist, Riona was flung across the room like a rag. It was not a graceful flight, and she couldn't defend herself from both pain and shame.

She coughed and spluttered as she hit the ground, grateful for the ability to breathe freely again.

Meanwhile, Lisbeth remained ensnared in King Valentin's intense stare, like a deer caught in headlights if the headlights were powered by pure vampire rage.

He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity before his words sliced through the air like a sharpened fang.

"See that you do," he commanded with a sharp tone.

And with a dramatic swirl of his cloak, King Valentin made his exit, leaving behind a lingering chill that could freeze Hell over.

As the door closed, the tension in the room remained. Riona couldn't help but think that even an eternity might not be long enough to please King Valentin.

Once the source of her fear vanished, Lisbeth clenched her fists and let out a scream that could have shattered glass—though thankfully, the palace decorators had opted for sturdy materials.

"Arrggghhhh!!!!!!"

The look on her face was the stuff of legends like she'd sworn an oath to avenge her family's honor, except, well, they were all still alive. Riona hadn't had a chance to get to the king and his lover with a wooden stake yet.

Lisbeth stormed out of the training hall, leaving behind a trail of anger.

As the knights scrambled to follow their enraged princess, the training hall settled into an eerie calm. Riona was left alone, surrounded by the ghosts of her own terror.

The wind whispered through the open windows, echoing in Riona's ears. She dragged herself to the nearest corner and slumped against the wall, her breaths coming in ragged gasps

"Wow," she muttered to herself, her hands trembling. She tried to grip one of them to still the shaking, but it was like trying to hold onto water.

Her chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. Her heart beat like a drum.

Closing her eyes, Riona banged the back of her head against the wall in frustration, muttering, "Oh, sure, heart, because beating so hard it deafens my eardrums always solves everything. He's gone now. And you'll be out of this delightful palace soon enough, well—that is, if nothing goes wrong and I could pass the test to join the Nightwarden. So how about you do us both a favor and take it down a notch?"

But, of course, things always went wrong.

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