Cecilia Lockwood never imagined that her once tranquil life would be overturned in a single, bitterly cold night.
Cecilia Lockwood never imagined that her once tranquil life would be overturned in a single, bitterly cold night.
The carriage jolted violently, its wheels rattling against the uneven cobblestone road with a muffled *thud, thud*—a sound like the ominous drumbeats of death, hammering against her fragile heart.
On the road to sacrifice, Cecilia could not even cry—no, to be precise, she had no more tears left to shed.
The lavish balls, the social salons, the charming gentlemen that noble ladies longed for—none of it would matter to her anymore. She hadn't even had the chance to choose a suitable husband for the season, despite only being nineteen.
She didn't want to die.
Her fingers dug into the silk handkerchief in her grasp, her nails nearly piercing her own flesh. The handkerchief bore the Lockwood family crest—a thorned rose—the only keepsake from her mother. At this moment, the proud rose seemed to wilt in despair, drooping powerlessly.
"My lady, don't be afraid." Her maid, Martha, trembled as she reached out with icy fingers, trying to offer a sliver of comfort.
Cecilia shook her head lightly and forced a smile, one that looked more sorrowful than tears. "I'm not afraid."
But her voice betrayed her. It was barely above a whisper, quivering with fear. How could she not be afraid? She was terrified.
She was merely an earl's illegitimate daughter, meant to live out her days in obscurity on a remote estate. But now, she was being sent to that infamous vampire castle—where she would become nothing more than *food* for those bloodthirsty monsters.
A month ago, her cold, distant father had suddenly summoned her back from the countryside, showering her with rare kindness and attention. She had naively thought she had finally earned his recognition. She never realized that his sweet words were merely sugar-coating a bitter truth.
"The Noxtheris royal family requires a *Blood Oath Bride*." That day, her father sat high upon his throne-like chair, looking down at her with an icy gaze. His voice was devoid of warmth. "And you, my dear daughter, possess the *most suitable* blood."
*Bloo Oath Bride*—what a laughable title. It was nothing more than a sacrificial lamb, a human offering chosen to sustain vampires. Their blood was not only a delicacy but could also enhance a vampire's power and prolong their lifespan.
Once every decade, the vampire royal family held the *Blood Oath Ceremony*, selecting maidens from across the empire to be offered to the vampire nobility. Those chosen would either become *blood slaves*, toyed with until drained dry, or lifelong companions, locked away in that eternal prison of darkness.
Cecilia never imagined she would become one of them.
She had assumed that being a b*st*rd child would keep her far from the reach of power struggles. But instead, it had made her the perfect disposable pawn.
"This is for the glory of our family. You must obey."
Her father's eyes held no sympathy—only ruthless calculation.
She had no choice.
The sudden halt of the carriage jolted Cecilia back to reality. The palace guards yanked the door open, and a gust of frigid night air, thick with the metallic scent of blood, rushed in. She shivered involuntarily.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to remain composed. *Do not cry. Do not falter.* She had to step out with the grace and dignity of a noblewoman, even if her fate had already been sealed.
But the moment her feet touched the palace grounds, dizziness struck her.
The Noxtheris Palace—this fortress of vampire rule—was even more imposing and terrifying than she had imagined.
Its towering gothic spires pierced the ink-black sky like daggers. The massive obsidian walls were adorned with grotesque carvings of beasts and vampire sigils, their sinister forms twisting under the flickering torchlight as if they might lunge at her at any moment.
On the vast courtyard, hundreds of young women in elegant gowns stood in silent clusters. They were the *candidates*—selected from noble families across the empire.
Fear. Unease. Despair. Resignation. And, to her shock, even a glimmer of… anticipation?
Cecilia's gaze swept over the crowd, desperately searching for a familiar face—someone to anchor her, even just a little. But all she saw were strangers, their expressions mirroring her own helplessness.
"Lady Lockwood, this way."
A guard in a black uniform approached, his tone as cold as the night air—absolute and unquestionable.
Cecilia gave a stiff nod and followed, stepping up the grand staircase, each step carrying her closer to the palace—closer to the abyss.
The palace interior was suffocatingly luxurious.
Towering ceilings stretched high above, where countless crystal chandeliers cast an eerie, cold glow—like a thousand unblinking eyes, watching, judging. The walls were lined with oil paintings and embroidered tapestries, depicting the blood-soaked history of vampires. Every creature in those portraits bore sharp fangs and wicked smiles, making her skin crawl.
A heavy, suffocating scent filled the air—a blend of sweet, metallic blood, rare spices, and something ancient and decayed. It was thick enough to make her stomach turn.
She was led into an enormous banquet hall. Inside, dozens of vampire nobles were already gathered.
Draped in dark finery, they were undeniably beautiful. Their porcelain skin and graceful movements exuded an air of aristocratic charm, but their crimson eyes gleamed with an insatiable hunger—as if they were a pack of wolves, waiting to devour their prey.
"That's the Lockwood girl?"
A tall vampire noble swirled a glass of dark crimson liquid, his tone laced with amusement.
"I heard her blood is special—strong enough to *empower* vampires." Another, shorter noble chuckled, his gaze roaming over Cecilia with unsettling interest, as though she were a rare delicacy about to be served on a silver platter.
Cecilia felt exposed, her body turning cold. But she clenched her fists, refusing to let them see her fear.
"Silence."
A deep, commanding voice echoed through the hall, silencing all whispers.
Cecilia's heart slammed against her ribs.
A man stepped forward.
Dressed in a black, gold-trimmed cloak, he moved with the ease of a predator.
Tall. Regal. Exuding power.
His face—perfection sculpted in marble.
Sharp features, dark, hypnotic eyes that shimmered like obsidian, concealing dangerous secrets.
The very air seemed to bend around him.
Cecilia knew instantly—this was *him*.
Cassiel von Noxtheris.
The Crown Prince of the vampire royal family.
The master of tonight's *Blood Oath Ceremony*.
His gaze swept across the hall—calculated, assessing, *ruthless*. And then, it locked onto her.
Step by step, he approached, stopping only when he stood mere inches from her.
His black eyes bore into her, cold and unreadable.
"So, you are Cecilia Lockwood?"
His voice was a dark melody—silken, yet laced with steel. Every syllable struck like a chain wrapping around her throat.
"Y-yes… Your Highness."
Her voice barely escaped her lips.
Cassiel reached out, his gloved fingers tilting her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze.
His touch—frigid as death.
"Look at me." His command was absolute.
Cecilia's breath hitched. His gaze—dark as the abyss—threatened to consume her whole.
"Your blood…" Cassiel murmured, his voice thick with something dangerous.
"…smells intoxicating."
A slow, predatory smirk curled his lips.
Possessive.
Starving.
Cecilia's pulse pounded, her body instinctively recoiling.
"Your Highness—"
"You are mine."
His words sealed her fate.
"No—"
She struggled, panic gripping her, but his grip was iron.
"You have no choice."
Cassiel's fangs glistened in the dim light, razor-sharp.
Then, without hesitation, he struck.
Pain.
Cold.
Her blood—flowing, stolen.
Her vision blurred.
The last thing she heard was his whisper against her ear—deep, velvety, inescapable.
"Welcome to my world, my Blood Oath Bride."