Sinister: The Immortal's Curse.

The golden parchment rested between my fingers, its wax seal already broken. Graham's familiar handwriting stretched neatly across the page, and despite myself, a small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. **Sinister,** *I know I entrusted my daughter to a woman who is noble, strong, and more than capable of handling whatever chaos comes her way. Novalee can be... difficult. Stubborn. A little out of hand, if I'm being honest. But that's exactly why I need you.* *The Round Table hasn't been the same without you. No one keeps Lord Damien Cypress in line the way you do. As always, he's dancing dangerously close to creating more servants than I care to count.* *I know this is short notice, and I know children are not exactly your favorite company. Still, I need you to watch over Novalee while Luna and I are away. Teach her what it means to be a princess. Train her. Guide her.* *Maybe, if fate is feeling generous, the two of you will even become friends.* *Yes, I laughed while writing that.* *Be patient with her, Sini. Beneath all that attitude is my little girl, and she's all I have.* *When Luna and I return, we'll spend an evening together like old times—with laughter, stories, and far too much wine. Until then... be strong.* *You've survived far worse than one stubborn princess.* **Yours always,** **Lord Graham Blackthorn** I folded the letter carefully and slipped it back into its envelope. A weary sigh escaped my lips. At any moment, my niece would arrive. War. It was all Graham had ever truly known. Even after becoming a father, he still answered every call to battle without hesitation. In many ways, he reminded me of the woman I had once been. There had been a time when bloodshed defined my existence. Every sunrise promised another battlefield. Every sunset carried the scent of death. That woman no longer existed. Now I lived alone in a sprawling estate where servants polished every floor until it gleamed, tended every garden, and fulfilled every request before I spoke it aloud. The mansion held thousands of rooms. Yet not one was filled with family. Not one echoed with laughter. Loneliness settled over grand halls more heavily than dust ever could. A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts. Three precise raps against the solid oak door. I smoothed the front of my sapphire-blue gown before lifting my head. "Come in." The door opened, and Chester stepped inside. Tall and impeccably dressed, he carried himself with quiet confidence. His tailored suit fit his lean frame perfectly, while neatly combed chestnut hair framed striking green eyes that seemed almost too vivid to be real. Every movement was measured, every expression carefully controlled. He bowed respectfully. "Miss Monroe," he said, his voice calm and smooth, "your niece has arrived." So soon. I rose from my chair. "Bring her to the Great Hall. I'll join you in a moment." "Of course." With another bow, Chester quietly closed the door behind him. Silence returned. I crossed the room and stopped before an ornate mirror framed in gold. My reflection stared back at me. The sapphire gown flowed elegantly to the floor, hugging my figure before cascading in gentle folds. My silver heels gleamed beneath the soft light of the chandeliers, and not a single strand of my crimson hair had escaped its careful styling. Everything was immaculate. Everything was controlled. Exactly as it should be. With one final glance around my study, I admired the perfect order I'd spent centuries creating. Books lined polished shelves from floor to ceiling. Maps and ancient artifacts rested precisely where they belonged. Every document sat neatly stacked upon my desk. Perfection. Order. Control. They were the only things in my life I could truly command. I reached for the brass handle and pulled the heavy door shut behind me. The echo rolled down the quiet corridor as I began walking toward the Great Hall. Soon, for the first time in her life... I would finally meet my niece. The corridor stretched endlessly before me, illuminated by crystal chandeliers that cast a warm glow across polished marble floors. Portraits of nobles, warriors, and monarchs lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow me as I passed. The ivory walls, trimmed in gold, reflected the grandeur of the estate—a monument built through centuries of sacrifice, ambition, and blood. Each step echoed through the silence. This mansion was magnificent. It was also unbearably empty. As I walked, memories surfaced uninvited. Every hallway held a story, every painting a reminder of a life that had long since slipped into history. I slowed before one portrait in particular. Unlike the others, this one never failed to steal the breath from my lungs. A man and a woman stood side by side, dressed in clothing from another age. Their expressions were soft, almost peaceful, preserved forever in oil and canvas. Carefully, I lifted a gloved hand and traced the edge of the woman's painted face. For a fleeting moment, I closed my eyes. The silence shattered. Shouting. Angry voices crashed through my mind like thunder. "No!" The memory was distant, yet painfully clear. My chest tightened. My hands curled into fists beneath my sleeves until the leather of my gloves strained against my skin. Even after all these centuries... Some ghosts refused to die. I forced myself to breathe and pulled my hand away from the portrait. "Not today," I whispered. Turning from the painting, I continued down the corridor, my pace quickening with every step. The voices slowly faded until only the sound of my heels striking marble remained. By the time I reached the grand staircase, the memories had retreated back into the darkness where they belonged. The sweeping staircase curved elegantly into the Great Hall below. Silver railings shimmered beneath the chandeliers while polished marble steps reflected the light like still water. I descended with practiced grace. Halfway down, another sound reached my ears. Not memories this time. Real voices. Raised voices. "What are you thinking?" a young woman shouted. "Don't put those in my room! My father paid a fortune for that furniture! You're an i***t!" A servant mumbled an apology. "And don't touch my things!" I stopped on the final step. Wonderful. She had been in the house for less than ten minutes. Clearing my throat, I stepped into the hall. The room fell silent. A young woman spun around, a piece of gum snapping loudly between her teeth as she rolled her eyes with practiced indifference. "Hi, Aunt Sinister." There wasn't an ounce of warmth in her greeting. Only sarcasm. I studied her without speaking. This... This was Princess Novalee Blackthorn. Her dark petticoat was torn in several places, her tank top wrinkled and far too small to be considered appropriate attire for anyone of noble birth. Tight black trousers disappeared into scuffed boots that had clearly seen better days. Her makeup was smeared carelessly around her eyes, and her dark hair looked as though she'd brushed it with her fingers sometime yesterday. She looked less like a princess... ...and more like someone who had wandered out of the wrong tavern. I raised a single eyebrow. "Hm." My gaze traveled from her tangled hair to her worn boots. "Your father mentioned you needed guidance." A small sigh escaped me. "He neglected to mention just how much." Her jaw tightened. "I like the way I dress." "I'm sure you do." "I'm not wearing those ridiculous fancy dresses you had made for me." "No?" She crossed her arms defiantly. "They're not my style." I held her gaze without blinking. "Princesses are symbols of their kingdom. They carry themselves with dignity and represent generations of honor." I stepped closer. "They do not dress like common streetwalkers." Color rushed into her cheeks. "Chester," I said without taking my eyes off Novalee, "please take Her Highness's belongings to her room." "Yes, Miss Monroe." "And ensure the wardrobe prepared for her is ready." "It already is." "Excellent." Only then did I look back at Novalee. "You will change into proper attire before dinner." She scoffed loudly. "Or what?" "Or you'll discover very quickly that this house has rules." For the first time since arriving... The princess hesitated. Only for a second. Then she rolled her eyes dramatically before turning toward the staircase with an exaggerated groan. "This is going to be the worst summer ever." I couldn't help the smallest hint of amusement tugging at my lips. Somewhere, Graham was probably laughing. He knew exactly what he'd left me with. The dining hall was as immaculate as the rest of the estate. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, scattering warm light across the polished glass table that stretched nearly the length of the room. Thirty-five chairs stood perfectly aligned, each positioned with deliberate precision. Fine china imported from Italy rested at every place setting, decorated with intricate blue-and-white designs. Crystal goblets sparkled beside polished silverware, every piece placed exactly where it belonged. Perfection. Order. The two things I demanded from my home. I settled into the chair at the head of the table, folding my hands neatly in my lap as I waited. Right on cue, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hall. Novalee stormed into the room, tugging at the sleeves of the elegant midnight-blue gown that had been laid out for her. "Oh, this is torture," she groaned dramatically. "I can barely breathe in this thing." "You are breathing just fine," I replied calmly. She glared at me before dropping into the nearest chair with an exaggerated sigh. I looked at her for a long moment. "Stand." "What?" "You heard me." She huffed but pushed herself to her feet. "That is not your seat." She frowned. "What's wrong with this one?" "The seating arrangement in this house is not random." I gestured toward the table. "I sit at the head of the household. Immediate family sits to my right. Honored guests and close companions sit to my left." I pointed farther down the table. "You will sit three places to my right. Your place is beside where your parents would sit when they visit." She stared at me blankly. "Seriously?" "Yes." "That's ridiculous." "No," I said evenly. "It's tradition." Still muttering under her breath, she moved to the proper chair and slumped into it. I sighed softly. "Did your tutors never teach you court etiquette?" She leaned back as far as the chair allowed. "I stopped paying attention years ago." "I can tell." She shrugged. "They're always teaching stuff that's ancient. Half of it is older than my dad." "History is not worthless simply because it is old." She rolled her eyes. "It is if nobody uses it anymore." "Kings use it." "Queens use it." "Nobles use it." "And one day," I said, holding her gaze, "you will be expected to use it." Silence settled between us. A moment later, Chester entered carrying two polished silver trays. He moved with practiced elegance, setting one before me and another before Novalee before bowing his head. "Your dinner, Miss Monroe." "Thank you, Chester." He offered Novalee a polite smile before quietly leaving the room. As I watched him disappear through the doorway, memories surfaced unexpectedly. When I first found Chester centuries ago, he had been lying in a pool of blood beneath the ruins of a village. His body had been torn apart, life slipping away with every heartbeat. Most would have walked away. I hadn't. Now he stood among the finest servants in the Immortal Realm—not because he served me, but because he'd earned a life beyond the one fate had tried to steal from him. I lifted the silver lid from my platter. Four crystal goblets filled with warm blood rested neatly inside. Their rich crimson color shimmered beneath the candlelight. I picked one up and took a slow sip. Across the table, Novalee wrestled awkwardly with the silver cover on her own meal. It clattered loudly against the plate before finally coming free. She muttered something under her breath that was probably not fit for polite company. I chose not to comment. One lesson at a time. The meal passed in relative silence. For once, neither of us argued. When the last goblet was empty, I rose from my chair. Novalee looked up expectantly. "There are a few things you need to understand before tomorrow." She folded her arms. "I figured there would be." "My study is strictly off-limits." Her eyebrows lifted. "You are not to enter it under any circumstances." "What if—" "There are no exceptions." She sighed dramatically. "Fine." "Chester has already prepared your daily schedule. It includes your lessons, your etiquette training, your academic studies, and your free hours." "My what?" "You begin attending the Royal Academy tomorrow morning." Her expression fell. "...You're joking." "I never joke about education." She groaned loudly, dropping her head against the back of the chair. "This place gets worse every five minutes." "You'll also find that your clothing has already been organized. School uniforms will be laid out each morning, and formal attire will be prepared for evenings when necessary." "You really planned all of this." "Of course." I walked toward the doorway before pausing. Without turning around, I spoke one final time. "Whether you realize it now or not, your father entrusted you to me because he believes I can prepare you for the responsibilities that await you." The room fell quiet. "And if," I continued softly, "he does not return from war..." The words hung heavily in the air. "...then you will need to be ready." For the first time since arriving... Novalee had no sarcastic remark. Only silence. I left the dining hall without another word. The familiar rhythm of my heels echoed through the corridors as servants quietly cleared the table behind me. The mansion had fallen into its usual evening silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of fireplaces burning throughout the estate. It was peaceful. Too peaceful. I climbed the sweeping staircase, my hand gliding along the cool silver railing. Moonlight poured through the towering windows, painting pale ribbons across the marble floor. At the top of the stairs, I paused. Something felt... Wrong. The feeling was faint, like the brush of icy fingers across the back of my neck. For centuries I had trusted my instincts. They had kept me alive through wars, betrayals, and monsters far worse than either. Slowly, I turned toward the nearest window. The gardens stretched far beyond the mansion, their perfectly trimmed hedges glowing beneath the silver light of the moon. Ancient oaks swayed gently in the night breeze, and fountains shimmered like liquid glass. Everything appeared calm. Yet my unease remained. I stepped closer to the window. There. Movement. A shadow slipped between the trees. Too large to be a fox. Too graceful to be a servant. I narrowed my eyes, but the figure vanished as quickly as it had appeared. A trick of the light? Perhaps. Or perhaps someone had crossed onto my estate without permission. Neither possibility pleased me. A quiet knock sounded behind me. "Enter." Chester stepped into the hallway, his posture as impeccable as ever. "Miss Monroe?" "What is it?" "The princess has finally retired for the evening." I allowed myself the smallest nod. "Did she complain?" A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Only about two dozen times." Despite myself, I let out a soft chuckle. "Then I suppose she's settling in." His smile faded. "There is... one more thing." I met his gaze. "The estate guards reported hearing something in the eastern gardens shortly before dusk." My expression hardened. "What kind of something?" "They aren't certain." "Footprints?" "No." "An intruder?" "They found no one." I looked back toward the window. The trees had become still once more. "Double the night watch," I ordered quietly. "Have the guards patrol the outer walls until sunrise." "Immediately." "And Chester..." "Yes, Miss Monroe?" "If anyone enters these grounds without my permission..." I let the sentence hang in the air. He understood. "They won't leave," he answered. "Precisely." He bowed before disappearing down the corridor. Once I was alone again, I rested one hand against the cold glass. The moon reflected back at me, illuminating crimson hair, pale skin, and ice-blue eyes that had witnessed six thousand years of bloodshed. War was coming. I could feel it. Graham had asked me to protect his daughter. At the time, I believed the greatest challenge would be surviving a stubborn princess. Now... I wasn't so sure. Far beyond the estate walls, hidden within the darkness of the forest, a pair of glowing crimson eyes slowly opened. Watching. Waiting. Smiling. The hunt had begun.