The fairy who Dances with Shadows

Beneath The Eyes Of The Queen

— Queen Ellaria —

Ah. So that was the vampire.

A daring choice, my daughter.

I watched the way he broke protocol, lifting her hand to his lips instead of offering the standard court bow. My jaw clenched for half a breath. Disrespect? Or simply ignorance of our customs? Either way, the room had gone utterly still—and every noble eye turned to me.

I clapped my hands.

The sharp sound echoed like a gavel, cutting through the tense hush of the ballroom. At once, music resumed, and the assembled lords and ladies began to chatter again, relieved to follow my cue. A Queen does not flinch. A Queen sets the tempo.

"Please," I said, my voice calm but carrying, "let us dine."

From every quadrant of the realm, dishes were brought forth like offerings to the seasons themselves. Blossomreach presented its signature Bloomberry Torte, warm and fragrant, with the delicate perfume of roses curling in the air. The cake’s soft texture dissolved on the tongue, leaving behind the bright tang of ripe berries and nostalgia. Ambervale offered Embercrust Apple Cider Tarts, their golden crusts flaking around warm spiced filling that whispered visions of the past. From Sunstride Plains came Sunblush Skewers—grilled vegetables sizzling on thin birchwood sticks, their smoky sweetness laced with a citrus glaze that crackled slightly on the tongue. Frostmere Reach unveiled its rare Smoked Frostveil Elk, each slice steeped in northern magic, granting fleeting glimpses of the aurora and the ever-glowing moon. And at the heart of it all, Vaeluna ladled steaming bowls of Arcobaleno Stew, its blended ingredients from all four regions granting momentary clarity to magic itself.

It was a banquet of peace. Of harmony.

But it was also a test.

I had intentionally excluded any fiery cuisine to suit the dragon prince’s infamous palate. And there was no blood dish among the courses—a subtle jab, a queen's provocation. I wanted to see how they would react.

To my surprise, the vampire did not flinch. He reached calmly for the Embercrust Apple Tart, then the Sunblush Skewers. He ate with quiet dignity, as though this feast had been prepared just for him. His fork never scraped the plate, his posture straight, movements precise. A diplomat, then. Adaptable. Clever.

The Dragon Prince, however, was less composed. He sneered at the food. Tried a bite of the elk. Spat it into his napkin and declared it bland.

How disappointing.

A proper guest, if truly interested in alliance or marriage, would have found grace in the unfamiliar.

Then came the dances.

Liora was made to dance with each candidate, as tradition demanded. As promising as some of them were, I could see in her eyes that she had already made her choice. But I needed to know what kind of male this vampire truly was.

The Grove Lord of Blossomreach was charming—polite, respectful. My original preference. Handsome, too. But Liora was just as polite back, no more.

The Dragon Prince stomped about in his bulky armor, stepping on my daughter’s toes more times than I could count. She fluttered her wings just to lift her feet off the ground. The vampire stifled a laugh behind a cough. Clever.

The Grove Lord of Frostmere was worse—too ambitious, too bold. His hand strayed too low on Liora's back. He tried to kiss her.

She ended the dance with grace, her face calm. But I noticed the vampire. His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists. Composed, but only just. I read the tension in his shoulders, the death glare he tried so hard to mask.

And then there was the Elven heir.

I had picked him purely for his beauty, I admit. I had hoped that perhaps a vision of otherworldly grace might sway my daughter.

She looked annoyed the entire time.

The elf prattled on. Later I would learn he spent the dance insulting her—speaking of her as a "lesser being," lucky to even be considered as his bride—and even going so far as to say her looks should more than make up for her lack of good breeding in the bedroom.

Liora shot me a look. Accusatory. Fierce.

I deserved it. She was no longer the child who danced through sun-dappled gardens. She was a woman—and I had nearly forgotten what it meant to let her choose.

The vampire, on the other hand, had clearly heard the elf's words. His mask cracked for just a moment. A smirk. Amused disbelief. A slow shake of his head. He didn’t interfere—but he didn’t need to.

I had seen enough.

Then came their dance.

And for the first time in months, my daughter smiled.

— Liora —

My feet were sore, my pride wounded. Aside from the Grove Lord of Blossomreach, the other candidates had been horrid.

Then it was time to dance with him.

He swept his crimson-lined cape back with a dramatic flourish, the fabric whispering across the marble like falling dusk. When he took my hand and gently placed my feet atop his own, I chuckled—he had been watching. We moved together, gliding from one end of the ballroom to the other. His cloak trailed behind us, catching the candlelight in flashes of crimson and plum.

His ruby-red eyes gleamed, more radiant than any jewel. His gaze was intense—so intense I felt as though I might melt under its weight.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, voice husky and deep, brushing against my ear like velvet.

I ducked my head, heat blooming in my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

I hesitated. The question struck too close to the heart.

“If it's not an answer you're comfortable giving,” he added softly, “you needn’t respond.”

I had forgotten how considerate he could be—how easily he read me, as if I were written in a language only he understood.

So I told him.

How much I missed him. How hard it had been. How I ached for our midnight conversations and our shared experiments with healing herbs and potions.

My voice trembled with emotion I tried so hard to keep hidden.

Then, without a word, he lifted us off the ground.

We floated, the world hushed beneath us. Even the music seemed distant now, a gentle waltz echoing through layers of silk and starlight. The warmth of his breath brushed my skin as he held me close, and for a heartbeat, I was weightless in more ways than one.

He brought us down as softly as moonlight kissing the petals of a bloom, just as the final note of the music rang out.

And though my heels touched the cool marble once more, my skin still tingled from his touch, and my breath felt borrowed from a dream. I was still drifting, adrift on the memory of him.