The fairy who Dances with Shadows

The Unlikely Suitor

Seryna-

I entered Amaia's atelier draped in red, my long black hair tumbling freely over my shoulders. The vibrant gown matched the boldness of my mood. Amaia looked up, a silver pin tucked between her lips, and I gave her a knowing nod.

“He’s going to hate me for this,” I murmured, watching her work her magic.

Amaia showed me the latest fashions from the vampire realm—tall collars, shirts with ruffles and belled sleeves, form-fitting vests, intricate ties, and more jewels than one would think tasteful. Rubies. Diamonds. Onyx. Gold. So much gold.

“He’s a vampire,” I said with a smirk. “But subtle. Mysterious. Make it sexy—but dignified.”

Amaia's wings quivered with delight. This was a challenge, and I’d learned over the last few months that she adored nothing more. Pastels and glitter were her usual tools—this? This was a whole new playground.

“Your victim is in the east wing,” I teased.

“No one dressed by me can ever be considered a victim,” she declared, practically glowing with flair.

But I knew better. Noctis was a simple man. Despite his vampire nobility, I’d rarely seen him in anything other than practical attire. Formal wear, yes—but always minimal. Never this. This would be deliciously entertaining.

I had instructed Amaia to make him stand out—refined, alluring, and distinctly him. I’d seen the gossip pamphlets, the ones showing off the other candidates. Especially the Elven lord with his sculpted cheekbones and moonlit hair. Even I blushed a little. Caius, predictably, had sulked.

The final outfit shimmered with quiet power: deep plum velvet edged in twilight silver, fang-stitched cuffs, and a black cloak lined with crimson satin. His hair would be artfully tousled, and a ruby pin would glint at his throat like a secret.

“I call this look: Irresistible Doom,” Amaia said triumphantly.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s going to hate it.”

“Then it’s perfect.”

I stood stiffly in front of the mirror in the Moon Kingdom’s eastern antechamber, arms outstretched as a storm of silk, velvet, and ribbon engulfed me. Amaia Virelle circled me like a hawk, pinning, pulling, muttering in artistic frenzy.

Lucan lounged nearby, barely suppressing his laughter.

“Shoulders back. Chest out. Watch your posture,” Caius barked like a drill sergeant in royal robes.

It had been decades since I’d dealt with court etiquette, and now I felt like a marionette in the hands of tricksters. Caius was clearly enjoying himself, while Lucan was nearly crying from laughter every time I misstepped. Embarrassment warmed my face.

“This collar must speak of your lineage, your heartbreak, and your deadly mystique all at once,” Amaia declared, stabbing a silver pin into place. “Try not to scowl. It wrinkles the fabric.”

“I am not scowling,” I said flatly. “This is my face.”

Lucan barked a laugh. “Oh, this is too perfect. I’ve waited ages to see you trussed up like a royal peacock. Now come on, give us your best hiss.”

I threw a pin at Lucan’s forehead with perfect precision. He only laughed harder.

“Vampires don’t hiss, you twit,” I muttered, then eyed my reflection with a groan. “I’m a physician, not some courtly… ornament.”

“Not today,” Caius replied, his grin sharp. “Today, you are a suitor.”

“One of five,” Seryna added, stepping in with folded arms.

I froze. “That was not part of the agreement.”

Lucan smirked. “It is now.”

Later that evening, I stood beside my bed, scowling at the elaborate collection laid out like a trap. Even during my time as a noble in the vampire realm, I’d loathed courtly etiquette—the suffocating attire, the shallow smiles. That’s why I chose medicine. Books, blood, and purpose were far more satisfying.

Lucan waved a golden brush. “Here you go, prince charming.”

I turned to him, muttering, “You’re lucky I like you.”

Caius raised his goblet with a roguish grin. “To madness, matchmaking, and moonlit hope.”

Seryna stood nearby, holding the finished outfit with care, whispering a silent wish to the Moon Goddess.

And somewhere deep in my chest, beneath layers of grief and duty, hope stirred.

I would go to the fae realm. I would fight. I would find her.

After packing up the monkey suit and a few other outrageously embellished ensembles Amaia Virelle had crafted—more like Amaia the Vile—frills, lace, stiff collars, and jewels of every kind—I shook my head and packed a few of my proper clothes having no intention of spending the whole time I was there strutting like a peacock. The designs reminded me of when my mother used to force me into ceremonial robes for court gatherings. That ache pulled again at my chest.

It had been 100 years.

100 years since I’d refused the monstrous princess.

100 years since my family paid the ultimate price for that decision.

100 years since I became an outcast among my own kind.

The memories stirred something else—something I had almost forgotten to pack. My last heirloom from a once-noble lineage: the ring of eternal promise. A rose gold band crowned with a square-cut blood ruby, haloed in diamonds. As the eldest, I had inherited it the day I came of age. My mother passed it to me with trembling hands. She and my father had not been true-born mates, but they had loved one another deeply. I could only hope that love would now guide me.

I unlatched the small silver case hidden beneath my bed. Inside lay the ring, a relic of devotion and sacrifice. I placed it gently into my luggage.

Then, from around my neck, I drew the glowing opal necklace—swirling with Liora’s magic.

Each time its shimmer caught my gaze, memories of her surged forward. My Liora.

I pressed the opal to my lips. It flared to life.

A portal of iridescent light shimmered open before me, pulsing with enchantment and destiny.

And I stepped forward—ready to claim what the Moon Goddess had promised me.