Bloodbound: The Prince's Eternal Bride

First meeting under the blood moon

Evelyn tidied her small, dreary room as best as she could before lying down on the stiff, cold bed. Despite her exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. The oppressive atmosphere of the underground room weighed on her, making every creak in the stone walls sound like an approaching danger. The damp, musty air clung to her skin, and the faint rustling in the dark corners kept her nerves on edge.

Eventually, she drifted into a restless sleep, but it wasn’t peaceful. In her dreams, she felt weightless, her body floating as if suspended in midair. The world around her was a blur of shifting shadows, but slowly, the scene began to sharpen into focus. What emerged before her was a sight both surreal and mesmerizing—a vast rose garden bathed in the crimson light of a blood moon.

Underneath the blood-red moon, the roses were a deep, unnatural shade of red, almost as though they had been dipped in blood. The moonlight glinted off the petals, casting a faint, eerie glow across the sprawling garden. The air was thick with the scent of roses, sweet but with an undercurrent of something dark and metallic, like the taste of copper on her tongue. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional soft rustle of the wind moving through the flowers.

The garden seemed alive, each rose gently swaying as if breathing, and as Evelyn stepped forward, she felt as though she were being pulled toward something. It wasn’t a conscious decision to walk—her feet moved on their own, guided by an unseen force, drawing her deeper into the heart of the garden. Every step felt like fate pushing her closer to an inevitable encounter.

At the center of the rose garden, she saw him.

A man, seated gracefully on an ornate stone bench, his back to her. He held a crystal goblet in his hand, lazily swirling the liquid inside. The dark red substance shimmered in the moonlight, and Evelyn couldn’t shake the image of blood from her mind. There was something hypnotic about the way it moved, fluid and dangerous.

As she drew closer, she took in the man’s commanding presence. He was tall, his broad shoulders and narrow waist accentuated by the rich, dark fabric of his impeccably tailored medieval attire. His long, black coat was adorned with gold embroidery, and his movements, even in their stillness, exuded elegance and power. His dark, curly hair framed his face, catching the moonlight in a way that made it seem like it was glowing.

Then, she saw his face—and it took her breath away.

He was handsome, painfully so. His features were sharp and striking, his high cheekbones casting subtle shadows under his deep-set eyes. Those eyes—dark, coffee-brown and impossibly deep—seemed to pierce straight through her, pulling her in. His nose was perfectly straight, giving him an air of aristocracy, and his lips—a vibrant, almost unnatural shade of red—were curled into the faintest of smiles. His skin was pale, almost alabaster, but it only served to make the contrast of his lips and eyes even more striking. He was the very embodiment of stillness and quiet strength, an unshakable presence that both intimidated and fascinated her.

Evelyn found herself staring, her heart pounding in her chest as her mind struggled to process the sheer beauty and magnetism of the man before her. He was unlike anyone she had ever seen—otherworldly, as if he didn’t quite belong in the world of the living.

And then, that voice. Low, velvety, and smooth as silk, it broke the silence of the night like a soft caress. His voice carried a seductive, hypnotic quality that seemed to resonate in the very air around them. “Since you’ve come here, it seems fate has brought us together. Why don’t you join me?”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. It was the kind of voice that could make a simple invitation feel like an irresistible command. Evelyn’s legs moved before her mind could catch up, and she found herself walking toward him as if in a trance. The closer she got, the more she realized how overwhelmingly perfect he was—his calm demeanor, his elegance, his air of authority.

She came to a stop in front of him, and now that she was up close, she could see the delicate details of his face—the faint arch of his dark brows, the softness of his smile, and the glint of amusement in his eyes. He was watching her, clearly entertained by her awe-struck expression.

“You look as though you’ve never seen a man before,” he said, his voice laced with humor, though it remained as smooth as ever.

Evelyn flushed, embarrassed by how openly she had been staring, but the man merely smiled wider, clearly amused by her reaction. He gestured to the seat beside him with a languid wave of his hand.

“Sit,” he said, his tone soft yet commanding. “I am Valerian, the master of this rose garden.”

His name sent a jolt through her, and she blurted out, “I’m Evelyn... I... I’m a new maid here.”

Valerian chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich. “Evelyn,” he repeated, letting her name roll off his tongue in a way that made her heart skip a beat. “A lovely name. It suits you.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, questions, and disbelief. How could any of this be real? And yet, standing in front of Valerian, it all felt more real than anything else she’d ever experienced.

“This castle,” Valerian continued, his tone now more serious, “everything that happens here, I know about.”

Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. How could he possibly know everything? The idea was too fantastical, and yet, as she looked into his eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to doubt him. He seemed so sure, so calm, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.

Just as she was about to ask more, a sudden sound broke through the tranquility of the garden. The faint but insistent thudding of something hitting wood—thump, thump, thump—echoed from somewhere far away.

The world around her began to blur and shift. The roses started to fade, the blood moon’s light dimming. The intoxicating scent of the garden was replaced by the musty, damp air of the basement. Valerian’s face, which had been so close, now seemed to retreat into the shadows.

His voice, deep and resonant, reached her one last time, “It seems our time is up.”

Evelyn jolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest as she found herself back in the underground room, her sheets twisted around her legs. The sound of knocking echoed faintly from outside her door, pulling her further from the dream. But even as the reality of the castle basement returned to her, she couldn’t shake the lingering presence of Valerian—his voice, his smile, his eyes.

Had it all been just a dream? Or had she truly stepped into a place beyond the boundaries of reality? The thought sent a chill down her spine.