I Married a Vampire

Chapter 6 — Threads of Betrayal

The castle was colder than usual.

Not in temperature, but in feeling—a shift that only someone like Esme could sense. Servants passed her with barely a glance. Heads dipped, voices hushed. Even the tapestries seemed to whisper behind her back.

It had begun.

Esme lingered in the corridor between the throne room and her quarters, her hand tracing the carved balustrade. Below, the marble floor shimmered faintly—the same floor where her son once danced barefoot, pretending to be a knight.

Now? Even his laughter echoed differently—quieter, thinner, as if the stone itself was hesitant to remember happier times.

Taylor had been gone more frequently. At first, she believed his excuses: meetings with Jayson, final arrangements for Agatha’s arrival, negotiations with the council. But lies had a way of leaving residue behind—small inconsistencies, words left unsaid, the way his hand twitched when she asked if he’d eaten that day.

She has noticed everything now.

And everyone was talking. They didn’t need to say it aloud—Esme was no fool. She heard it in the way the guards shuffled their feet when she entered a room, in the way the head servants discussed renovations just loud enough for her to overhear.

Agatha’s room was nearly ready.

That truth lodged itself like a blade between her ribs. A suite of silk and legacy—fit for the woman the council believed to be the “true queen.” The one with sacred blood. The one prophesied to bear a pure heir.

And Esme? She was the warm-up act.

The trial wife. The beautiful scandal.

She wandered into the west wing salon, where daylight could no longer touch the velvet curtains. A pot of blood tea sat cold on the silver tray, untouched since this morning. The fire had burned down to embers. And still, no one had come to stoke it.

She was being isolated.

A calculated silence, imposed like a soft cage. Not punishment. Preparation. The court wasn’t trying to force her out—they were trying to make her irrelevant.

They were phasing her out.

The door creaked.

Callie stepped inside, her heels barely making a sound across the rug. Her raven-black hair was tied back, her cheeks slightly flushed. She looked like someone who still believed the world could be saved if you just talked loud enough.

“I brought the daily petition logs,” Callie said carefully, setting a leather folder on the table. “Two more signatures have been added in favor of the secondary bond. None against.”

Esme didn’t touch the folder.

Callie shifted uncomfortably. “They’re circling you, Esme. You know that, right? They want you to snap. To make a mistake. They think if you act out—just once—it’ll validate everything they say about you.”

Esme’s voice was quiet. “And what exactly are they saying?”

“That you’re unstable. Dangerous. That your love for Taylor makes you reckless. That you’re willing to let the entire bloodline fall just so you don’t have to share your husband.”

Esme let out a dry laugh. “They think I’m afraid of Agatha taking him from me?”

“No,” Callie replied gently. “They think you’ve already lost him.”

The silence that followed felt like ice cracking beneath their feet..

Esme closed her eyes. For a moment, she didn’t want to be queen. Didn’t want to be anyone.

“I still wear his ring,” Esme said. “I sleep in his bed. I read to our son every night. And they think I’ve already been erased?”

Callie said nothing. That silence spoke volumes.

Esme glanced at the folder again. It sat like a loaded weapon between them.

“Do you remember when we used to laugh at the idea of arranged bonds?” Esme murmured. “When we believed love would be enough?”

“I remember,” Callie said softly. “We thought love would be enough.”

“It isn’t,” Esme murmured. “Not in this world. Not for someone like me.”

She stood, walked to the mirror above the fireplace, and stared at the woman reflected back at her. Her reflection was clear—a reminder that she was not pure vampire. That she was not made from prophecy or power. That she was human enough to break.

But she would not break today.

Esme turned, her chin high. “Tell the servants I’ll be inspecting Agatha’s room myself tomorrow.”

Callie blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I want them to see I’m not afraid. That I’m still here. That the first queen doesn’t fade just because the second one is arriving.”

She walked past Callie and out into the corridor, her gown trailing behind her like a banner.

The whispers would continue.

But Esme, born of no crown, bloodline of a forgotten name, would not be erased so easily.

Not while she still had breath in her body.

Not while Ciel still called her “Momma.”

And not while she was still Taylor’s wife—whether the court liked it or not.

She couldn’t go back to her chambers—not yet. The walls there felt like watchers now, not shelter. Too many eyes. Too much silence. Too many thoughts clawing at her sanity.

She found herself heading toward the library.

The scent of aged parchment, of candle wax and ash, greeted her before she even opened the doors. The weight of knowledge. The illusion of safety. Here, at least, she could pretend the world wasn't crumbling beneath her feet.

Le Salve was already waiting.

She sat in the same spot as always—curled in the window nook like a withered cat, her long fingers tracing the rim of a tea cup that never steamed. She did not drink. She only remembered the taste.

"You come heavy today," the ancient vampire said without looking up.

"I always come heavy lately," Esme murmured, stepping into the soft pool of candlelight between them. She sank onto the bench opposite, pulling her robe tighter around her. “Callie tried to cheer me up. Even she’s losing hope.”

Le Salve's pale eyes flicked toward her. “The moment Agatha’s name returned to this castle, the air changed. It is not hope you are losing. It is trust.”

Esme’s throat tightened. “Then maybe I never had it to begin with.”

A silence stretched between them, filled only by the occasional rustle of turning pages from deeper within the room. Servants. Scholars. Ghosts.

“She’s coming,” Esme whispered. “And no matter how much I love Taylor, no matter what we’ve built, the council has already decided she is the true wife. The womb that matters. The blood that counts.”

“And you?” Le Salve tilted her head. “What are you, then?”

“I’m the echo of a mistake,” Esme replied bitterly. “The queen with the wrong blood. A woman they will bury the moment she becomes inconvenient.”

For a long moment, Le Salve said nothing. Then she set her teacup down.

“Do you know what I was before I was turned?” she asked softly.

Esme blinked. “You’ve never said.”

“I was a midwife,” Le Salve said, almost smiling. “I brought life into the world. And then I learned how easily the world takes it away.”

She leaned closer, her voice low.

“You are not a mistake, child. You are a disruption. And disruptions terrify those who sit too comfortably in power.”

Esme’s breath caught.

“You think I threaten them?”

“Every time you speak without asking permission. Every time Ciel laughs with the sons of wolves. Every night Taylor lies beside you instead of fulfilling their design.”

Le Salve’s expression darkened.

“They do not hate you because you are weak. They hate you because you refused to be erased.”

Esme swallowed hard. “But I’m still losing. Agatha will arrive soon. Her room is ready. Her story is already written.”

“Then write louder,” Le Salve whispered. “Or bleed ink across every page until they choke on your truth.”

Esme rose slowly, her mind buzzing with rage, resolve, and fear. She bowed her head in thanks, but Le Salve’s voice followed her as she turned to leave.

“And remember, Esmeralda... betrayal doesn’t always wear fangs. Sometimes, it smiles.”