The soiree sparkled with golden lanterns and silver voices. Music swirled from a quartet tucked beneath a canopy of violet silk, while glittering guests laughed and curtsied and drank from crystal goblets.
The night creatures celebrating in large a number with their pale skin matching their elegant outfits, wine glasses and blood meal drinks.
Elowen stepped inside.
Her gown was emerald—deep and understated, hugging her frame with soft precision. Unlike the heiresses around her, her dress lacked diamonds or layers of lace. Its only decoration was a line of delicate embroidery along the neckline and cuffs, but it shimmered just enough under the lights to echo the green of her eyes.
She wasn't flamboyant.
She was striking.
As if nature had wrapped her in moss and moonlight and sent her walking into a world of powdered faces and perfumed seduction.
She handed the black card Lord Julian placed on her table earlier to the butler stationed at the ship's entrance. He bowed, inspecting it before leading her through the crowd with polite efficiency toward a quieter corner near the large windows. The butler instructed a servant, male security person to escorts Elowen to the secluded area.
But halfway escorting elowen there, a familiar voice stopped her.
"Miss Elowen."
She turned.
Master Ewan Blair.
He wore a black-grey ensemble, tailored to perfection. His dark hair was neat, eyes calm as ever—yet there was something softer in his expression when he looked at her always, as if only reserved for herself. A smile that only barely curled the corner of his lips, but it was a rarity. And it was for her.
"Good evening, Master Blair," she said, voice steady as she curtsied.
"Evening, Elowen. How have you been?"
Whispers rippled through the room. Several well-dressed women turned their heads.
Elowen could feel their stares, the burn of curiosity and judgment, but she refused to falter.
"I've been doing good, Master Blair."
He chuckled, eyes dancing slightly. "So formal now, are we?"
More whispers... More deadly stares.
Ewan Blair hardly smiled. Hardly spoke. Yet here he was, smiling at her... A human at that!
At the far end of the ship's grand deck, Lord Julian Ravenshade was being greeted by his hosts.
Lord Gideon Thornvale and his wife were regal in their own right—over a thousand years old, yet appearing no older than a dignified fifty. Lady Thornvale, with her ice-blonde hair and lilac gown, had a smile as smooth as silk and as sharp as daggers. A hero, Lord of lands and Counts of cities, they were friends of the former Lord Ravenshade. They had lived in the far ends of the Scotland empire for decades and they wanted to retire for the next generation to rule the lands. They had now moved to England to dwell among the creatures of their own.
"Good day, Lord Ravenshade," Lord Thornvale said, his voice carrying the weight of old alliances and quiet war.
Julian bowed slightly. "Evening, Lord and Lady Thornvale."
Lady Thornvale smiled more broadly. "How are the lands, Lord Ravenshade?"
"Eldhollow glows in its greatness, Lady Thornvale," he replied with cool precision.
A figure joined them—gliding into the conversation like honey on wine, swaying her hips seductively.
Lady Alissa Thornvale.
Three centuries old, breathtaking, dressed in velvet that clung too tightly to be decent. Her gown was burgundy, her lips painted blood-red. She was Seraphine's oldest acquaintance—and Julian's most unwanted admirer.
"Good evening, Lord Ravenshade," she purred, offering a deep curtsy, her neckline plunging far enough to make the candles blush.
Julian nodded with no warmth. He hated her kind—vain heiresses who wore powder instead of personality, seduction instead of substance.
And then he paused.
His ear caught a shift in the room's tone. A ripple of breath. A magnetic silence.
He turned, eyes narrowing. At the far end of the room. His eyes scanning for his amusement...
And there she was.
Elowen.
Speaking to someone
Rosebury's finest bussinessman- Ewan Blair.
"I've been doing great, Lord Blair," she said, her voice soft but proud.
Something strange stirred in Julian's chest. He had never been the jealous type. Never had reason to be.
But people change.
From her post near the champagne table, Seraphine watched it all unfold.
She sipped slowly from her glass, violet eyes glinting.
So the devil does feel after all...
Julian crossed the space with slow, measured steps in his usual regal and cold steps, unable to be approached or stopped.
"Good evening, Lord Ravenshade," Ewan said first, bowing politely. "A pleasure to finally meet in person."
Julian's smile was nonexistent. "I wouldn't say the same, Ewan."
Ewan's expression didn't falter. He bowed again, graciously, then turned to Elowen. "See you around, Elowen." And just like that, he melted into the crowd.
Julian didn't look at her directly.
"Stay out of trouble, Wildflower," he said coldly.
Elowen bristled. "I merely wanted to have a chat, Lord—"
He took a crystal glass from a passing waiter and, to her shock, handed it to her.
A glass of blood wine.
The crowd noticed.
They all noticed.
The cold Daredevil of Eldhollow—aloof, regal, emotionally impenetrable—was offering a drink to a human.
Silence rolled in like fog.
And then the real shock.
Their outfits.
His coat was midnight black with embroidered silver leaves at the cuffs and lapel.
Her gown, emerald with the same silver-threaded embroidery, shimmered softly under the golden lanterns.
Matching.
Not identical. But Complementary.
A fashion statement too exact to be coincidence.
And suddenly, the whispers changed.
Elowen froze, holding the glass with delicate fingers. She didn't drink—Lord julian had warned her. But she had to blend in.
Julian gave her one last look—sharp, unreadable—then turned and walked away, his coat sweeping behind him like a threat into the crowd. The crowd
Elowen blinked, lips parted, utterly thrown.
Then—
"Elowen!"
Seraphine appeared like a gust of perfumed wind, grabbing her wrist.
"You're going to faint," she said with mock concern. "Come. Sit. Before your legs forget their job."
She dragged her to a secluded corner of the deck.