The crystal chandeliers of the Royal Palace of Aurelia flare to life.

"This way, Princess." The envoy's voice is dry, rasping like sandpaper.

Ruby hesitates. She places her palm against his marble-cold hand and glances back at the crowd. Her parents stand at the very edge of the courtyard, their faces salt-streaked and raw.

The King and Queen maintain their rehearsed, benevolent smiles. The other nobles watch with wide eyes, their expressions flickering between curiosity and pity.

Angelina is nowhere to be seen. Ruby climbs the carriage steps, her eyes darting toward the West Wing. A lone shadow stands behind the glass of the high window, watching.

Ruby settles into the seat. Ten crates of Aurelia Crowns bought this silence. The vampires didn't even haggle; they've likely run this scam every century.

Red velvet lines the interior. Gold handles glint in the dim light. Ruby's head hits the cushion... her eyelids slide shut.

She clicks her pocket chronometer open. Nine-thirty in the morning. Not a single ray of sun pierces the cabin.

Ruby yanks the heavy curtain aside. The world outside is a void of eternal night... it doesn't make sense.

A river of ink stretches toward the horizon. The carriage stops at the bank as the mist peels back, revealing a bridge shaped like a dragon's spine. It arches into the clouds, higher than the cliffs of Aurelia.

The water churns a mile below, deep and bottomless. No human hands built this architecture.

The carriage sways rhythmically for another hour. Ruby's eyelids grow heavy as black ramparts pierce the sky. She slips back into sleep...

Twilight paints the streets when she opens her eyes again. Most shops are shuttered. Ancient statues guard the stone stairs, surrounded by clusters of glowing violet blooms.

The lake reflects the bruised colors of a sunset that never ends. Châtelet isn't a tomb... it's a myth come to life.

The carriage stops under the shadow of a massive fortress. Guards in plate armor circle the vehicle. The envoys lead her to the East Wing.

"We can't enter the royal residence," the envoy says. "The staff will take you to your quarters."

Ruby nods. She follows a line of silent maids into the echoing stone throat of the palace.

They reach the end of the Rose Gallery. The head maid snaps her fingers, and the chandeliers explode with light. Ruby's jaw drops... a small gasp escapes her.

The maids ignore her reaction. They haul her trunks to the wardrobe with clinical efficiency.

"The King, Queen, and Princes are hosting a ball to welcome you," the maid says. "We must dress you for your debut."

"A ball?" Ruby checks her watch. Eleven o'clock at night.

"The envoys were delayed. We have to move fast. Come."

They pull her through a maze of gilded halls to a dressing room. A violet gown hangs on a steel frame in the center of the floor.

Silk gloves slide up her arms. Rubies hang from her ears like heavy drops of blood.

Ruby stares at the stranger in the midnight mirror. Her hair is pinned high, weighted with gems. Her neck goes stiff under the pressure... she looks like a beheaded bride.

The clock tower bellows a somber chime. Ruby turns toward the black window frame. A swarm of shapes tears through the sky, wings thin as parchment.

Not birds. Bats.

"It is time, Princess." The maid extends a hand. Ruby stands, her jewelry clinking like a chain, and steps toward the door.

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The trek from the East Wing to the North Wing feels endless. Ruby's lower back screams, and her legs turn to lead. The maids surround her in a tight, silent formation, their stiff posture making her pulse jump too much to slouch.

Servants crowd the halls as they approach the heart of the palace. The gold leaf on the walls grows thicker. They step onto a deep crimson carpet that stretches toward a pair of guards. The men snap their heels together and heave the doors open.

A wall of orchestral music hits Ruby with a jolt. The air is thick with a heavy, exotic incense she's never smelled before. She keeps her gaze pinned to the floor, following the head maid's heels.

The maid stops and sinks into a profound curtsy. "Your Majesty... may I present the Princess of the Kingdom of Aurelia."

"Welcome, dear." The voice is melodic, with a sharp, ancient edge.

Ruby lifts her head. Her eyes travel up the folds of a violet gown to the woman on the throne. The Queen's face is a masterpiece of cold, ethereal beauty. Ruby blinks, her voice a small rasp. "Hello..."

Queen Bellaceline smiles. She lifts a hand weighted with diamonds. An invisible shove hits Ruby between the shoulder blades. She stumbles toward the throne. The same unseen force hooks under her chin, jerking her face up into the light.

"Such a youthful face," the Queen observes. She drops her hand. The pressure vanishes, and Ruby's neck muscles strain under the sudden weight of her own head.

Beside the Queen sits the King. A strange, heavy shadow clings to him like a shroud, masking every feature of his face.

The maids steer her toward the left. A tall, regal man stands. His black-and-gold uniform is flawless. He takes her hand in his white glove and presses a kiss to the back of her fingers.

"Princess Arthur. I am Brian Lancaster." He offers a smooth smile. His dark crimson eyes anchor on hers.

Ruby stands frozen for two seconds. This is him—the one Angelina was supposed to marry. "It... it's an honor to meet you," she manages, dipping into a curtsy.

Brian catches her elbow with a light touch. "The honor is mine, Princess."

"This way, Princess," the maid interrupts. Ruby glances back at Brian one last time before being pulled toward the throne on the right.

"His Highness, Prince Dion Lancaster."