Katherine stood by the window, gazing out into the courtyard. A blizzard had raged for a full day and night, draping the castle and the vast mountain range beyond its walls in the purest white. Now the sun shone once more, turning the snow into a brilliant sea of sparkling crystals. Yet not even this grand display of nature could hide the fact that man and beast alike were suffering: The winter was harsh—harsher than any Katherine could remember. Even the wealthy Făgăraș Citadel struggled to sustain the hundreds of courtiers and servants within its walls.

Her father would never have let his people starve. But those days, when he ruled these lands, were gone—no more than a distant memory. Under the new lord, the Baron of Caradja, the inhabitants of Făgăraș Citadel were no longer safe from hunger or death.

With a bitter smile, Katherine slipped her hand into the pocket of her threadbare dress, fingers seeking the treasure she kept hidden there: her father's final gift, his only bequest. Clenching her fingers around the ring, she drew it out. Even in the weak light of the winter sun, the large emerald—set in gold—sparkled with a dark, vivid brilliance, its hue reminiscent of the lush fir forests of her homeland.

For a moment, she studied the stone, then turned the ring over in her hand. As she had done a thousand times before, her eyes found the elegant, winding symbol engraved inside the golden band: a single letter, formed by two lines curling into a wide arch to the left, then running straight like a spear through the center of the cipher. Strange. Mysterious. Unlike anything she had ever seen.

Yet whatever this sign stood for, whatever it represented, it was the key to the truth—a truth for which her father had died at the Prince's hand. She, his only daughter, had fallen with him. Stripped of her titles and worldly possessions, she had been handed over in bondage to her father's successor, the Baron of Caradja. And now Katherine of Bogdan-Mușat—once the child of the most powerful peer in the realm—was nothing but a slave, a bond servant without rights or voice, condemned to serve those who had once served her.

Smiling bitterly, she closed her hand around the ring. For months she had searched in vain for answers, only to uncover more questions. No one could help her, except perhaps the man who had taken her father's life: Dracula. Tonight, His Majesty would grace her former home with his presence. Even if the cost were her life, she intended to confront him—and demand the truth.

She closed her eyes, trying to steady the fear roiling within. As a slave, she had no right to address the Prince, let alone question him. He might spare her life, but her insolence would not go unpunished. She would suffer—if not by the Prince's decree, then by her master's.

A sudden click sounded from the corridor. Laughter and footsteps echoed beyond the door, which swung open a heartbeat later. Into the room swept a tall, blond woman dressed in crimson robes, trailed by a cluster of handmaids and servants. They chattered excitedly, bearing robes and chests into the chamber.

Hastily concealing her father's ring in the fold of her apron, Katherine sank into a curtsey. "Lady Maria."

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to," snapped the Baron's eldest daughter, her watery blue eyes flicking toward Katherine before she seated herself at an ornate vanity. "But then, what more could one expect from a traitor's daughter?"

Maria's companions tittered, casting disdainful looks Katherine's way as they gathered around their mistress. Encouraged, Maria lifted a small hand mirror, studying her pale reflection with a satisfied smile.

"You're no better than he was—arrogant, prideful, treacherous—"

A surge of white-hot anger seized Katherine's chest, crushing the breath from her lungs. She lifted her chin, stepping toward Maria. "My father may have fallen from grace, my lady—perhaps even deservedly so. But never forget he was the one who saved your father from bankruptcy and disgrace. He was a good man, and I won't allow you to slander his memory."

Maria gave a soft, derisive laugh. "I'll never understand why His Majesty spared your life. But since the Prince has seen fit to burden my father with your upkeep, you will make yourself useful. It's cold. Tend the fire."

For a moment, Katherine longed to defy her—but she knew any insolence would be repaid in blood. Swallowing her anger, she moved to the hearth and added more wood to the flames. Meanwhile, Maria's maids removed the Baron's daughter's dressing gown, baring her to her embroidered silk undergarments—white satin adorned with peach-hued ribbons and lavish gold needlework.

The Baron must have spent a fortune on his daughter's attire, more than his shallow coffers could realistically afford. Still, it was a sensible gamble: If Maria caught the Prince's eye and held his favor long enough to bear him a son, Wallachian law would entitle that child to ascend the throne. Even if no child came of it, the Prince's patronage alone would ensure the Caradja family's prosperity for years to come.

As Katherine stirred the fire, she stole a glance at Maria. For all her flaws, the Baron's daughter was strikingly beautiful—tall, lithe, with skin like ivory and eyes as clear as a summer sky. Sitting among her bustling servants, she resembled Aphrodite at her mirror, tended by eager nymphs. And just as the Greek goddess had once seduced Ares, so Maria would no doubt try to tempt the Prince into her bed.

But the vision dissolved abruptly when one of the maids, fumbling with a golden bodkin, pricked Maria's scalp. In an instant, the ethereal goddess vanished, replaced by a spiteful fury. She whirled, delivering a stinging slap across the girl's cheek. "Get out of my sight, you useless brat!"

The maid fled the room in tears. Maria's icy gaze swept to Katherine. "Perhaps the former lady of the house can handle this. Come here and finish."

Setting down the poker, Katherine turned to her mistress. "As you wish, my lady."

She wiped her soot-blackened hands on her apron and approached. For a moment, her eyes drifted over the snarl of blond hair, assessing the damage. Then she pulled free the first pin. As it slipped loose, the flickering torchlight revealed stylized roses and fleur-de-lis on the pin's head. Katherine gasped softly, and the bodkin tumbled from her hand, clattering to the floor. Before she could retrieve it, Maria spun around and snatched Katherine's wrist in her slender fingers.

"They were yours once, weren't they?"

"Yes. A gift from my father."

Releasing her, Maria extracted the remaining pins from her hair with quick, practiced motions. She nodded at the fallen bodkin.

"Hand it to me."

Wordlessly, Katherine picked up the pin, turning it over in her fingers before placing it in Maria's outstretched hand. Maria held it up to the light, examining the details.

"Ah, the roses and lilies of Bogdan-Mușat, if I'm not mistaken?"

Katherine nodded. Each pin had been forged by a Venetian master craftsman, bearing her family's heraldic devices—a five-lobed rose and a three-petalled fleur-de-lis. "Yes. They were the badge of my house."

Maria arched a brow. "Were. Or have you forgotten? With your father's death, the House of Bogdan-Mușat no longer exists." Smirking, she rose and crossed the chamber to the fire. "In any case, I've no wish to wear a traitor's emblem." With a dismissive sniff, she tossed the pins onto the flames. She watched them burn for a moment, then ambled back to her vanity. Dropping onto the seat with deliberate poise, she motioned for her handmaids to return to her side. Lifting the mirror again, she regarded her reflection. Her gaze flicked to Katherine in the glass.

"The fire is dying, Katherine. Put more wood on it."

A raw fury boiled up inside Katherine. She wanted to see Maria suffer, if only for a single, glorious instant. But that momentary satisfaction would cost her dearly—perhaps even her life. Closing her eyes, she forced the anger down. Before she could obey, a sudden clamor from the courtyard below seized everyone's attention. Maria and her attendants hurried to the window.

"It's His Majesty," breathed a willowy redhead, barely concealing her excitement.

Katherine found herself edging closer, her own curiosity irresistible. Pressed into a corner, she peered out. Ranks of cavalry poured into the bailey in flawless formation, their burnished armour agleam in the waning light of dusk.

Then a lone figure led a grey stallion into the courtyard. At once, the murmuring crowd fell silent and knelt in a single, reverent motion.

"He's here... the Prince!" the redhead exhaled, though the crimson cloak and the awe-struck hush made his identity unmistakable.

The last time he had come—to claim her father's life—Katherine had glimpsed him only as a dark silhouette against the setting sun. Since then she had tried to imagine his face a thousand times, envisioning a man twisted by his own cruelty. But what she saw now was nothing like the monstrous figure of her nightmares. Tall and lean, with a noble, ageless face and green, penetrating eyes, the Prince looked more like the bronze effigy of Ares from her father's study than a man worn by evil deeds.

He wore black armour beneath a deep crimson cloak. His dapple-grey stallion sidled restlessly, nostrils flaring, breath steaming in the icy air. With a gentle touch, the Prince laid a gloved hand against the horse's neck, calming him with a few soft words.

Then he looked up—directly at Katherine—and their eyes met. In that instant, an icy dread tightened her stomach. His stare held hers for a single, breathless beat, and then he gave a slight nod, as though in greeting.

"Oh, look—he saw you at the window, my lady!" the redhead squealed, turning to Maria with unbridled enthusiasm.

But Maria's expression soured. She and Katherine both understood whom the Prince had truly acknowledged.