Katherine lingered in the shadowy gallery overlooking the entrance hall, watching as a sea of courtiers streamed inside. Shoulder to shoulder, hundreds of guests—draped in fur-trimmed cloaks and glittering gowns—crowded the vast space, all eager to enter the Great Hall. Despite the stifling heat, they seemed unfazed, chatting excitedly while following the graceful acrobats and jugglers weaving among them.

From her hiding place, Katherine recognized two members of the Sfatul Domnesc, the princely council, quietly conversing with a group of foreign dignitaries. Nearby, in a gold-embroidered doublet, stood the Venetian ambassador, deep in discussion with a tall, gaunt man clad in crimson ecclesiastical robes—a cardinal, a prince of the Church.

Suddenly, a ripple of excitement passed through the crowd as the doors to the Great Hall creaked open. At once, the assemblage pressed forward, eager to claim seats at the banquet.

Lady Maria swept in on her father's arm, her crimson skirts fanning out behind her, priceless gems flashing at her throat and wrists. The sight sparked a flare of rage in Katherine's chest: this was the same woman who had so callously insulted her father, and she now sailed into the hall at the Baron's side—much as Katherine herself would have once done. But those days were lost, and she was reduced to waiting in the shadows for her mistress's call.

Pushing back her anger, Katherine followed at a respectful distance. Upon entering the Great Hall, her gaze was drawn upward, along soaring pillars that supported the vaulted ceiling. There, high above, hung her family's coat of arms—Bogdan-Mușat's roses and lilies—and beneath, the motto Audaces juvat. Fortune favors the bold.

She prayed the words would hold true tonight. If they failed her, she knew she would perish—if not by the Prince's own hand, then by that of his soldiers.

For a moment, she stood frozen, until the sharp stares of several older women reminded her of her place. As a servant, she was expected to remain invisible. Ignoring the whispered remarks trailing her, she slipped behind the massive column nearest Lady Maria, from where she could watch unnoticed.

The room continued to fill with guests, all discreetly craning their necks in anticipation. None of them would openly admit it, but they had come here hoping to catch a glimpse of the man rumored to be a sorcerer, a ghost, or even the Devil himself.

Once the crowd had taken their seats, a tall, spindly man in sumptuous robes entered the hall, bearing the ornate staff that marked him as the Prince's lord chamberlain. He surveyed the company, then brought the tip of his staff down on the marble floor with a resounding crack.

"The Prince!" he announced, his voice ringing clear across the hall.

At once, the hum of conversation faded, replaced by the shuffling of feet and the soft rustling of silk as everyone rose.

Then the Prince appeared.

From the shadows, Katherine observed him stride into the hall. In contrast to his courtiers—resplendent in lavish brocades—he wore only black. An undeniable majesty clung to him, cold and powerful, underpinned by something she could neither name nor ignore. A subtle chill prickled across her skin.

He took his seat at the head table and gestured for the guests to be seated. As they settled, Katherine studied him more closely. He was striking: tall, with dark hair trimmed short, his face clean-shaven, his eyes an arresting emerald green. His high-necked leather tunic reflected Ottoman influences rather than the Venetian style so popular across Europe. Surprising, she thought, for a man so famously hostile to the Ottomans to adopt their fashion—yet perhaps his boyhood years in the East had left their mark.

Beside him, Lady Maria seemed either ignorant of or indifferent to the fearsome aura that surrounded the Prince. She leaned over, resting a jeweled hand on his arm, whispering some remark with a coy smile. The Prince politely withdrew, turning instead to acknowledge a nobleman raising a toast in his honor. Undeterred, Maria gave a tinkling laugh, her voice echoing across the hall like wind chimes.

Katherine suppressed a shudder. The Baroness and her daughter had choreographed every moment of this evening. Words, gestures, clothing, jewels—everything had been chosen to ensnare the Prince's favor. If Maria succeeded and bore him a son, that child, by law, could inherit the Wallachian throne. Even if she failed to produce an heir, the Prince's patronage alone would catapult the Caradja family to new heights of wealth and influence.

Maria's flirtations were abruptly interrupted when the doors opened and Dorin, the Baron's only surviving son, swept into the room. Guests parted respectfully as he made his way forward, his jewel-studded vest gleaming in the flickering torchlight, his moss-green cloak trailing in his wake.

Upon reaching the Prince's table, Dorin knelt, head bowed. The Prince regarded him briefly, then murmured a few words that caused Dorin to rise and take his seat near the head of the table. Leaning back in his chair, the Prince's eyes caught the glow of a candelabra, and in that moment, they gleamed an eerie red—far too bright to be the mere reflection of flame.

Katherine froze. Her heart pounded as she watched that unsettling glow vanish almost as soon as it appeared. The Prince must have felt her stare; he turned his head and found her across the crowded room. For the space of a single breath, she was transfixed. The very air around her seemed to dim, as if someone had snuffed out a candle. Then a lord beside him spoke, and the Prince's attention slipped away.

She shut her eyes, scolding herself for her foolishness. Surely it had been only a trick of the light. He was just a man—cruel, dangerous, but mortal all the same. She would not let irrational fears or silly legends deter her from her plan.

Letting out a slow breath, Katherine refocused on Maria. The Baron's daughter toyed with an emerald necklace, likely hoping its glitter would lure the Prince's gaze toward her barely covered décolletage.

"Oh, look at her," came a soft, amused voice at Katherine's shoulder. "She really does mean to bed him before dawn."

Katherine turned to see her friend Rose leaning casually against the wall. Her cornflower-blue gown stood out against the peeling mural behind her.

"Rose," Katherine whispered, half-chiding, half-laughing. "You can't just say such things out loud—and aren't you supposed to be at your table?"

"My charming seatmate drank himself under the table an hour ago," Rose quipped, stepping closer. "But I suspect you're the one who should be elsewhere, collecting your mistress's dirty laundry, yes?"

Katherine sighed. "You do have a special talent for spoiling a perfectly good evening."

Rose smirked. "At least I'm spoiling yours, not His Grace's. If Maria keeps pestering him like that, I wouldn't be surprised if he ran her through with his sword before dessert."

"If I had a sword," Katherine replied wryly, "I'd have done it myself long ago."

"Well, do feel free. I'd happily claim the Prince once you're done. If even half of what they say about him is true, I'd sell my soul for a single night in his bed."

Katherine gave a humorless laugh. "Be careful what you wish for, Rose. If the other half of the rumors hold any truth, you really would be selling your soul to get it."

Rose's eyes sparkled mischievously. "All right, then. If Maria winds up in his bed tonight, I hope every dreadful story told about him comes true. Perhaps the 'evil warlock' will off her, and the rest of us will be rid of Sighișoara's worst menace. We'll build shrines in his honor for freeing us of that she-demon."

Katherine stifled her laughter. "I suspect if he struck her down, two more heads would grow in her place."

They both dissolved into giggles, but the mirth cut short as a sudden rustle swept the hall. The Prince rose from his seat, and everyone followed suit. With a polite bow to the ladies at his table, he threaded through the crowd, exiting by a passage at the far side of the room.

Katherine caught Rose's arm, guiding her to a dim corner. "Let's head upstairs before Maria does. I don't want her fury descending on me for being late."

She felt along the wall for a hidden latch, finally opening a narrow servant's staircase. "Hurry," she urged, tugging Rose up the cramped steps. "Unless you'd rather linger behind with your handsome, unconscious knight?"

Rose gave an exaggerated pout. "He'll keep. I plan to visit him later tonight." She paused on the landing, rapping gently at the small door there. "And you? Surely there's some dashing admirer awaiting your company."

Katherine's cheeks warmed. "No. I have other plans this evening."

Rose cocked her head. "And what might those be?"

Katherine took a steadying breath. "I'm going to see His Grace—the Prince."