Chapter Text
It had been decided that Lord Cazador Szarr and the neighboring ruling family would come to an agreement after so much blood shed. For centuries, the Szarr family had wrought devastation with their vampirism, bringing years of death and famine; hunting villagers and sometimes royals. Eventually, the suffering became so great that the ruling family declared war, and both sides shed blood through an entire summer. But as vampires, the Szarrs were not easily diminished, unlike their mortal foes. Realizing this, the king chose a different course of action. And that is what brought the proposal of a treaty with marriage.
It hadn’t been an easy thing to accept. Morrigan was terrified and deeply upset that her father could so readily use her as a pawn in his political games. Yet, she understood her duty—she was a princess, and this was part of the life she had been born into. That same very night her belongings were packed, and she was told she could bring all of her handmaidens. The news lifted her spirits slightly; it meant her favorite—and dearest friend—Shar would be coming with her. Shar would be her anchor, her source of comfort, and a living reminder of home.
A grand feast was held in Morrigan’s honor. .
The following night, two black carriages drawn by massive jet-black Clydesdales arrived at the castle gates. one carried him—Cazador. He emerged in dark, gothic attire that swept the ground as he moved, his shoulder-length dark hair slicked back, and his eyes glowing red like twin rubies. Perhaps, in another life, he might have been considered handsome—but as the Vampire Lord, he was nothing short of terrifying.
From her bedroom window, Morrigan noticed someone else with him—a vampire who looked strikingly different. This one wore gleaming silver armor, his skin a touch pinker than the usual deathly pallor, and his hair white as snow. He was handsome—undeniably so—and somehow, oddly out of place. She wondered who the other vampire was. He must have held some importance to Cazador—he had opened the carriage door and walked alongside him, as if he were a knight commander or someone of equal rank. Clearly, he wasn’t just an ordinary knight from the barracks.They seemed to exchange a few words, and he turned around, his expression was one of pure annoyance and disgust. It almost made Morrigan want to laugh.
Shar knocked gently on the door and spoke, her voice low but urgent. “My lady, it is time… he’s here.”
Her eyes met Morrigan’s, filled with unspoken worry—for what this marriage could mean, for what it might do to her. Morrigan returned the look, the same fear and sorrow mirrored in her own gaze. She let out a soft sigh.
“Well,” she said quietly, “I suppose we’d best get this over with… not that we have a choice.”
The two embraced tightly, holding onto the last moment of normalcy before everything would change. Then, together, they descended to the receiving hall.
The king and queen were already seated on their thrones, regal and unmoving. Cazador stood between them like a shadow—tall, composed, and eerily calm. When he saw Morrigan, he grinned.
“Ah, my child… my sweet, sweet new bride. Are you ready?”
His voice was thick with an old-world elegance, polished and archaic, like it belonged to another century long buried.
Morrigan nodded, her eyes drifting to her parents. Her father sat proud and impassive, already letting her go in his mind. Her mother, though trying to hold composure, was cracking behind the mask—her sorrow threatening to spill through.
Morrigan turned to the vampire lord, her future sealed with the words: “Yes, my lord. I am ready.”
Cazador extended a gloved hand toward her. “Then come. The road ahead is long.”
She placed her hand in his, cold against her warmth. With one last bow to her parents, she turned to leave. Behind her, her mother began to sob—quietly at first, then with growing despair—each of Morrigan’s footsteps like a drumbeat pulling her farther away from everything she had ever known.
The journey to the castle would take about two and a half days. They stopped the first night just as the sun was beginning to rise—naturally, the vampires couldn’t travel in daylight. So, they stayed at a lodge owned by Cazador, though Morrigan had no idea why he owned such a place or what it was used for.
While staying at the lodge, she had quietly hoped they wouldn’t share a bed—and fortunately, they hadn’t. It made her wonder, though… would she be expected to spend their wedding night in a coffin? Did vampires truly sleep in those? And if so, would she be doomed to lie in one too—even though she wasn’t one of them?
It was strange to think how her once sunlit life had now become one of perpetual darkness. Unsurprisingly, she couldn’t sleep during the day, so she and Shar passed the time playing games they used to enjoy as children, gossiping like they had when they were younger.
As the sun began to set and nightfall approached, there was a knock at the door. Shar answered it, and judging by her amused expression when she returned, Morrigan guessed correctly—it had been the knight commander she’d glimpsed earlier.
“Well,” Shar said with a sly smile, “that knight commander is definitely a hottie. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. He’s got manners, too—charming in that cheesy, two-cent paperback way we used to read about.”
Morrigan laughed. “Time to go, then?”
Shar nodded, and with that, they packed up their things and resumed their journey to Castle Szarr.
The castle was large, gothic, and deeply intimidating. Morrigan could have sworn she saw bats circling its spires when she glanced out the small carriage window. She turned to Shar with a flicker of fear in her eyes. Hadn’t the skies been clear tonight surely, a place like this deserved a thunderstorm—lightning illuminating its towers in eerie flashes.
The carriages pulled into the courtyard, and the doors were promptly opened by the castle staff. Just as in the image Morrigan had imagined, they were pale, red-eyed, and dressed in antiquated attire.
Morrigan stepped out, Shar close behind her, just as Cazador approached. He extended his hand to her. It took every ounce of restraint not to recoil or let her expression betray her unease. Instead, she accepted his hand with forced grace.
“Welcome, my dear, to your new home,” he said. “You will settle in, and in a few days’ time… we shall wed.”
Morrigan’s heart dropped at the announcement. So soon? But it was clear he wasn’t offering a choice. She could only nod as he smiled, moonlight catching on the sharp edges of his fangs.
He led them inside, where they were greeted by more castle staff. A woman with blonde hair and reddish skin stepped forward and bowed politely.
“My lady, I am Dalyria—but you may call me Dal. I’ll serve as your second handmaiden and assist Shar as needed.”
Morrigan nodded silently, casting a glance at Shar, who offered no reaction.
“If you please,” Dal continued, “I can show you to your chambers so you can get settled.”
Cazador nodded. “Yes. Daylight is coming, and we shall all retire soon. I’ve had my new cooks prepare supper for you and your maiden. I understand that you both require a… different sort of sustenance than I.”
That last line gave Morrigan pause. She could only hope these cooks were more like the ones back home—and not something more sinister.
They descended the staircase and followed a long corridor, candlelight lining the walls and casting flickering shadows. Rich red and black curtains draped along the stone, and archaic paintings—presumably of past family members—watched them from gilded frames. It made Morrigan wonder: were they still around? If they were vampires, surely they were. So then… where were they now? Questions with no clear answers.
At last, they reached a large black chamber door, which was opened with silent ceremony for Morrigan. She stepped inside.
The room mirrored the castle’s aesthetic—dark, opulent, and unapologetically gothic. It didn’t sit well with her, but as with everything else in this arrangement, she had no say in the matter.
Dal left her and Shar alone, and the two of them sat together in silence. The untouched meal sat on the table, forgotten. Their comfort came not from food, but from each other—clinging to that shared presence while quietly wondering what the days ahead would bring.