“Customs differ greatly between courts,” she begins smoothly, her voice calm but tinged with formality. “Speaking of which, Clyde, I hear the hunt is one of... particular significance.”
My father’s grin widens, clearly delighted by the mention.
“Ah, yes—the engagement hunt. It’s one of my favorite customs. Nothing quite like a good chase to remind everyone of what’s at stake.”
Lord Striden straightens, his brow furrowing.
“As I understand it, the groom hunts for a stag while vampires... hunt his bride. Seems a rather grim sort of tradition.”
My father chuckles, utterly at ease.
“Grim? Not at all. It’s symbolic. The groom proves his worth by providing for his bride, and the vampires—well, we remind everyone that there’s always something lurking in the shadows. The quicker the groom finds the stag, the quicker he can return to his bride and claim her.”
“But let me be clear,” he continues. “A groom’s devotion to his bride is far greater than a wife’s devotion to her husband. A wife is expected to honor her vows, but a groom must show he can protect and provide for her in the face of danger. It’s a test of his instincts, determination, and love.”
My cheeks warm under this pointed gesture, and I focus on the table in front of me, hiding a smile. Despite everything, excitement stirs deep in my chest—a hesitant bloom of something I haven’t dared to feel in so long.
Three days of binding. That’s what they call it—an ancient practice meant to tether two souls together through trial, union, and love.
The first day, the engagement ball, where the groom proves his worth by hunting a prize, a test of strength. It’s more than tradition; it’s a moment for the couple to face trials together.
The second evening marks the couple’s first meal together as an official pair. A dinner shared before the court, where they sit side by side, eat, and dance. This is the moment when the court sees their unity and their harmony, a reflection of the strength they are expected to embody as husband and wife.
And then, the third and final night: the wedding itself. A night steeped in mysticism and magic, where masks conceal identities and the vampire waltz brings the bride and groom together one last time. Each masked dancer represents a possibility, a choice, tempting them, pulling them apart. Only when they find each other through the sea of masked strangers can their union be considered complete. It’s a story of love, destiny, and trust—one meant to celebrate not just the couple, but the bond they’re forging for their kingdom.
As my father finishes his speech, I can’t stop the surge of anticipation that rises in me. I glance toward Jason, and just briefly my nervessettle. The traditions feel weighty, yes, but they are grounded in beauty, in connection, in the promise of something more.
The excitement feels precarious, a fragile ember I’m afraid to let burn too brightly. But it’s there, undeniable, as I think of the nights to come. Maybe, despite everything, there’s still room for hope—for the magic these traditions promise.
“This year’s hunt will take place in the western glades, just beyond the river. A beautiful stretch of land, but treacherous if you don’t know its paths. It’s where the best stags roam—fast, clever, and hard to track. A perfect challenge for a groom to prove himself.”
My gaze shifts to Jason, and this time, his eyes meet mine. There’s an unmistakable glimmer of laughter in them, a shared understanding of the absurdity of the moment. For a fleeting second, the heavy atmosphere of the room fades, replaced by something lighter—something just for us.
Lord Striden’s gaze narrows slightly, his tone firm.
“Devotion shouldn’t need to be tested like this. And what of the bride’s...safety?”
The question lingers, and I feel his attention shift to me. But I know better. His concern isn’t about my well-being; it’s about preserving the alliance—the union with a great house. My safety, it seems, is merely a secondary consideration in his calculations.
My father chuckles, waving a dismissive hand.
“Oh, don’t worry, Striden. The vampires don’t actually hunt her... theyseduceher.”
The statement lands like a thunderclap. Lady Elenor coughs, nearly choking on her wine, her expression snapping into one of barely-contained outrage. Jason’s eyes light up, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. Across the table, I feel my own lips threatening to curve into a smile, and I quickly press my goblet to them to hide it.
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Striden says, his voice rising a fraction, his shock apparent.
“It’s all symbolic, of course,” my father replies, unbothered. “A bit of flirtation, a little temptation—nothing anyone can’t handle.”
Lady Elenor sets her goblet down with more force than necessary.
“A bride being seduced at her engagement party? That’s hardly symbolic—it’s disgraceful.”
“Disgraceful?” my father echoes, feigning offense. “My dear Lady Elenor, it’s tradition. The bride’s loyalty is unshaken, and the groom’s devotion is proven. Everyone wins.”
Jason leans forward slightly, his voice a calm contrast to his mother’s shrillness.
“Mother, I’m sure the tradition isn’t as... salacious as it sounds.”
