Filed to story: The Vampire Prince’s Bride
“To the gold!” Ryan cried, lifting his goblet high. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, catching the tavern’s enchanted lanternlight like molten sunlight.
“To the gold,” I echoed, raising mine.
Our cups rang together with a clear, chiming note-almost musical-before we thumped them against the scarred oak table and drank. The fire roared approvingly, as if it, too, celebrated our victory.
“We wouldn’t have managed it without you,” Zane said, fixing me with a look that carried both respect and something close to awe. He inclined his head, the way one champion acknowledges another.
“Absolutely not!” Ryan slammed his goblet down and began pounding the table in a steady rhythm. “Sean. Sean. Sean.”
The chant spread instantly, bouncing off stone walls and low beams, until the entire corner of the tavern seemed to echo my name.
I smiled and ducked my head, pretending modesty, though we all knew the truth. Without my four-heartbeat burst in the final relay-without that last, desperate surge-we would have lost the gold medallion that sealed our triumph in the Grand Trials.
This was more than a win. It was a step-one of the biggest yet-toward the dream I’d chased since I was old enough to stand at the edge of the pool and imagine greatness.
The Games were coming.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ryan asked once the chanting died down. “You’ve gone all grim and thoughtful.”
“Just thinking ahead,” I said, leaning back and forcing a crooked grin. “About a year and a half ahead.”
He snorted and lifted his now-empty goblet. “Now is not the time to brood over the Celestial Games. Now is the time to celebrate what we did today.”
“Exactly,” Zane added. “Why’s the so-called Next Phelps worrying? Everyone knows you’re a certainty.”
“No one’s a certainty,” I said quietly. “Magic shifts. Fate turns. Anything could happen between now and then.”
Ryan let out an undignified belch, planted his elbows on the table, and tilted his head toward the bar. “I’ll tell you what could happen. See her?”
I followed his gaze.
She stood alone at the far end of the bar, impossible to overlook. Her dark hair fell like a curtain of ink down her back, her skin pale as moonstone, her features so precise she looked less like a girl and more like something carved by careful hands.
Her eyes met mine.
I looked away at once, heat creeping up my neck.
“Striking, right?” Ryan said.
“Yeah,” I replied, though striking didn’t come close. There was something about her-something unsettling, like the feeling before a spell goes wrong.
“She’s been watching you all night.”
“Has she?” I lifted an eyebrow, curious despite myself. Champions rarely went unnoticed, especially in places like this. Still, I made a point of keeping distractions at arm’s length. Dreams like mine didn’t survive divided loyalties.
“Twenty gold says you can’t get her upstairs in twenty minutes,” Zane said, slapping a coin onto the table.
Ryan added one of his own. “It’ll take longer. She’s not dressed like a hanger-on. Look at her-too composed. Too… deliberate.”
I stole another glance. He was right. Her robes were elegant, clearly costly, and offered no obvious invitation. She carried herself like someone who knew exactly where she stood in the world.
She murmured something to the barkeep and smiled.
It was a strange smile-knowing, almost secretive-like she was privy to truths the rest of us hadn’t even guessed at. In front of her sat nothing but a glass of water, perfectly still.
The barkeep watched her as though she’d enchanted him. I suspected she had.
“Oi, Olympian.” Zane snapped his fingers in front of my face.
I blinked. “What?”
“You in?” he asked. “Or are you scared?”
I looked back at the bar, just in time to meet her gaze again.
She didn’t look away.
The night had been meant for celebration, nothing more. We had an early departure come dawn, and training awaited me like an old, unforgiving master.
But something about her tugged at me-an itch beneath the skin, a whisper of change.
And besides, my friends knew me well.
I never turned down a challenge.
I stood, straightened my jacket, and made my way toward the bar-unaware that I was stepping not just into a conversation, but into the opening chapter of something far more dangerous than a wager.
I made a ruse of surveying the open spaces at the bar, as if figuring out where there was room for me to go in to grab a drink. Eventually, I honed in on the empty barstool next to the girl.
Normally the seats next to the most beautiful women filled up the quickest. But hey, I wasn’t complaining.
I slid into the space next to her, although I didn’t sit down. I didn’t pay attention to her at all. Instead, I focused on the bartender.
Once I caught his eye, I flashed him my credit card-the universal symbol for “I’m ready to place my order.”