Stolen Identity, Forced Marriage

The blood-infused elixir I crafted won the top honor at the Nocturne's Gala, but my adopted sister stole it and claimed the credit.

She thought she'd won glory, not realizing it was a vampire betrothal contract to the Prince Kaelan—rumored to be impotent, barbaric, and monstrous.

When the proposal arrived, my archmage fiancé, to "protect" her, hastily bound himself to her with a blood-mark and took her to his bed.

She returned, the fresh mark on her neck a badge of triumph. "Sister, your man is mine now. You turn twenty-five in three days. If no one claims you, the Matchmaking Registry will toss you to some aging, wife-beating rogue mercenary..."

She was wrong. I always had a choice.

I walked to my parents, who were scrambling to clean up her mess, and declared calmly.

"If she refuses to marry Kaelan Nocturne, then I will."

The blood-infused elixir I crafted won the top honor at the Nocturne's Gala, but my adopted sister stole it and claimed the credit.

She thought she'd won glory, not realizing it was a vampire betrothal contract to the Prince Kaelan—rumored to be impotent, barbaric, and monstrous.

When the proposal arrived, my archmage fiancé, to "protect" her, hastily bound himself to her with a blood-mark and took her to his bed.

She returned, the fresh mark on her neck a badge of triumph. "Sister, your man is mine now. You turn twenty-five in three days. If no one claims you, the Matchmaking Registry will toss you to some aging, wife-beating rogue mercenary..."

She was wrong. I always had a choice.

I walked to my parents, who were scrambling to clean up her mess, and declared calmly.

"If she refuses to marry Kaelan Nocturne, then I will."

...

The words tasted like ash and iron on my tongue.

My father, the proposal parchment from House Nocturne still clutched in his hand, went utterly still.

My mother’s gasp was a sharp, pained thing in the thick silence of the drawing-room. The candlelight seemed to shrink away from her horrified face. “Have you sun-touched your mind, Elara?! It’s Kaelan! They say he drinks his servants dry for sport! They say he snaps necks for whispering his name! You’ll be walking into your own grave!”

I opened my mouth, a protest forming, but my father’s voice cut through, low and strained. “She has a point, Elara. Marcus and Liana are already blood-bound. What becomes of them if you refuse?”

A flicker of conflict, there and gone, in my mother’s eyes. Her hand, which had been gripping mine tightly, went slack.

My own heart turned to cold stone in response.

Their true-born daughter. Yet Liana, the foundling we took in from the streets, had always held the softer share of their affection. She had the knack for fragile smiles and whispered sorrows.

A bitter smile twisted my lips. “Fine. I’ll do it. On one condition.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. “What condition?”

“On the day I am wed,” I said, my voice