Crimson Desire: Blood and Shadows

Maeve stared at the unopened letter resting on the side table, its edges catching the muted light filtering through heavy drapes. Ravenquill to Moonveil, it read in an elegant hand. The words were unmistakable- meant for her.

She uncrossed her legs, only to cross them again, her chin resting on one hand as her mind churned. A letter, arriving just a day before the ball. Was it an apology, perhaps? A polite excuse to tell her he wouldn't attend after all?

The thought left a bitter taste, but she shook her head, forcing herself from the trance. "I have other things to worry about," she muttered, though her body betrayed her resolve, remaining rooted to the velvet cushion.

Eventually, she stood, her hair tied neatly back, and took up the letter. The seal broke cleanly beneath the blade of her pen knife, the faint crackle of wax loud in the still room.

The letter unfolded with care, and it took her a full two minutes to process its contents. A slow smile spread across her face. He would be attending.

Her eyes drifted to the package a servant had delivered earlier, resting on a nearby table. Inside lay a black choker, its craftsmanship unlike anything Maeve had ever seen. The delicate lace was interwoven with tiny obsidian beads, their surfaces gleaming faintly, as if touched by moonlight.

The letter explained its purpose. Ravenquill had chosen the choker as her indicator-a subtle, personal marker for their meeting amidst the chaos of the masquerade. His mask, he wrote, would mirror the design. It would bear a single red feather, standing boldly against its dark surface.

Maeve traced the intricate design of the choker with her fingers, her thoughts swirling. A gift, a promise, and a mystery- Ravenquill had made his move. The ball awaited, and with it, the answers she sought. 

—

Maeve leaned closer to the vanity mirror, inspecting her reflection with a critical eye. Her makeup was flawless, accentuating her most striking features—full lips painted a deep crimson, high cheekbones dusted with a soft shimmer, and eyes as piercing as a cloudless sky.

Her servants had already helped her into her gown, and she ran her gloved fingers lightly over the silk that hugged her form. The fabric was cool against her skin, just the way she liked it, and the silver filigree glinted like starlight beneath the soft glow of the lamp. Her black lace gloves, delicate and intricate, added a touch of personality to the ensemble.

She adjusted a stray strand of hair, sighing softly. Moments like this, it would be nice to have a sister, she thought wistfully. Instead, she was stuck with the blockhead she called a brother- who, no doubt, was still fumbling with his own preparations.

Excitement bubbled within her, tickling every nerve. Her fingers twitched with the need to do something, anything, to occupy herself until the hour struck. In less than an hour, her father would summon her and her brother to the carriage.

The ride to Frostmere was shrouded in silence, save for the occasional creak of the carriage wheels. Conversation was sparse between Maeve, her father, and Cedric.

Maeve's gown shimmered with silver accents. Cedric had opted for green, while their father wore yellow. Maeve glanced at her brother. Like her, he bore the strong, chiseled features of their father. Her eyes, however, were said to be her mother's, a gift she only knew through the portraits hanging in their estate.

Her mother would have been here with them, sitting at her father's side. But House Solen had lost her shortly after Maeve's birth.

Maeve stared out the carriage window, the moonlight catching on her gloved fingers. You cannot miss someone you've never met, she thought, and yet the dull ache in her chest persisted- a longing for the woman she had never known. Cedric, of course, had been luckier, having had thirty years with their mother.

The carriage jolted suddenly, breaking her reverie. The driver called an apology over his shoulder, and her father let out a weary sigh.

"Father," Maeve began, her voice cutting through the quiet. "What house uses a red feather?"

Her father's deep brown eyes shifted to her, holding her gaze for a long moment. His silence stretched, heavy with thought. Finally, he spoke. "That's a rather ancient custom for a suitor to reveal themself."

Cedric let out a laugh, shaking his head. "What have you gotten yourself into this time, Maeve?"

Maeve shot her brother a sharp glare, retaliating with a swift kick to his boots. "Didn't your instructors teach you to stay out of women's business?" Her father's lips quivered in amusement as Cedric raised his hands in mock surrender.

Turning back to her father, Maeve pressed on, her tone firm. "And no, I do not have a suitor. I simply have a…friend to locate."

"Hm," her father murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "For identification, my best guess would be House Kael."

Maeve's fingers paused mid-tap on her chin. House Kael? The Blood-forged Vanguard. Of all possibilities, it was a curious one, both prestigious and notorious. House Kael, with its dramatic history of rebellions, restructurings, and scandals, stood as one of the most storied lines in the empire.

Still, they were firmly allied with House Solen, a connection forged in blood and necessity. If Ravenquill belonged to that military house, it was not necessarily a bad thing. "I see," Maeve replied evenly, though her mind churned with questions.

She peered through the velvet curtains, the familiar streets of Frostmere coming into view. With a deliberate motion, she drew the fabric aside, allowing the city's brilliance to wash over her.

Frostmere's crystalline architecture shimmered in the moonlight, every surface catching and refracting the pale glow. Spires adorned with carved crystal towers jutted toward the heavens, while smaller structures glistened like frost-coated gems. The Imperial Castle, perched at the city's heart, radiated with an otherworldly beauty.

Children darted through the streets, clutching toys as their laughter blended with the hum of the bustling crowds. Frostmere was alive with energy, a melting pot of vampires, humans, witches, and fae. Maeve even spotted a pair of werewolves, their towering forms parting the sea of people with ease.

She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes for a moment, allowing the gentle sway of the carriage to ease her mind. This would be her last peaceful moment before the night called her into its whirlwind.

 —

The hall was teeming with life, a blur of colors and movement as aristocrats from all corners of society mingled and celebrated. Maeve stood amidst the chaos, her chest swelling with an unexpected sense of ease. This is where I belong.

Her gaze swept across the room, catching sight of Cedric in a small group of three. His brows were furrowed in that characteristic way that signaled a heated debate. Though she would never say it aloud, Maeve knew House Solen's future was secure in his hands. Cedric was an epitome of noble virtues, often used as an example by minor houses aspiring to greatness.

Her father was nowhere to be found, and the anticipation of the first dance hung in the air. Setting down a golden goblet, Maeve was startled by a firm grip on her arm. Instinct flared, she wanted to shove the stranger away, but she quickly reminded herself of the setting. She had to keep her temper in check

Turning, she was met with the sight that made her breath catch. The red feather. Ravenquill.

He stood before her, masked in elaborate detail, his features obscured yet commanding. His presence exuded a quiet confidence, and Maeve allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor, her heart leaping with every step they took.

As the music swelled, everything else faded away. The gilded hall, the prying eyes, even Cedric's pointed gaze- all melted into the background. In that moment, it was only her and Ravenquill, the rhythm of the dance weaving their connection tighter.

When the music slowed and a new melody prepared to take its place, Maeve acted on impulse. She gripped his hand and, with a wistful smile, led him toward one of the secluded balconies. The cool night air kissed her skin as they stepped outside, the chatter of the hall muffled by the heavy curtains behind them. 

It baffled her- her Ravenquill was truly here, as he promised. "I didn't think you'd find me so quickly," Maeve said, her voice breathy and unfamiliar to her own ears. It annoyed her, this loss of control.

"That gift around your neck is hard to miss," he replied smoothly, his tone cool yet laced with amusement.

That voice. Her chest tightened as recognition dawned. Perhaps if she hadn't met the owner of that voice a week ago, it wouldn't have hit her so suddenly. Her father's guess, House Kael and the red feather had been right after all.

Maeve took an instinctive step back, her gloved fingers tingling as if the truth coursed through her veins. There's no way. She wouldn't even wager on the devil's coin. But the voice, the mannerisms, the air of confidence, it was unmistakable.

"Lorien?"