The Gilded Cage
The sun had barely begun to dip below the horizon when the knock came. It wasn't the heavy, rhythmic thrum of the prince nor the familiar, soft presence of Lukas. This knock was light, frantic, and followed by the sound of keys rattling nervously. I had barely managed to hobble back to my room from the infirmary. My ribs were taped tight, and my skin felt like it was humming with the phantom vibration of every wooden strike I'd taken. I was looking forward to nothing but a dark room and the softest pillows in the manor.
The door swung open, and three maids hurried in, carrying a large basin of steaming water and a gown that looked like it had been spun from moonlight and stardust.
"What is this?" I asked, my voice still raspy from the training yard.
"Lord Dracarus has requested your presence for dinner, Miss Hina," the eldest maid whispered.
She wouldn't look me in the eye. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, but I saw her flinch when she noticed the dark bruise creeping up my neck.
"Request? Or command?" I countered, trying to pull myself upright
.
Every muscle screamed in protest. The idea of sitting through a formal dinner while I felt like a walking bruise was almost laughable.
"The Prince said it was not optional," she replied, her voice trembling. "Lord Valerius is visiting. You are to be... presented."
I felt a surge of cold fury. Presented. Like a prize horse. Or a new sword he'd just finished sharpening. The Prince wanted to show the Council that his "human liability" was under control. He wanted to show them that I was a doll he could dress up and parade around at his leisure... but I won't let him get away with it!!!
"Fine," I said, my teeth gritted against the pain as I stood up. "If he wants me there, I'll be there. But he's going to get exactly what he asked for."
The maids worked in a blur of motion. They scrubbed the sand of the training grounds from my skin, their hands trembling whenever they touched a particularly nasty mark. They tried to use a thick, pale salve to cover the bruises on my arms, but I pulled away.
"Leave them," I commanded.
"But Miss... the Prince will be displeased," the younger maid stammered.
"He is the one who put them there," I said, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
The dress was a deep, shimmering midnight blue, trailing behind me like a shadow. It was beautiful, but it felt like a cage; every time I moved, my curves would be shown in a discreet way. I had never worn anything so fancy before, so naturally I'd feel a bit self-conscious, and not because of the scars.
"If he wants me at his table, he can get a mannequin instead."
"But Miss, if you don't go, all of us will get punished. Please, Miss Hina, we're begging you, just go."
The younger maid spoke this time again, holding my hand in hers while carrying a pleading face. I couldn't say no to that. And my heart isn't made of stone; I won't let someone else get hurt because of my own actions, though if it was anyone else, I wouldn't care either. It's just because these palace maids have been so friendly to me, almost like family. Naturally, my instinct is to protect them, so I agreed to let them do their thing.
When the transformation was complete, I didn't look like the girl who had died in a car accident. I didn't even look like the girl who had been crying in the forest a week ago. With my hair pinned up and the dark silk hugging my frame, I looked like a queen who had just walked off a battlefield. The bruises on my collarbone stood out like jewels against the blue fabric.
I made my way down the grand staircase, my boots clicking rhythmically against the marble. I could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the dining hall
clinking glass, soft laughter, and that underlying hum of power that always followed high-ranking vampires.
I reached the threshold and paused. Lord Dracarus was at the head of the table, his crimson robe replaced by a formal black doublet that made him look ancient and immovable. To his left sat a man I did not know with hair the color of the black abyss and eyes like cold embers
Lord Valerius.
The room went silent the moment I stepped inside.
The Prince didn't look up immediately. He took a slow sip of blood-red wine, his fingers tapping against the stem of the glass.
"You're late, Wildcat," he said, his voice cutting through the silence.
"I had trouble getting the sand out of my hair," I replied, my voice steady.
I walked toward the empty chair directly across from the guest, refusing to look at the servants who were watching with bated breath.
Lord Valerius leaned forward, his nostrils flaring as if he were catching the scent of my blood through the bandages.
"So this is her," the Lord drawled, his voice like grinding stones. "The human who caused such a stir. I expected something... sturdier and more... pleasant."
"She's sturdier than she looks, Valerius," the prince murmured, finally turning his gaze toward me. as if expecting me to keep my mouth shut.
His eyes then swept over the dress, then locked onto the bruises I had refused to hide. For a split second, I saw a flicker of something—was it shame? Or bruised pride?
It was gone before I could name it.
"I see the training is progressing," the guest noted, gesturing toward my arm. "But tell me, Prince, why keep a wolf when a lamb is so much easier to manage?"
"Because lambs are boring," I interrupted, staring the Lord down.
I ignored the sharp intake of breath from the servants and the icy glare from Dracarus.
"And I've never been very good at being managed."
The guest's eyes narrowed. "A sharp tongue for a creature so fragile. Do you know where you are, girl? You are sitting at a table of lords. You should be grateful the prince hasn't let me have a turn with your 'lessons'."
"I'm sure your lessons involve a lot of talking, old fart," I said, leaning back in my chair despite the ache in my ribs.
"I prefer the Prince's method. At least I know where I stand when there's a blade at my throat, unlike you, who'd slow me down with ancient unusable techniques."
Lord Valerius let out a low, dark chuckle. It was the same sound Dracarus made when anyone crossed him....
"Careful, Valerius," the prince warned, though his eyes never left mine.
"She bites. And unlike my guards, she doesn't care about your title."
Lord Valerius slammed his hand on the table, the silver rattling.
"You allow this insolence? Under your own roof?"
"I allow it because she earned it," the prince said, his voice turning cold as ice.
"She stood her ground against me today. Unless you'd like to step into the ring with her tomorrow and see if you can do better?"
The guest sputtered, his pale face turning a mottled grey. He looked between us, realizing the dynamic wasn't what he'd been told. I wasn't a pet. I was a weapon being forged in a fire he couldn't handle.
Dinner continued in a tense, suffocating silence, but I didn't care. I ate my meal with a steady hand, feeling the weight of the Prince's gaze on me the entire time. I was a problem he was trying to solve, and for the first time, I realized I was winning.
As I left the hall later that night, I passed Lukas in the corridor. He gave me a silent nod, his eyes lingering on the bruises I had displayed so proudly.
"You showed them," he whispered as I walked by.
"I'm just getting started," I replied.
I climbed the stairs to my room, the moonlight guiding my way. I was tired, bruised, and broken, but as I thought of the thousands of eyes now watching my story, I knew the world was finally paying attention.
The Wildcat had arrived at the table. And she wasn't leaving until she owned it.