"The people see us all. And that includes you," spat Queen Eliza. She stood before him, bat-like wings flaring with anger. 

   "They are always watching us. I've told you that over and over and over again." She pounded the side of a fist against a wall with each over, each thud louder than the last. Alaric dug his nails through the fabric of his pants as he felt his wings flex against the cloth. 

   "And yet, you never listen. You always find some way to screw things up, on palace grounds."

   The bedroom was grand, but not in a beautiful way- it felt more like a glorified hotel room to him. Walls laced with paintings seemed to close in on the royals with tension, the carpeted floor turned from velvet to stiff brush. 

   "Do you have any idea what this means for our image? Do you know how you looked out there?" Alaric avoided her gaze, pressing his lips into a thin line as he stared at the floor. 

   Another fist hit the wall, and Alaric winced. He felt his wings shift again, then held his breath when he felt the fabric shift as well. 

   "Do you?"

   Alaric closed his eyes and counted to three, drawing in a shallow breath and releasing it. "It was dumb," he muttered as his eyes drifted open. Eliza stormed forward, and her voice lowered to a stern tone. 

   "And how will a dumb ruler manage a Kingdom?"

   She sighed, then stepped away and towards a desk where the masquerade mask was left as she rubbed her hand. Alaric's father, Edrich, sat in a chair beside it with a book, and shifted when Eliza took up the accessory. 

   "The mask," she said, turning back to her son. "Where did you even get this?" 

   "I've had it in my room for a while now," he replied, his tone careful, yet unstable. He swallowed. "From the last masquerade we had."

   "What's gotten into you?" she snapped after a beat of silence. Alaric's eyes flicked up to meet hers for a fleeting moment, his brows drawn together.

   "This attitude. Your being reckless. Don't tell me it's his influence, is it?" Adrian. His heart fluttered at the mentioning, and for a moment he feared she might have suspected them. 

   "No, no. He couldn't change anything this late, could he?" He itched to start pacing, but restlessly tapped his heel instead. "Besides, he might not be staying for too much longer, would he? I'm eighteen now, and-"

   She sighed loudly as she carefully set the mask back down.

   "See? All of that. That babbling. How do you expect to make a leader out of this?" Alaric froze, lips parted. What was he meant to say?

   "How?" She swept the visor up again and hurled it at the ground, landing inches away from Alaric's feet as she shouted the word. The porcelain piece shattered, the small explosion leaving Alaric staggering back in surprise. He squeezed his eyes shut, hands shielding his face. Upon realizing he was holding his breath, he exhaled a silent sigh and opened his eyes. 

   He blinked, processing the scene in front of him. In place of a shattered mask or his mother's scowl, a dark, bony set of wings filled his line of sight, curled around him protectively. They were thin and weak, half the size of his mother's. Still, he was repulsed by the sight of his own. 

   He carefully let them down to hang behind him to reveal his mother, who stared back with wide eyes and parted lips, her arms hanging loosely by her sides. 

   "Alaric, your wings," muttered the Queen, her expression undecipherable. She stepped around the porcelain pile and reached forward to run her fingers along the arm of his left wing. He pulled away, wrapping his arms around his middle. 

   When a Vampire gets Their wings, Percy calls for the start of a new term. A new era, a new heir.

   A wedding. 

   A coronation. 

   The end of Adrian's contract. 

   His stomach twisted with nausea. 

   No. No, not yet. Please, give me more time. 

   "They're a bit large, aren't they? And well developed, as well," Eliza noted aloud, stepping behind him to examine them further. Alaric swallowed hard, then turned to leave. Before either of his parents could call after him, the door shut behind him as he disappeared into the hallway. 

   "Odd," she said to the door. 

   "Do you want me to clean this up?" King Edrich suggested to break the silence, clearing his throat. Eliza waved a hand and grimaced. "I'll call a servant over."

❦

   He rushed to shut his bedroom door, then cried out in pain when the end of his wing was caught. "Fuck's sake," he hissed as he pulled it out and slammed the door. He sighed, pressing his forehead to the wood as he caught his breath. 

   How long have we got? How long does it usually take?

   Few weeks, maybe? Is that all I have?

   He realized he was gripping the doorknob, and he let go of it when he turned to get his nightclothes. He nearly smiled when he saw a neat stack of folded clothes on his desk with another flower on top, this time a tulip. He set it aside in a tiny vase with the poppy from before. He heaved a sigh as he left them.

   He peeled off his shirt and slipped a new one on. 

   Why did I even get these this early?

   He changed his pants. 

   What's Adrian going to think when he hears about this?

   He fell onto the bed, not bothering with his glasses. He winced, then turned to lay on his side. What did Adrian say earlier?

   "Was that the lucky lady out there?"

   "I think I saw her in the paper a while ago."

   Thanks, Ian.

   He huffed as he got up, slid on a coat, and started down the hallway to find the library. When he did, he found the section for recent news and huffed when he saw the endless rows of papers. Dammit.

❦

   It didn't take quite as long as he thought it would to find her. From the curve of her cheekbones to the set of her eyes, the woman he met matched up perfectly with a printed portrait in a paper from a week ago. He nearly smiled when he saw the bows in her hair and bodice. 

   Rosaline Wimsey was her name, the lead designer and seamstress for her family business. In recent times, the Queen had commissioned her for a ball gown in exchange for a handsome pay and invite to the ball. That would explain the ribbons and her eagerness to socialize at the ball. 

   He slid the stray papers back into place with the others and yawned as he made his way back to his room. 

   You're my best chance at this, Wimsey. He clenched his jaw. 

   And I'm sorry in advance. 

❦

   "You have heard about the Prince last night?" asked Belle. 

   "Yes, I know," replied Amelia with a sigh. "Don't remind me. I still can't believe I missed it." Belle frowned. 

   The two girls were on a stroll through the Markets that evening after work at the palace

   "I feel like that could have been my one shot to meet him," Amelia said. "Apparently he danced with some random girl, too," she recalled. 

   And not Hollows? She bit back a smirk.

   The Markets were a bustling maze of shops and stands and vendors, lanterns illuminating the otherwise dark paths. Sellers were starting to close while crowds started to thin as the moon began to rise. 

   Eventually, an old jewelry shop caught her eye.

   "Oh, that reminds me! Got you something," said Amelia, when she caught sight of the shop. She pulled a small velvet drawstring pouch from her purse and handed it to Belle. 

   "Ah, you didn't need to," she replied, gingerly taking it from her hands. When she undid the opening, she revealed a heavy golden ring with a gilded glass jewel in the center.

   "It's beautiful," she murmured. "Isn't this the same as yours?" she asked. In response, Amelia held up her own with a grin. "We can match now"

    Belle put up a grin. It was tacky, but manageable, she supposed as she slipped it on and pocketed the pouch. Her stomach tightened at the thought that she would now be obligated to wear it. 

❊