The Name She Wrote in Blood

I materialized at the gates of Versta Keep.

I still had a few things to retrieve from his home.

Looking at the ancient, imposing keep, I thought of my own family, the Vances. Our fall from grace began with my father. Once-powerful blood nobility, we backed the wrong side in the political upheaval that swept through our world. Our assets were seized, our titles stripped, and our family scattered.

In my past life, I was naive enough to think marrying Mortlock would save us. I thought becoming the mate to the Prince of House Versta would restore our name and honor.

How wrong I was then, how clear it all seems now.

Just as I stepped through the main doors, I saw Isabella nestled in Mortlock's arms, murmuring pitifully while he gently stroked her back.

In my last life, seeing them like this would have felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I would have been jealous, furious, heartbroken.

But now, looking at them, my heart was still.

I heard Isabella's soft sobs. "Will Grace be angry with me for interrupting your bonding? I know I shouldn't be living here, but it's so dangerous outside, and I'm so scared..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mortlock's voice was firm. "I owe you. Grace will have to understand. Your safety is more important to me than any ritual."

A smirk touched my lips. I let out a loud, deliberate cough to announce my presence.

They both turned. Mortlock awkwardly let go of Isabella. A flash of triumph crossed her face before she replaced it with a look of fear.

"Grace, you're back." Mortlock cleared his throat. "I was just checking on Isabella. She wasn't feeling well."

I didn’t say a word. My gaze swept over Isabella and landed on the necklace around her throat. It was the Versta family heirloom, a ruby necklace that only the Prince's official mate was worthy of wearing. I'd never once worn it in my past life.

Isabella noticed my stare and touched her neck, her expression all innocence. "Oh, this… I just thought it was pretty and wanted to try it on. I'll take it off right now."

She made a slow, deliberate show of reaching for the clasp, her eyes fixed on Mortlock.

"Grace," Mortlock said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Don't fuss over such small things. She just likes pretty things."

"Don't take it off," I said calmly. "It suits you."

Both of them stared at me, clearly not expecting that reaction.

"You… you don't mind?" Isabella asked, testing me.

"Why would I mind?" I smiled. "You both think it suits you, right? Then keep it."

Mortlock’s brow furrowed. "Grace, you don't have to play these strange games with me. I told you, Isabella is just like a sister."

"If you're so concerned about a necklace, I have a surprise for you," he said. He walked to a nearby sofa and picked up an exquisite box.

"Remember that vintage wedding dress you had your eye on? I had it brought in from Paris." He raised an eyebrow, a slight smile on his face. "You can try it on tonight."

It was the dress I had once dreamed of—19th-century French court style, made of the finest silk and lace.

But now…

"Let Isabella try it on," I said, my voice still flat. "We're about the same size, aren't we?"

The color drained from Mortlock’s face, replaced by anger. "Grace? What is the meaning of this? I had this made for you!"

I turned to leave, tossing a final comment over my shoulder. "I'm busy. I'm sure Isabella won't mind trying it on for me."

After all, the vampire bride who would eventually wear that dress wouldn't be me.

Mortlock let out a bitter laugh. He shoved the dress into Isabella’s arms and said loudly, "Fine, have it your way! Isabella, it's yours."

Isabella gasped, a mix of surprise and coyness in her voice. "If I wear this, won't I look just like the Prince's bride…?"

I didn't stay to hear the rest.

I went to my room and started packing the few things that were mine.