Two weeks earlier

  Lady Natalia Hargrove pressed her back against the cold stone wall of her bedchamber, counting her heartbeats while she waited. Though vampires had no need to breathe, she found herself taking a deliberate breath to steady her nerves—a human habit she'd observed and adopted despite never having been human herself.

  The heavy brocade curtains were drawn tight against the approaching dawn, blocking even the faintest suggestion of the deadly sunlight that would soon sweep across Orlov's medieval territory. Within the hour, every vampire in Duke Hargrove's sprawling estate would retire to their sleeping chambers—the perfect time to set her pn in motion.

  A soft knock—three taps followed by two—signaled her dy's maid at the door.

  "Enter," Natalia whispered, her voice barely audible even in the silence of her chambers.

  The door opened just enough for Elena to slip inside, her pin servant's garb a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings. In her hands, she carried a small wooden box.

  "It's done, my dy," Elena murmured, setting the box on Natalia's dressing table. "The sleeping draught has been added to your father's dawn goblet. He'll sleep more deeply than usual tonight."

  Natalia nodded, her violet eyes—the unmistakable marker of natural-born vampire heritage—fshing with determination. "And the physician?"

  "Bribed, as you instructed." Elena lowered her eyes. "Five drops of your blood and the promise of twenty more once your 'illness' is confirmed. He'll inform your father at dusk tomorrow that you're suffering from blood-sleep and must not be disturbed for at least six nights."

  Blood-sleep—a rare condition affecting natural-born vampires during their early development decades—was the perfect cover. It required absolute isotion, with not even family members permitted to enter the afflicted vampire's chambers. By the time anyone discovered her absence, Natalia would be far beyond her father's reach.

  "And the tournament registration?" Natalia asked, opening the wooden box to reveal several carefully forged documents.

  "Intercepted and destroyed, as you requested," Elena confirmed. "The official announcement was removed from your father's correspondence before he could see it."

  Natalia nodded with satisfaction. For generations, Duke Hargrove had publicly denounced the Crimson Games as an insult to traditional vampire hierarchy. As a powerful vassal to Archduke Orlov and a vocal member of the traditional faction, he insisted that only those of noble blood should be eligible for titles, regardless of the appointment method. The tournament's inclusion of common-born vampires competing alongside aristocracy was, in his view, an abomination that degraded the entire noble css. Though he might reluctantly accept the competition among properly noble-born candidates when politically expedient, the very concept of commoners rising to nobility through mere skill rather than blood purity remained anathema to him and the traditional faction.

  While several of his sons had participated in previous tournaments—always with the understanding they would maintain proper aristocratic dignity and never fraternize with common contestants—Duke Hargrove maintained strict control over which family members could enter. As the vampire known throughout vampire society for his unprecedented number of consorts and concubines, Duke Hargrove had produced more offspring than any other vampire in recorded history. His numerous sons were diplomatic assets, military commanders, and extensions of his influence throughout Orlov's territory—while his daughters were viewed exclusively as marriage commodities.

  His lingering bitterness over his son Aleksander's humiliating broken engagement with Valentina over two and a half centuries ago made him particurly vigint about controlling his children's public appearances. His daughters, however, were absolutely forbidden from any association with the Games, deemed suitable only for advantageous marriage alliances.

  "My father would rather die than allow any daughter of his to participate in what he calls 'that vulgar common spectacle,'" Natalia said, touching the forged documents in the box. "In his mind, I'm suitable only for an advantageous marriage alliance."

  From the box, she removed a silver pin bearing the emblem of Countess Veronique, her father's bitter rival in Orlov's court. With meticulous care, she pced it inside her own jewelry box, positioning it to be discovered during the inevitable search of her chambers after her disappearance was noted.

  "The countess's youngest daughter has been especially attentive to you at recent gatherings," Elena observed. "The evidence will suggest she aided your escape out of... affection."

  "A conclusion my father will find both infuriating and humiliatingly pusible." Natalia's lips curved into a smile that held none of the demure gentleness expected of noble daughters in Orlov's traditional court. "House Veronique has sought alliance with House Hargrove for decades. The suggestion that his rival's daughter dared to develop feelings for his own daughter will drive him to distraction."

  She moved to her wardrobe, where Elena had already concealed a small traveling case beneath yers of eborate gowns. Unlike the ornate dresses that dominated her collection—all flowing silks, constricting corsets, and delicate cework that restricted movement while emphasizing feminine fragility—the contents of this case represented freedom: practical garments, sturdy boots, and most importantly, the masculine attire she would don once safely beyond her father's domain.

  "The merchant's carriage?" she asked, checking the hidden pockets sewn into her pinest traveling cloak. Each contained items essential for her journey: binding cloths for her chest, styling wax for her hair, and most importantly, her own official noble credentials and identity papers that a document forger would ter alter to transform "Lady Natalia" into "Lord Nathaniel" while maintaining her legitimate Hargrove bloodline.

  "Waiting at the eastern postern gate, as arranged. The guard has been paid to conveniently fall asleep at his post shortly before sunrise." Elena hesitated, then added, "The merchant believes he's smuggling contraband wine, not the youngest child of Duke Hargrove."

  "Good. The less he knows, the safer he remains." Natalia crossed to her dressing table and removed her eborate earrings—blood rubies set in gold filigree, worth enough to purchase a common vampire's loyalty for decades. She pressed them into Elena's palm, closing the maid's fingers around them. "Your final payment, as promised."

  Elena's eyes widened. "My dy, this is far more than—"

  "Than we agreed upon? Yes." Natalia's expression softened momentarily. "But not more than you deserve for risking my father's wrath. Once I'm gone, request reassignment to the western estate. You'll be safely beyond his immediate attention when the deception is discovered."

  The maid slipped the jewels into a hidden pocket, her movements practiced and efficient. "What of your brothers? Won't they be questioned?"

  "My seven brothers are scattered across Orlov's territory, each pursuing their own ambitions with no time to concern themselves with their youngest sibling." Natalia's voice carried a hint of bitterness. "Father's precious heirs have never paid me any mind beyond ensuring I remained suitably decorative at court functions. They'll be relieved when Father announces I've been sent to a distant retive to recover from my mysterious ailment."

  A distant bell tolled, signaling the final hour before dawn. Natalia tensed.

  "It's time." She gestured for Elena to help her into the pinest of her traveling ensembles—a dark blue dress with minimal ornamentation that would draw little attention. "Remember, wait until mid-morning to check on me, then sound the arm that I'm burning with fever. The physician will arrive by early evening to confirm blood-sleep."

  Elena nodded, fastening the silver csps of Natalia's cloak with trembling fingers. "You truly believe women cannot participate in the tournament?"

  "In Orlov's territory, women are forbidden from all combat training, leadership roles, and political positions," Natalia replied with certainty. "I've never heard of a female contestant from our territory, and father would certainly never permit it." She shook her head. "I may be wrong about other territories' customs, but I won't risk my one chance at freedom on that possibility. As Nathaniel, I can be certain of acceptance."

  The pn had crystallized in Natalia's mind months ago, when she had overheard court gossip about the upcoming Crimson Games. While her father considered the tournament an abomination—a vulgar spectacle that undermined the sanctity of bloodline inheritance—Natalia had recognized it as her only chance at freedom.

  If she could earn a noble title through merit rather than marriage, she might escape the suffocating future her father had pnned: being bartered to whichever noble house offered the greatest political advantage, then spending eternity as a decorative consort with no voice in her own destiny.

  With final preparations complete, Natalia extinguished all but a single candle in her chambers. Even in House Hargrove's vast estate, where vampire nobility enjoyed the luxury of numerous candles and oil mps, a single fme was the traditional signal that one had retired for day-sleep.

  "I've left sealed letters for my handmaidens, to be delivered after my 'condition' is announced," Natalia expined, moving toward the concealed servants' passage that connected to the lower kitchens. "They contain explicit instructions not to enter my chambers under any circumstances, reinforcing the physician's orders."

  At the hidden door, Elena paused. "My dy... Lady Natalia... I pray the Sacred Wheel turns in your favor."

  The invocation of the underground blood farm religion—whispered secretly even among some house servants—surprised Natalia. She hadn't realized Elena followed those teachings.

  "Thank you," she replied softly. "May it turn for you as well."

  With one final gnce at the chambers that had been both sanctuary and prison for fifty years, Natalia slipped into the narrow stone passage. She navigated the servants' corridors with practiced ease, having memorized their yout during decades of covert exploration—one of many forbidden activities she had pursued in defiance of her father's restrictions.

  The kitchen was deserted at this hour, the blood-chef and his assistants having retired after preparing the dawn refreshments for the noble household. Natalia moved silently between the massive stone preparation tables and ancient iron cooking implements that hadn't changed in centuries. Orlov's rejection of technological advancement meant that everything in the territory—from food preparation to transportation—relied on methods that predated the Evolution.

  At the kitchen's rear exit, Natalia paused to listen for the night guards. Hearing nothing, she eased the heavy wooden door open just enough to peer into the courtyard beyond. The eastern postern gate was visible across the herb garden, its wrought iron frame partially obscured by the morning mist that had begun to form.

  And there, as promised, waited a merchant's carriage—a simple wooden conveyance drawn by two ordinary horses, so unlike the ostentatious vehicles her father's household used. The driver dozed on his bench, hat pulled low over his eyes, while the lone guard at the postern slumped against the wall in a convincingly natural sleep.

  Natalia took a final steadying breath, then pulled her hood forward to shadow her distinctive violet eyes. With deliberately measured steps, neither hurrying nor hesitating, she crossed the courtyard, projecting the confident bearing of someone with every right to be there.

  The merchant startled slightly as she approached, clearly expecting a servant with crates of contraband rather than a cloaked figure.

  "I am the package," she informed him in a hushed voice. "As you were told."

  Recognition flickered in the man's eyes—not of her identity, but of the situation. He had been paid well to transport a mysterious passenger without questions, and the weight of the gold in his pocket ensured his discretion.

  "In the back, under the wine barrels," he muttered, gesturing to a concealed compartment beneath the carriage's false floor. "Quick now, dawn's approaching."

  The space was cramped and smelled of oak and fermented blood-wine, but Natalia slipped into it without compint. Freedom required sacrifices, and physical discomfort was the least of them. The merchant secured the hidden panel above her, then covered it with empty barrels that would be filled at the border vineyard—his legitimate business and the perfect cover for smuggling a noble daughter out of Duke Hargrove's domain.

  As the carriage lurched into motion, Natalia closed her eyes in the darkness. By the time the sun rose fully, they would be beyond the estate's boundaries. By nightfall, they would reach the border vineyard, where a second bribed merchant would transport her further. And within a week, if all went as pnned, Lady Natalia Hargrove would cease to exist—repced by Lord Nathaniel Hargrove, tournament contestant and architect of his own destiny.

  The irony wasn't lost on her. To cim her freedom as a woman, she first had to become a man.

  But she had spent fifty years observing the privileges her brothers enjoyed without appreciation—the education denied to daughters, the combat training forbidden to female nobles, the diplomatic missions reserved exclusively for male heirs. She had watched from the shadows, absorbing knowledge she wasn't supposed to possess, preparing for an opportunity she wasn't supposed to have.

  Now, as Duke Hargrove's estate receded behind her and the first deadly rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, Natalia allowed herself a moment of triumph. The Crimson Games awaited—an unprecedented chance to prove that capability transcended both bloodline and gender.

  In the darkness of her hidden compartment, she smiled. Let the games begin.