The sun's golden rays chased the darkness across Drake Castle's modest inner courtyard at an alarming rate. The light would touch Catherine Drake's unprotected skin if it continued its relentless arc for another foot.

Her usual admiration for its sheer beauty was absent without the protection of her daylight ring to shield her from its deadly heat.

She glanced at her familiar surroundings, silently saying her goodbyes. As she did, images of playing within the walls of her childhood home briefly unlocked her defenses, and a sob almost slipped past her guard.

I have come to the end of my road, the vampire princess realized. Dread churned through her insides, prickles of panic running up her spine, and a chill invaded her heart.

The fast-dissipating shadows shattered her illusions.

Father will not grant me leniency or mercy. This realization tore her heart. Not with his friends and enemies circling like hyenas and vultures—waiting for the lion to make its kill so they can feast on the scraps.

She shuddered.

"Murderer," a musical female voice yelled harshly, sounding familiar.

Catherine glared at the faceless crowd.

The sloppy attempt on her father's life a few weeks earlier resulted in the deaths of several guards and servants before the attackers died at Hellenic's hand. And he made sure these losses were attributed to her.

"Traitor!" a male spat, emphasizing the word with the low burr of an accent she almost recognized.

The whine of a leather thong sliced through the crisp morning air, spiking shards of ice through her veins.

How can this be happening? Her soul cried out.

Studded leather licked across her naked back like a dragon's tongue and split her skin a fraction of a heartbeat before the explosive slap reached her sensitive ears.

Blood spattered from the wound and trickled down her back.

Her gaze instinctively sought out that of her father, and Eduardo's eyes bored into hers as if he could see into her thoughts—the weight of that stare settled on her like armor made of lead.

Salty moisture burned her eyes and tightened her throat.

Instead of succumbing to her emotions, she clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth, straightening her spine as she met his eyes.

It took every ounce of strength to restrain herself from crying out for mercy and revealing her weakness. Her father valued strength, and his opinion meant more to her than any other—even as the reality of her fate sunk in.

How did he change so much? She swallowed dryly, wishing she could ask for a sip of water—she would even drink from the muddy trough where the horses drank. I killed our enemies for him and would have gladly died for him. Had I always seen him through the rose-colored haze of my admiration for him?

Eduardo turned his gaze away, no longer acknowledging her. This time, the sob damming up in her throat nearly made it to the surface, but the eager bystanders watching her motivated her to reign it in.

Even with her back on fire and her body exposed to strangers while she was tied to a piece of stone with silver chains like a pagan sacrifice, she couldn't fully reconcile the father she had loved with the man who had judged and condemned her without mercy, remorse, or doubt.

When she grew up, he had allowed her to be more than a mere woman, chattel, or broodmare to some underling.

The sharp burn of the whip marked her skin parallel to the previous blow, rudely interrupting her thoughts.

A shudder shivered through her body like wind through the leaves of a tree, and she shook her head as if trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind.

Father taught me to honor our name, walk with dignity, and act with pride for as long as I can remember. Thoughtlessly shifting her weight, she shut her eyes and almost forgot to breathe as her raw back ignited with unrestrained agony. He raised me to be who I am. The thought stirred a need in her to confront him, but she knew him well enough to realize her father would not listen to her.

The tanned leather cut her skin again, and she flinched.

I miss the privacy of my dungeon. The irony of this, though, was not lost on her. At least there, I had the luxury of giving in to my emotions.

Eduardo raised his right hand, and Hellenic halted his assault on her.

"I, Eduardo Drake, disown you, Catherine Drake." His words cut deeper than the whip. "From this day forth, you are no longer my heir or progeny."

The color seemed to leach from the grey stone walls. The first light dulled, and the fading darkness turned murky.

Memories of playing pirates with her father, riding the royal forests with him, learning battle strategies from him, and seeing the pride in his eyes when she surpassed his expectations ripped through her like shards of glass.

The fragile flower of her love for him withered and died, ground to dust by the unrelenting, distant stranger who had ordered her execution.

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she almost forgot the ache of her flesh in the wake of this new agony.

"The scribes will strike your name from my lineage, and it will never be spoken in this house again," he continued as her ears started ringing and dark spots danced before her eyes.

When Catherine had walked these grounds with the confidence of a beloved daughter and future heir, she never imagined a world where her father saw her as an enemy.

Then again, how could I have foreseen it? The bitter taste of bile filled her mouth.

"You knew Margaret was trouble from the moment Father showed up with the dark-haired dancer draped on his arm like ivy on a trellis," her rational mind reminded.

How can he betray his teachings, all for the love of a fickle woman? She cried out. Margaret has led him on a merry chase in the wrong direction. Anger flooded her veins. She is a charlatan who blinded him to the truth and made him trust an imposter.

"Continue with her punishment," Eduardo instructed, his voice lacking feeling or even a touch of remorse.

Hellenic obeyed without hesitation.

"It is such a waste," someone jeered, the cultured tones of his voice dripping with mockery and lust. "She'd make a good sidepiece."

She lowered her head, and her shoulders sagged as heat scorched her cheeks.

"She's too dangerous," another added their copper's worth. His accent revealed his low birth and disdain for his betters. "She'd rip off your balls and feed them to you."

Damned right I would, she seethed.

"That is what chains are for!" a third crowed with delight.

This one she recognized as their closest neighbor.

He would not have dared open his mouth if Lady Wentworth was present. She yanked at the restraints and hissed, realizing too late the consequences of her violent movement. Everyone knows that she wears the pants in their relationship.

"Who would be dumb enough to give her chains to strangle you or beat you into submission with?" The first voice scoffed, and she still couldn't pinpoint who it was.

"She doesn't need chains to rip your head off," a cool, cultured voice reminded them. Catherine couldn't figure out if it were a man or a woman.

No, I don't. She almost said it out loud but thought better of it. I will not lower myself to their level.

Eduardo glared at the speakers, a frown tugging at his brow.

She compressed her lips and clamped her jaw, not dignifying their taunts with a response—nor did her father silence them.

Two snaps of the whip in quick succession robbed her of breath, and then paused as her tormentor allowed the wounds to heal a bit.

Textbook Hellenic, she fumed, allowing the heat of her anger to burn away less useful emotions.

"Whore," another coward hiding in the crowd snickered.

How original, she scoffed, a tide of red-hot anger searing through her. If Hellenic says I seduced him and added a sleeping draught to his wine to slip my minion into the castle, then it "must" be true.

Her glance wandered to her father, avoiding the woman standing behind him.

It didn't help that Margaret had claimed that she had asked for the infernal concoction to aid her sleeplessness, sealing her fate. And although Catherine had asked for it, she never received the medicine.

Another tongue of fire licked her skin, and her mind momentarily reeled off course.

If I had drugged father's wine with the same brew that I purportedly slipped Hellenic, how did he sleep through the whole ordeal when Hellenic still fended off ten assassins? Father is a much more powerful vampire.

The metallic odor of her blood left her torn between feral hunger and gagging. Drops of it chilled and congealed on the frigid cobblestones, changing from vibrant red to a d duller reddish-brown.

"Finish it, Hellenic," someone yelled, hatred lacing each word. "It is time for this bitch to burn."

If only I had acted sooner, she tortured herself. For most of her life, she believed Hellenic to be a friend closer than a brother. She saw him as a compatriot and a mentor, but he turned out to be the poisoned apple from her favorite folk tale.

He stole my dreams, jolted me from my place in the world, and ripped my life away. The admission left her feeling afloat, lost, and untethered like a ship that broke its moorings. But the most significant loss was that of Father's love and respect.

Hellenic set the ball in motion, she was overly aware of him standing at her back, when he accused me of hiring assassins to murder my father. Her forehead wrinkled. How had I not seen the depths of darkness in him until it was too late? There was not even any subtility to it. Had I not witnessed many flashes of it in his eyes yet ignored it—for Father's sake? She shook her head. How foolish can one be?

She thought of the night before her arrest when her father talked about the future and Hellenic toasted to "A new tomorrow and many changes for the better." He had looked right at her and smirked.

Catherine sensed the whip coming at her before she heard it and braced herself.

It didn't help.

The blank faces of the nearest spectators were a façade betrayed by the ever-growing bloodlust and anticipation glinting in their eyes. They smirked at witnessing her fall from grace, savoring every moment like a fine red wine.

"Give her to me, Hellenic, and I will teach her to be a good little girl. Perhaps she is too much of a woman for you?" One of the lordlings suggested with more than a touch of mocking challenge.

The slight pause between blows caught her attention, but then the whip ripped into her skin more harshly.

A raw howl escaped her.

Humiliation burned brightly alongside volatile emotions she could and would not control.

If Hellenic learns who said that, she thought, he will have his vengeance, and at least this one heckler will pay for his disrespect. A small, sad smile twisted her lips.

Since birth, I was a motherless child, but in my final hour, I am a fatherless daughter, the blameless guilty, and a sacrifice ensuring victory to my conqueror. It still felt surreal that her father had disowned her and struck her name from his family tree.

"I like my whores a little spirited—it makes breaking them so much more fun," the man jeered.

Salty tears blurred her vision, and Catherine blinked rapidly, not allowing them to fall.

I refuse to let these beasts see me break down. Every fiber of her being wanted to deny them the triumph of proving she was weak, fragile, and incapable of facing her fate with dignity. No matter the cost, I will not give them or Hellenic the satisfaction. Her chin lifted, and she caught Margaret's emerald gaze. Or her. Even if this is my unwritten epitaph.

The dark-haired siren glanced away, a tiny frown marring her perfect brow, and a little grim smirk settled on Catherine's lips.