A Star in the Count's Shadows - Chapter 1
Levi x fem reader
Full story summary: As a registered Blooming Vessel, you expect your arranged marriage to be nothing more than a cold business transaction. You’re just a simple human baker with rare, dormant markings that high society looks down on.
But when Count Levi Ackerman, an untouchable, pure-blood vampire who commands the empire’s wealthiest trade routes, abruptly claims you as his bride at the Grand Arrangement Ball, the entire court is thrown into a frenzy.
To the world, it looks like a calculated political move. In reality, Levi is secretly obsessed, captivated by your warmth and a lethal instinct he can barely control in private. Thrust into a dark, luxurious dynasty filled with dangerous high-society rivals, you must navigate court politics while dealing with an obsessive lover who is trying to hold back.
An arranged contract turns into a fierce, legendary soulmate bond in this story filled with high-stakes drama, slow-burn angst, and a deep, protective love that defies the shadows.
This chapter - Levi follows you around and at the arrangement ball, he offers marriage.
Ao3
Part 2
Levi stared at the mountain of files on his heavy mahogany desk, his pale fingers tapping a restless, irritated rhythm against the wood. The council was getting desperate. The drive to protect the supernatural bloodlines of the ancient, high-ranking families had turned into a suffocating obsession, and the pressure on him to choose a mate was reaching a boiling point.
He could choose another pure-blood vampire, but fertility among their kind was practically non-existent. Worse, the pool was so small it would mean marrying a cousin or some distant relative, a thought that thoroughly disgusted him. Humans were an option, but regular human fertility presented its own set of complications.
So, it left him with only one logical choice: a Blooming Vessel. A human born with the sacred marking.
With a heavy sigh, Levi flicked through the papers. He had made it clear to the council that he was only interested in women, so the desk was cluttered exclusively with portraits and family trees of young ladies. His sharp eyes scanned the mixture of tiers. There were Commons, their skin bearing simple shapes but possessing low magical compatibility. Then came the Noble class, boasting intricate, lace-like patterns.
One name in particular stood out in the pile, primarily because she had practically begged the council for his hand.
Lady Prescilla. She was considered one of the top potential brides in the kingdom, coveted by many for her flashy, high-ish marking. But Levi knew better. The rival family's son was already intimate with her, and the mere thought of picking her made his lip curl. He had no interest in a woman who jumped from bed to bed, chasing power, money, and status.
Then, there were the Primordials.
True Primordials were so rare they were practically myth, and the council had only managed to locate two. The first was a princess. But a princess came with political baggage, royal decrees, and endless spotlight. Levi was a Count; he owned vast stretches of land and controlled the wealthiest trade routes in the empire. He had power, but he had no desire for the headache of a crown.
His gaze fell on the final file. You.
You came from a simple, comfortable family. You didn't have a title. You didn't have a political agenda. You baked.
Levi’s eyes lingered on the sketch of your marking. He knew high society would mock a mark like yours or the princess's. To the uneducated eye, the fine, faint lines looked simple, almost incomplete. The fools didn't understand that a Primordial mark was dormant; it would only truly bloom and change when bonded, shifting dynamically with your feelings and the connection shared with your mate.
Irritated by the whole spectacle, Levi abruptly shoved the entire stack of files across the table, sending them tumbling directly into the wastebasket.
He rose to his feet, a sudden, suffocating urge to leave his mansion washing over him. As he strode down the grand hallway, his butler and a small trail of anxious maids hurried after him.
"My Lord, have you made a selection?" the butler asked quickly. "Should we prepare a guest wing? The arrangement ball is only weeks away, we must set things up..."
"I'm going out," Levi cut him off, his voice flat.
He dragged on his long black coat, adjusted his dark sunglasses to shield his eyes from the lingering daylight, and gripped the handle of his umbrella. Leaving the quiet chill of his estate behind, he boarded his carriage and headed into the heart of the main town.
Officially, he told himself he was checking on his trading companies. A few new shops had opened up under his investment, and it was only logical to ensure his money was being handled correctly. He moved from shop to shop, his presence commanding silence and bowing heads wherever he went.
But as he stepped back out onto the cobblestone street, something caught him.
It wasn't a sight, but a scent. The air carried the rich, comforting hint of warm yeast and baked goods, but mixed into the sugar was something else. Something intoxicating. A faint, biological hum that made his pure-blood instincts snap to attention.
Compelled by the scent, his feet moved before his mind could stop them. He followed the fragrance down a bustling avenue, watching as children and townspeople of all races, both supernatural and human, rushed to and from a vibrant little bakery that seemed to practically buzz with joy.
Levi stopped outside, shielding himself with his umbrella, and looked through the glass window.
The moment his eyes found you, the loud, chaotic world around him faded into complete static. His undead heart gave a sudden, violent flutter, a terrifying, exhilarating sensation he had never felt in all his centuries of existence. A faint heat rushed to his pale cheeks.
He was gazing at the most beautiful thing he had ever had the pleasure of looking at.
There you were, in all your glory. You were wearing a low-cut dress, and his breath hitched as he saw the beautiful, silvery vine pattern stretching across your collarbones, connecting beautifully in the middle before drifting over the lush curve of your breasts and disappearing beneath your corset.
The smile on your face was divine, radiating a warmth that felt safer than the sun. A stray smudge of white flour dusted your cheek, and your hair was pushed up, entirely exposing the elegant, soft line of your neck and shoulders, a sight so tempting it made his fangs ache with a desperate, protective hunger.
You had a sparkle about you. A pure, bright joy that didn't belong in this dark, corrupt world. In that single, quiet moment, Levi knew he was completely undone. You were like a star in a night sky, and without even knowing his name, you were leading him home.
"Sir?"
The voice broke through the fog in his mind, sharp and insistent. "Sir?"
Levi blinked a few times behind his dark sunglasses, suddenly realising he had stepped inside the bakery without even registering his own feet moving. He was standing near the counter, completely paralysed. Being wrapped in your scent up close made everything a thousand times harder. The raw flood of new emotions, the possessive urges clawing at his chest, and the sheer rapid racing of his undead heart as he watched you move around behind your friend, it was overwhelming.
The girl behind the counter, addressing him, was a cute pixie woman, her long, pointed ears tipped backwards and adorned with a few silver rings. "Sir? Are you okay?"
Hearing the commotion, you stepped closer to the counter, your voice a soothing melody. "He's probably just overwhelmed by the scents in here, Mei. There's a lot of warm blood today."
"Warm blood? Oh! He's a vampire?" Mei’s eyes widened slightly in realisation.
You let out a soft, divine little giggle as you moved a tray of freshly baked, golden rolls. "Yes. Give him time, Mei. They're just as sensitive to smells as the werewolves are."
Mei nodded in understanding before turning a bright smile back to Levi. "We have a lot of vampire-friendly foods here, sir. Let us know when you're ready!"
Levi cleared his throat, his vocal cords tight as he desperately tried to regain his usual, stoic composure. He hated how vulnerable he felt in front of you. "Whatever you recommend," he managed to say. "I... don't normally eat blood-infused foods. I take it in my tea. I only consume it when I absolutely have to."
"Hmm... let's see then," you murmured thoughtfully.
Finishing up your task, you wiped your hands on your apron and scanned the display. You selected a perfectly crafted sweet roll, beautifully filled with a specialised blend of blood and tart lemon. Wrapping it gently in a piece of parchment paper, you stepped up to the counter and handed it across to him. "Here. Try this one."
Levi reached out to take the pastry. His pale fingers brushed against yours, and the absolute second their skin made contact, a violent, electric spark shot straight through his veins.
You flinched, your breath catching. Right before Levi’s eyes, the delicate, silver pattern across your collarbone reacted to the touch, one of the dormant silver leaves faintly shifted, and a small, exquisite flower bloomed into life against your skin.
You pulled your hand back quickly, your cheeks heating up as you looked down, clearly startled by the sudden magic of the reaction. "E-enjoy, sir," you whispered.
Levi’s mind was reeling, his instincts screaming at him to grab your hand back and never let go. Forcing his body to obey, he reached into his pocket, placed a handful of silver pennies on the counter, far more than the bun was worth, and practically bolted out of the bakery into the cool air of the street.
Standing under the shade of his umbrella, he stared down at the wrapped parchment before slowly opening it to reveal the steaming, fresh bun. His fingers gripped it lightly.
To be honest, Levi dreaded vampire-centric foods. Historically, they were prepared horribly, coagulated, metallic, and heavy enough to make his stomach turn. Looking at the pastry in his hands, a wave of apprehension washed over him.
He let out a quiet sigh, lifted it to his lips, and took a bite.
An absolute explosion of flavour consumed his mouth. The tart sweetness of the lemon perfectly balanced the rich, savoury warmth of the blood, encased in a dough so light it practically melted on his tongue. It was everything he could have dreamed of and more. It was so profoundly beautiful that for a split second, the heavy weight of his centuries-long life vanished, leaving him feeling like he was floating.
This wasn't just food. It was art. It was the best thing he had ever tasted in his life, and as he swallowed the last bite, a dark, terrifyingly sweet realisation washed over him.
He was addicted. To the pastry, to the warmth of that shop, and most of all, to the soft, radiant human girl who had made it.
Levi’s carriage practically flew through the estate gates. He rushed into the mansion with an urgency that sent a shockwave through his entire staff.
"Count Levi! Welcome back," his head maid gasped, scurrying to keep up with his long, furious strides. "Sir, Lady Prescilla has been waiting in the drawing room for nearly an hour. She insists on speaking with you about the upcoming gala—"
"Tell her I am busy," Levi cut her off, not even slowing down. "Tell her I am out. Tell her whatever you want, just get her out of my house."
He slammed his study doors shut behind him, locking out the noise of the palace. His chest heaved as he went straight for the wastebin beside his desk. Without a shred of his usual aristocratic dignity, he reached in and yanked your file back out into the light.
He smoothed down the wrinkled paper, his eyes locking onto your name, your home address, and the delicate sketch of your primordial mark. His undead heart was absolutely racing, the lingering taste of blood and lemon still dancing on his tongue.
The heavy oak door clicked open, and his elderly butler stepped inside, looking entirely bewildered by his master's uncharacteristic behaviour. "Count Levi? Is everything all right? The maid said you—"
Levi spun around, the sheer intensity in his stormy grey eyes causing the older man to pause.
"Send a message to the high council immediately," Levi commanded, his voice dead serious. "Tell them they can stop sending me their pathetic portfolios. I have chosen my bride."
He pulled a heavy, gold-embossed invitation card from his desk drawer. Dip-pen in hand, he aggressively scrawled your name across the parchment in perfect, elegant calligraphy. He handed it over to the butler like a royal decree. "I will be officially proposing to her at the arrangement ball. Ensure the council logs this as an exclusive, binding claim."
The butler lifted his spectacles, eyeing the name written on the card. He blinked in sheer shock, recognising the address of the simple town bakery. But within seconds, a look of pure delight broke across the old man's face. The Ackerman mansion was finally going to have a Countess, and it wasn't going to be some terrible, spoiled rich girl chasing a title. It was going to be a sweet, gentle human baker.
"An excellent, most refreshing choice, My Lord," the butler bowed deeply, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "The estate will be far brighter for it. Shall we prepare a custom gown for my future Lady?"
Levi nodded, his expression softening for a fraction of a second as he thought of how you looked in your flour-dusted apron. He wanted you to look like royalty, but he also wanted everyone in that ballroom to know exactly who you belonged to.
"Yes," Levi murmured, his possessive streak flaring. "Commission the royal tailors. It must be made of the finest dark silk and velvet, matching my house colours exactly. We will send it directly to her home as a formal courting gift. I want her to wear it the moment she sets foot into the gala."
"Consider it done, Count Levi."
As the butler left the room to fulfil the orders, Levi walked over to the tall, curtained windows. He pulled the velvet back just an inch, staring out toward the distant town as the sun began to dip below the horizon.
He had the power to force the marriage, but his secretive, yearning heart ached with anxiety. You were so soft, so cute, and so entirely human. He knew his sudden claim would shock you, and he was terrified that his intense, dark nature would scare you away before he ever got the chance to make you feel safe.
But as he traced a finger over your name on the file, his gaze darkened with absolute certainty. Just wait for me, he thought, his fangs faintly aching. I’m bringing you home.
You gazed at the five dresses laid out across your bed, each representing a completely different future forced upon you by the council.
One was from a sweet childhood friend who, like you, was a Blooming Vessel. You knew he had only sent it to try and save you from a worse fate, but there would never be any real love between you; his heart belonged entirely to your mutual friend. Two more belonged to middle-status supernatural men, both seeking the prestige of a marked bride.
What confused you the most, however, were the final two. They belonged to the two top families in the entire empire.
The first was from the Dupré family, an ancient lineage deeply entrenched in cutthroat politics and royal courts, soaking in generations of unfathomable wealth. The second was from the Ackermans, practically the gods of trading, legendary for bringing the finest quality foods, spices, and luxuries to the lands.
Looking at the two rival gowns, you knew instantly which one you preferred. The Dupré dress was suffocatingly covered in heavy gold embroidery, and even the invitation card was dripping in gold leaf. It was gaudy, arrogant, and completely clashed with your taste.
The Ackerman gown, by contrast, was an absolute masterpiece of elegant, tasteful design. It was breathtakingly beautiful, crafted from a deep, luxurious midnight silk that looked as though you were wearing all the stars in the night sky. When your fingers brushed the fabric, your heart gave a strange, unexpected flutter. Even the writing on the gold-embossed card was different, the dark, precise calligraphy felt strangely intimate.
You knew these marriages were entirely arranged business transactions, but the thought of marrying into the Ackerman family didn't terrify you as much as the others. If nothing else, you thought with a small, practical smile, you would have access to the most incredible, high-quality ingredients and rare spices for your baking.
Stepping into your bedroom, you put on your best corset and bloomers before gently pulling the dazzling Ackerman gown over your curvy figure. It hugged your shape perfectly, the dark velvet and silk contrasting beautifully against your skin. You combed through your hair and attempted to pin it up into an elegant style. You did your best, but a few soft strands escaped, framing your face in a look that was slightly messy but effortlessly stylish. With only a few simple cosmetics at your disposal, you kept your makeup light and natural, enhancing the bright sparkle in your eyes.
Once you were fully dressed, you boxed up the remaining four gowns, took a deep breath, and opened your bedroom door.
Your parents, your sister, and your brother were all waiting anxiously in the hallway. The moment they saw you, the breath left their lungs. You gave them a gentle, reassuring smile, trying to ease the heavy tension in the air.
"I made the right choice," you whispered softly, gesturing to the starry gown.
Your father nodded slowly, his eyes thick with emotion as he turned to the housemaids. "Take the other dresses away. Return them to the families immediately."
Your family didn't want you to go. It absolutely crushed them that their youngest, who had been so sickly as a baby because the sheer power of the primordial markings had taken such a toll on your little body, was now being hauled off to a supernatural court like a prize.
"I can speak with the Prince," your brother insisted as he gripped his coat. "He’s a friend. There has to be a way to reason with him, to get you out of this contract."
"And I can look into the Ministry archives," your sister added fiercely, reaching out to grab your hand. "There have to be legal loopholes, some old laws we can change to free you from the registry!"
You smiled sadly, squeezing their hands tightly. You knew it was impossible. The High Council would never let a Primordial vessel slip through their fingers.
You hugged both of them tightly, holding onto your parents as you said your goodbyes, knowing very well that once you stepped into that arrangement ball, you likely wouldn't be allowed to see them again until your wedding day. Your family held back their tears, their hearts breaking as they escorted you to the door.
You climbed into the waiting carriage arranged by the council, the heavy door clicking shut behind you. As the horses began to pull away, a quiet part of your heart secretly hoped that perhaps none of the high-ranking lords would choose you tonight. If you weren't chosen, you could just come home to your family, return to the warmth of the bakery, and carry on with your peaceful life.
You had absolutely no idea that a certain pure-blood Count had already thrown a spoiled noblewoman out of his mansion, finalised an exclusive royal claim, and was currently waiting in the shadows of the ballroom, counting down the seconds until his star finally arrived.
"Miss?"
You snapped out of your swirling thoughts, blinking as you realised the council butler was standing by the open carriage door, looking at you with a gentle, somewhat concerned expression. You offered him a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry. I was lost in thought."
The butler offered his hand to help you down, his manner incredibly respectful. "No need to apologise, miss. This is an incredibly heavy day for all of the young ladies arriving tonight." He guided you safely onto the polished stone walkway. "I truly couldn't imagine what you must be going through right now."
You released a long, shaky sigh as you looked up at the massive, towering council mansion. It was a sprawling fortress of stained glass, grand spires, and intimidating wealth. "It’s... a lot," you admitted softly.
"Oh, look, the baker finally decided to show up."
You instantly felt a headache coming on at the mere sound of that screeching, entitled voice. Lady Prescilla.
She had always loathed the fact that someone from a simple, working-class family possessed a higher-level primordial marking than her own noble-tier lace. Because of her jealousy, whenever she happened to cross paths with you in town, she did everything in her power to talk down to you and humiliate you. The only problem for her was that you simply didn't care about her high-society nonsense.
Ignoring her entirely, you kept walking toward the grand entrance of the council building, using the polite butler as your guide.
Behind you, Prescilla let out an indignant huff and tried to chase after you. However, the gown she was wearing was so ridiculously massive, heavy, and over-the-top puffy that she could barely manage a fast waddle. Glancing at the garish gold and crimson fabric, you instantly knew it was from Cedric Dupré.
Cedric was notorious for sending extravagant, unwearable dresses to almost all the eligible ladies as a cruel, running joke. The desperate women would wear them anyway, hoping to catch his eye, while he secretly laughed at them. Prescilla’s dress tonight was the ultimate joke; she looked like a giant, suffocating gold meringue. It was almost tragic, considering Cedric had merely been using her for her blood and her body. He was never going to marry her.
Thinking about it made you look down at your own gown. Your midnight-sky dress was flawless, perfectly tailored to your curves, and incredibly elegant. A small seed of worry planted itself in your mind. Why was your dress so beautiful? Was there some kind of catch? Was there a hidden pin or a trap in the fabric that you hadn't noticed yet?
With a loud gasp of frustration, Prescilla managed to cut across the grass and block your path, her puffy skirts practically swallowing the walkway. "Hey! I'm talking to you, commoner!"
She narrowed her eyes, her gaze sweeping over your shimmering midnight silk, and her jaw dropped in a mixture of shock and pure rage. "Who the hell gave you that dress? Where did you steal it from?"
You stopped, looking at her flushed, angry face, and released a long, incredibly tired sigh. "I don't need to tell you anything, Prescilla."
"You—!" She bristled, her hands clenching into fists against her gold skirts. "That fabric is royal grade! A girl who reeks of yeast and flour has no right to stand on these grounds looking like—"
"Is there a problem here?"
A smooth, dangerously charming voice cut through the air, sending a sudden shiver down the spines of everyone on the walkway.
From the shadow of a nearby royal carriage, a man stepped into the lamplight. He was a literal walking god. Tall, lean, and muscular, his long, silk-like silver-blonde hair caught the moonlight as it fell past his broad shoulders. His sharp, ethereal features were perfectly symmetrical, and his piercing gold eyes locked onto you with a lazy, predatory curiosity. Cedric Dupré adjusted the cuffs of his flawless coat, a slow, mesmerising smirk spreading across his handsome face.
Prescilla’s anger instantly melted into a desperate, swooning smile. "Lord Cedric! You're here! I was just telling this... this girl that she doesn't belong—"
Cedric didn't even look at Prescilla. His golden eyes were entirely fixed on you, scanning your curvy figure in the starry gown, his smirk widening as he breathed in the faint, intoxicating scent of iron and sugar wafting from your skin.
"Well, well," Cedric purred, taking a step closer to you, completely ignoring his date. "I thought tonight was going to be dreadfully boring... but it seems a rare, beautiful little bird has just landed in my courtyard."
You bowed your head in a brief, polite greeting, keeping your voice entirely neutral. "Good evening, Lord Cedric." You glanced from his dark velvet coat over to the furious girl beside him. "Your colours..."
Cedric stepped closer, his broad, muscular frame towering over you as his golden eyes flickered with amusement. "What about my colours, little bird?"
"They don't match Lady Prescilla’s," you noted calmly.
A lazy, dangerous smirk pulled at his lips. Before you could step back, he reached out, his long fingers gently playing with a loose strand of your messy-stylish hair. "A sharp eye. Tell me... whose dress are you wearing tonight? I know every tailor in the capital, and I didn't design this."
Prescilla’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed crimson. She gripped her own arms, her voice cracking with desperation. "Cedric! I wore these gold and crimson colours specifically for you! Are you... Are you playing another cruel prank on me? Is this dress a joke?"
Cedric didn't even flinch. He turned his head slightly toward the pouting noblewoman, his tone dripping with a lazy, heartless charm. "You always tell me you like it when I play with you, Prescilla."
The moment Cedric turned his back to deal with his dramatic date, you didn't waste a single second. You instantly spun on your heel and hurried away toward the mansion, nodding to the council butler to lead the way.
As you walked through the grand, vaulted corridors, the butler quietly broke down everything you needed to know about the evening's strict rules. He explained that once a high-ranking lord made a formal, binding marriage offer and the contract was sealed, you wouldn't be returning to the main floor. Instead, you would be immediately whisked away to a private, highly secured wing of the mansion to be prepared for the wedding. From there, your new husband would take you directly to his estate.
Hearing that made your stomach twist with a sudden spike of anxiety. You bowed your head to him, your voice soft. "Thank you for the warning."
When you finally entered the grand ballroom, the sheer scale of the event hit you like a wall.
The room was vast, illuminated by massive crystal chandeliers that cast a warm, magical glow over hundreds of guests. Expensive wine and blood-vintages were flowing freely. The orchestra played a booming, fast-paced waltz, and the air was filled with loud laughter, clinking glasses, and heavy flirting.
Looking around, you noticed the other Blooming Vessels scattered throughout the crowd. Most of them seemed ecstatic. They were dressed in flashy gowns, happily sipping sweet drinks, eating delicacies, and practically throwing themselves at the wealthy supernaturals who hovered around them like predators. In this world, nearly every marked girl dreamed of being chosen by a powerful Duke or Count to secure a life of luxury.
You, however, stood near the edge of the room, smoothing down the midnight silk of your skirt. You and a tiny handful of other girls were the only ones who didn't like the idea of this auction at all. You just wanted your freedom.
You took a deep, steadying breath, completely unaware that across the crowded, chaotic ballroom, a pair of sharp, stormy grey eyes had just locked onto you from behind dark sunglasses. Levi was standing in the shadows of the royal balcony, his gloved hand tightening so hard around the handle of his umbrella that the metal creaked.
He had seen Cedric touching your hair outside. And Count Levi was already losing his patience.
Levi turned to his assistant, handing over the handle of his folded. "I have a bride to meet. Hold this."
Without waiting for a response, he moved swiftly along the grand balcony. His sharp eyes scanned the chaotic floor below. He noticed Prince Alcide nursing a dark drink, his cold, stoic gaze fixed entirely on you. Nearby, Cedric Dupré was caught in a fierce verbal argument with a desperate Lady Prescilla. Levi knew he had to reach you before either of them could make a move. Channelling the lethal, fluid speed of a pure-blood vampire, he vanished from the balcony.
You felt a sudden, sharp rush of cool air behind you, causing you to flinch lightly. Spinning around quickly, your eyes met a broad, strong, and muscular chest.
Slowly, you looked up, your heart leaping into your throat. Standing right in front of you was Count Levi Ackerman in all his glory. His tailored suit was an exact mirror of your gown, crafted from the same deep midnight silk that looked like a living, breathing night sky. He looked absolutely incredible.
With a slow, deliberate movement of his gloved hand, he slid his dark sunglasses down his nose, revealing piercing, alluring silvery-blue eyes, the kind of ancient, mesmerising depth you could easily get lost in.
"Thank you for choosing my dress," he murmured, his low, raspy voice sending a shiver straight down your spine.
Your heart raced frantically against your ribs. "I... uh..." Your fingers nervously bunched the rich fabric of your skirt. "It... it was the most beautiful one. It reminded me of the night sky."
A soft look of tenderness crossed Levi's usually stoic face. He reached over, his cool fingers gently tucking a stray lock of your messy-stylish hair behind your ear. "You wear it well."
His gaze flickered over your shoulder for a split second, tracking both Cedric and Prince Alcide as they realised what was happening and began trying to navigate the crowded room to get to you. Levi looked back down at you, his focus narrowing until the rest of the room ceased to exist. He spoke your name softly, the sound heavy with an emotion he was desperately trying to conceal.
"I would like to offer you marriage," he stated clearly, with zero hesitation or political games. He leaned in slightly, his thumb lightly tracing the edge of the silver vine marking on your collarbone.
The moment he touched you, the dormant primordial pattern responded instantly. Right before his eyes, tiny, shimmering silver flowers began to bloom across your skin, pulsing with a gentle light.
"I will take care of you," Levi promised, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes locked onto the blooming flowers. "You can bake whatever you want, whenever you want. I will not take a lover. You will be a highly respected Countess. No one will ever look down on you again."
You swallowed hard, looking into his intense, yearning eyes, and bowed your head. "I accept."
Levi’s silvery-blue eyes widened in genuine shock. He froze, his hand hovering near your face. "Really? You don't want to think about it? You don't want to hear what the other lords have to offer?"
You shook your head firmly, a small, practical smile tugging at your lips. "No... should I?"
He stared down at you for a long moment. A part of him wanted to question your sudden compliance, to ask why a beautiful, vibrant human would choose a feared pure-blood vampire so quickly. But his secretive, possessive heart didn't care about the reasons; he just wanted to stretch out this perfect moment for as long as possible.
Extending his gloved hand toward you, he asked softly, "Do you dance?"
You stared at his gloved hand, your cheeks flushing. "Well... I don't really know how to dance the way everyone else here does. But I'll give it a go. I will definitely need guidance."
"I'll talk you through it," he whispered.
Taking your hand, he pulled you gently onto the grand dance floor. The orchestra seemed to swell around you as he drew your curvy figure tight against his strong frame, his hand resting firmly on your waist. He began quietly murmuring the steps, guiding your feet in time with the music. "May I hold you?" he asked suddenly.
You gasped lightly, your eyes widening. "Wh-why?"
"I need to lift you."
You gnawed nervously at your lower lip, your heart hammering against your chest. "Um... okay."
Levi didn't hesitate. He pulled your body flush against his, lifting you effortlessly into the air as the music reached its crescendo. He spun you through the twilight-lit ballroom, your starry dress billowing around his dark silhouette like a galaxy in motion. When he finally set you back on your feet, the waltz ended, and you both offered each other a formal, breathless bow.
"Thank you for the dance," you breathed.
Levi took your hand, lifting it to his face. He pressed his cool, bare lips directly against your skin. The second his lips touched you, a violent, electric bolt of lightning shot straight through his entire system. Your scent, that intoxicating blend of rich, potent blood and sweet, comforting sugar, hit his vampire senses like a tidal wave. His fangs instantly throbbed, aching to tear into you, to claim you fully right then and there.
You let out a soft, pleased hum. "I hope I danced okay..."
Suddenly, Levi pulled back violently. He slapped his hand over his mouth, his chest heaving as his eyes turned a dark, predatory shade. He was fighting his own ancient instincts with everything he had, desperately trying to control the monstrous urge to lose his mind over your blood.
"Go to the arrangement room," he choked out, his voice suddenly harsh.
You clutched the bottom of your dark dress, utterly stunned. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him go from incredibly affectionate and protective to completely dismissive in the blink of an eye. "I... uh..." Hurt flashed through your chest, and you bowed your head to hide your face. "Yes, Count Levi."
Without another word, Levi turned and practically rushed away from you, disappearing into the crowded palace corridors to find his tea before he lost control.
Left entirely alone on the edge of the dance floor, you felt the heavy, suffocating weight of the room crash back in. You were standing in a den of absolute vultures. Lady Prescilla was staring at you with a face twisted in pure, venomous rage, while Cedric Dupré watched you with a dangerous, calculating smirk. The entire high-society crowd was whispering furiously, utterly shocked and deeply envious that the cold, untouchable Count Ackerman, who hadn't shown interest in a single soul for decades, had just claimed a simple human baker.
With every eye in the ballroom drilling into your back, you felt the crushing weight of high society threatening to suffocate you. You felt entirely like an outsider who didn't belong in this glittering world of predators. The heavy midnight silk of your gown suddenly felt too tight, your body felt impossibly heavy, and a desperate part of you wished the polished marble floor would simply collapse beneath your feet and swallow you whole.
"My Lady?"
You jumped slightly at the sudden, deep rumble of the voice beside you. Turning quickly, you found yourself looking up at Prince Alcide. He was a wide, towering man, his frame packed with dense muscle forged from years of brutal battles protecting the borders of the realm. With a few faint, rugged scars cutting across his stoic features, he looked utterly terrifying to the public, but you knew better. Beneath that icy exterior, he was actually a big softie.
"Oh... Your Highness, hello," you breathed, trying to steady your racing pulse. "I didn't think you would be here."
Alcide placed a broad, grounding hand on your upper back, using his massive frame to shield you from the glaring nobles as he began to escort you away from the ballroom. "I have to attend these events to ensure everything goes smoothly," he murmured, his voice a low, protective shield.
You glanced up at him sideways. "Did my brother ask you to keep an eye on me?"
"A little," Alcide admitted, a faint, rare softness flickering in his eyes before he let out a heavy sigh. "But I also felt compelled to do this myself. I truly cannot believe you are here... and that you have already accepted a marriage. Are you certain you have thought this through?"
You lowered your head, watching the hem of your starry dress sweep across the floor as you walked with him into the quiet, heavily guarded corridor of the arranged wing. "Count Ackerman gives me total autonomy and access to an incredible abundance of rare ingredients," you explained softly. "I can bake as much as I want, for as long as I want. All I have to do in return is give him an heir one day."
Alcide suddenly stopped, pulling you to a halt directly in front of the ornate mahogany door bearing the Ackerman family crest. "Aleea and I could easily provide that safety and freedom for you," he said, his gold-rimmed eyes locking onto yours with intense sincerity. "You wouldn't have to face a pure-blood vampire."
Before you could reply, the heavy door clicked open, revealing a cute, petite young maid. Her bright ginger hair was styled into two adorable, perfectly neat plaits on either side of her head.
"Oh! I am so sorry for interrupting, Your Highness!" she gasped, her eyes widening in excitement as she looked at you. "The Count just informed us that our new Countess has been chosen!"
Alcide ignored the maid for a fraction of a second, quickly reaching down to take both of your hands in his broad palms. "There is still time," he urged gently. "You can walk away from this contract."
"I truly appreciate the offer, Your Highness," you replied, looking up at him with immense gratitude, but you gently pulled your hands back from his grip. "But I don't want to be a charity case for you and Princess Aleea. I have accepted this. I've accepted this life." You reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against the silver vine markings peaking above your collarbone. "I've accepted it since the very moment I understood what these markings meant."
Turning away from the prince, you offered a warm, genuine smile to the ginger-haired girl. "I have accepted Count Levi's marriage proposal."
The maid practically squealed in absolute delight, her eyes sparkling. "Lovely! Wonderful! Come right on in, My Lady!"
She eagerly ushered you inside the luxurious private suite. "I'm Luna! I will be your personal maid from this day forward!" The moment you stepped over the threshold, she quickly closed the massive door behind you and turned the heavy iron key, locking out the dangerous vultures of the ballroom.
"Oh, you look absolutely incredible in that dress! The Count chose wonderfully," Luna gushed, instantly taking charge and guiding you toward a sprawling, decadent adjoining bathroom. The room was warmed by a roaring hearth, and a massive porcelain tub filled with steaming, scented water awaited you. "Let's get you unlaced, cleaned up, and properly rested. The Count is already in a total frenzy organising your royal wedding gown!"
You let out a long, weary sigh of relief as Luna’s gentle fingers began helping you untie the tight corset and slide the heavy midnight silk off your shoulders. "Luna... tell me truly," you murmured, stepping out of the layers of luxury. "Is he... is he a good man?"
"He is wonderful, My Lady," Luna answered without a shred of hesitation, her face beaming with pride for her master. "He can be a bit quiet and sharp with his words, yes, but he has been absolutely hyper-focused on making sure you have every single comfort you could ever dream of."
You stepped into the perfectly hot bath, sinking back against the smooth porcelain as the scented water swirled around your curvy figure. The warmth instantly began to soothe your aching muscles. "He has?" you asked softly, staring at the steam rising into the air. "How long has he even known about me?"
"Oh... well..." Luna paused, her cheeks turning a little pink as she realised she didn't want to explicitly give away the fact that Count Levi had been protectively stalking your bakery career for months. She quickly began playing with your hair, gently rinsing. "He saw your registry file, of course! And... well, he’s had some of your baked goods before. He knows you are a deeply good, genuine lady. He knows money and titles aren't important to you. You have a real, beautiful passion for something you love, your baking!"
You went quiet, tracing a finger through the bathwater, the sudden image of Levi’s piercing, mesmerising silvery-blue eyes flashing in your mind. "Does he... does he love anyone else?"
Luna stopped, her hands resting gently on your shoulders as she looked down at you with immense warmth. "Are you worried that he will regret marrying you, My Lady?"
"A little," your voice was barely a whisper, thick with the underlying fear of being a human thrust into an ancient vampire dynasty.
"Trust me, My Lady," Luna said firmly, her tone leaving absolutely no room for doubt. "Our Count is not the kind of man who ever regrets his choices. He doesn't play games, and he doesn't fool around. If he chose you... It means you are the only one he wants."
You smiled softly at her reassuring words, a flicker of hope settling into your chest. "I hope I can help him. I hope I can be a good wife to him."
"Have faith, My Lady," Luna replied warmly. She gently helped you out of the bath, dried you off with a thick, plush towel, and slipped you into a soft, flowing nightdress that draped comfortably over your curves. She guided you over to the massive, velvet-draped bed, peeling back the heavy quilts. "Rest well, My Lady. I’ll be in the adjoining room setting up a few of your belongings. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse."
"Thank you, Luna."
You climbed into the oversized bed, sinking into the cloud-like mattress. Wrapping yourself tightly in a heavy bundle of blankets, you closed your eyes. Today had been an absolute whirlwind of intense emotions, and the sheer exhaustion of it all pulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep within minutes.
Hours later, you woke up to the faint, muffled sound of someone moving in the outer room. Your throat felt entirely parched, a desperate thirst making you sit up and blink against the darkness.
Carefully sliding out of the warm bed, you padded across the soft rug toward the door. The moment you turned the handle and stepped through the threshold, you bumped right into a solid, broad wall of a chest.
You let out a sharp gasp, your foot slipping on the polished floorboards as you began to tumble backwards in shock. But before you could fall, a pale, remarkably strong hand shot out, catching your wrist while another slid firmly around your lower back, pulling you flush against him.
Levi let out a low, rough sigh, his breath a cool breeze against your forehead. "Caught you."
Instinctively, your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself. Looking up at him, your breath caught. He had discarded his heavy coat, cravat, and dark sunglasses. He was wearing high-waisted trousers and a fine white shirt, left unbuttoned low enough to expose the lean, muscular contours of his chest. He looked entirely different without his aristocratic armour, alluring, dangerous, and incredibly handsome.
"Count Levi..." you whispered, your heart hammering.
Levi’s eyes darkened as he looked down at you. In the dim candlelight, he watched as the delicate silver vine across your collarbones shuddered, and tiny, glowing primordial flowers began to unfurl against your skin. It was undeniable; your body was recognising him, signalling to both of you that you were entirely meant to be together.
His grip on your waist tightened by just a fraction, pulling your curvy frame slightly closer. Without the perfume of the ballroom or the smell of the bathhouse, the raw, natural fragrance of your skin rolled off you in waves. It was divine, a sweet, intoxicating blend of sugar and warm life. A wild, possessive instinct roared to life inside him, a desperate urge to bury his nose directly into the soft valley of your chest and inhale you until he couldn't breathe.
Forcing his monstrous side down, he steadied you on your feet. His fingers slowly reached up, his bare, cool knuckles lightly brushing the strands of hair framing your shoulders. "Your hair..." he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "It's down."
You stepped back slightly, your cheeks burning with a heavy blush as you hummed in response. "Yes. I... I always have it down for bed."
Levi’s hand dropped back to his side, his jaw tightening as he tried to anchor himself. "Are you well? You should be sleeping."
You watched him, noting the way his intense gaze lingered on your exposed neck. "I got woken up by a bit of movement," you explained softly, your hand resting against your throat. "And then I realised I was terribly thirsty."
"I’ll get you a drink."
You watched in surprise as he immediately turned, his long strides taking him into the shadows of the outer room. "W-Wait! I can get it myself," you called out quickly, stepping after him. "A Count shouldn't be playing servant to—"
You squeaked, cutting yourself off as Levi suddenly materialised directly in front of you, a crystal glass of ice-cold water held out in his hand. Your eyes widened at his supernatural speed. "Um."
Levi didn't say a word. He gently placed his hand on the small of your back and pushed you along, guiding you patiently back into the bedroom until the back of your knees hit the mattress. "Just because I am a Count does not mean I am incapable of bringing my bride a glass of water," he stated firmly.
You sat down on the edge of the plush bed, wrapping your fingers securely around the cool glass. "I know... it's just..." You stared down at the water, your nerves making you grip the glass a little tighter. "It's nothing. Thank you, Count Levi."
Levi stood at the foot of the bed, his tall, lean silhouette casting a long shadow in the candlelight. He didn't leave. He just stood there in the quiet night, his eyes fixed entirely on you, drinking in the sight of his soft, beautiful human girl sitting in his bed.
"Drink," he commanded, his voice a quiet but unyielding rumble in the dim room.
You didn't argue. Lifting the glass to your lips, you eagerly drank the cool water, your thirst making you swallow a bit too quickly. A single, stray droplet escaped the corner of your mouth, trickling down the soft curve of your chin. "Mm... thank you," you breathed, setting the glass down.
Before you could reach for a cloth, Levi stepped closer. He reached out, his bare thumb gently brushing across your chin to catch the damp droplet. "Messy," he murmured, his thumb lingering against your skin for a fraction of a second too long. His chest tightened as he looked down at your flushed face; he secretly liked how vulnerable and real you looked right now.
He took the empty glass from your hands, setting it on the nightstand. "Sleep."
You shifted beneath the heavy blankets, sliding back down into the plush centre of the bed, but your eyes remained fixed on his silhouette. "Count Levi?"
"Mmm?" he responded, his silvery-blue eyes catching the warm glow of the dying hearth.
"I... I thought that once a marriage proposal is agreed upon at the ball, the couple isn't supposed to see each other until the wedding day," you said softly, your voice tinged with a sudden worry. "Did I mess up by seeing you tonight? Am I breaking a rule?"
Levi let out a soft, near-silent huff that was almost a laugh. He was the one who had practically thrown decorum out the window just to be near you again. He sank onto the edge of the mattress, the heavy bed shifting slightly under his weight.
"There are no rules," he clarified, his tone steady and reassuring. "People only keep their distance because they do not care for their bride or groom. It is a convenience for them." He looked down at his lap, his jaw tightening slightly. "I wanted to check on you myself. I left the ballroom rather abruptly... and for that, I am sorry."
You let out a tiny, delicate yawn, your eyes blinking heavily as the warmth of the bed began to pull at you again. To Levi, you looked entirely adorable. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Count Levi," you whispered, your voice growing sleepier. "I'm just a Blooming Vessel."
Levi’s expression hardened slightly at your words. "Is that all you see yourself as?"
You gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes, utterly captivated by the intense, serious look on his face. "Am I... something else?"
He reached out, the cool, smooth skin of his thumb gently tracing the soft curve right beneath your eye, a gesture so tender it made your heart stutter. "Did you forget that you are a baker?" he asked softly.
A tiny, content smile tugged at your lips. "I guess I did."
"Sleep," he commanded again, though this time his voice was as gentle as a lullaby. "You're safe here. I'll make sure of it."
You let out a soft hum of agreement, completely comforted by his presence. Within minutes, the exhaustion of the day finally won, and your breathing evened out into a deep, peaceful slumber.
Levi didn't move from the edge of the bed. He sat there in the quiet sanctuary of the room, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest. He admired your sweet beauty, his protective instincts wrapping around you like an invisible shield. He had so many intense, foreign emotions swirling inside his ancient heart: possessiveness, yearning, and a fierce, terrifying need to shield you from the vultures waiting outside those doors.
He reached out, his hand hovering just an inch above your hair, wanting so badly to touch you again, but he held back, contenting himself with simply guarding his sleeping star until the first rays of dawn.
