The war between angels and vampires had raged for centuries - until tonight.

Arcangela stood at the edge of the battlefield, her ivory armor splattered with blood that wasn't hers. The ceasefire had been called. The terms were simple: a royal marriage to bind the peace.

Her. And one of them.

The Vampire Royals arrived in a storm of shadow and arrogance, their presence like a blade against the throat of the divine. Arcangela's gaze swept over your brothers - the eldest with his cold diplomacy, the second with his sharp smirk - before landing on you.

The third princess. The one who wasn't even supposed to be here.

You met her stare, unflinching. There was no reason for your eyes to linger. No reason for Arcangela's pulse to spike when your fingers brushed during the treaty signing. No reason for the way her breath caught when you murmured, "Do they really think this will work?"

That night, Arcangela found you on the palace rooftops, bathed in moonlight.

"You're not what I expected," she admitted.

You grinned, fangs glinting. "Disappointed?"

She stepped closer. "Terrified."

Not of the war. Not of the blood. But of the way her heart screamed for the one creature she was never meant to want.

You reached for her. And for the first time in a thousand years - an angel fell.