No Castle For Stray Princesses

My father belongs to an ancient, predatory bloodline—a creature of shadow and ageless hunger. He spent a century perfecting the art of hedonistic romance, leaving behind a trail of reckless entanglements. To clean up the mortal messes that clung to his history, he established an annual ritual: The Lineage Assembly. For three years, I was the one who guarded the gates. In that time, I saw every variety of human ambition claw its way up our limestone steps. There were women weeping into linen handkerchiefs demanding supplemental child support; men who bared their fangs, loudly cursing my father’s careless early-century Embraces; and high-priced estate attorneys armed with spreadsheets, ready to negotiate their clients’ ""hereditary blood fractions."" The most audacious was a woman who parked herself at our front gates with twin infants, grandly declaring that ""Leonard blood would never sleep in the gutters."" But when we brought out the resonance stone to test the children's marrow, the glow stayed flat and gray. They didn't share a single drop of my father's immortality. My father, utterly exhausted by the endless parade of mortal drama, poured himself a tumbler of vintage blood-wine, waved a hand, and abdicated the mess. ""Susie, darling,"" he murmured, his eyes—void of any human reflection—glimmering in the dim light. ""Handle it. All of it."" This morning, as the current year's assembly got underway, our butler Morris knocked gently on my study door. ""Madam,"" he said, keeping his face carefully neutral. ""There is a young lady at the perimeter gate. She refers to herself as the 'Sweet Soft Princess' and insists that the eldest daughter of the house greet her curbside."" I set down my pen, walked down to the courtyard, and stood on the sweeping gravel drive. A rose-pink executive van was parked haphazardly across the cobblestones. The sliding door slid back, and out stepped a girl in an elaborate pastel Lolita dress. Her face was buried beneath an avalanche of baking powder and false lashes, her chin tilted so high she looked like a strutting, ruffled pigeon. ""The Princess has arrived!"" she chirped at the gargoyles perched on the roof. ""From now on, this estate belongs to me!"" Behind her tumbled four friends, moving like an over-caffeinated cheer squad. One of them held an iPhone mounted on a pink gimbal, the wide-angle lens panning over our Gothic wrought-iron gates. ""Besties!"" the girl beamed into the lens. ""Once Daddy confirms my rightful place today, I’m taking you all on an exclusive VIP tour of my new castle!"" Her entourage squealed on cue. ""All hail Princess Tiffany!"" Standing in the shadow of the stone archway, I couldn't help a dry, quiet smile. I had seen hustlers, grifters, and desperate mothers. But I had never seen someone skip so joyfully toward a buzzsaw. There was no enchanted castle waiting for stray offspring here. There was only a cold, bureaucratic roster of 999 claimants waiting for genetic blood tracing—a filter designed to ensure no mortal taint threatened the purity of our lineage. And she, as fate would have it, was Number 101. … Tiffany’s gaze finally landed on me, raking down my silhouette with undisguised contempt. ""You're Susie?"" She pointed a manicured, stiletto-tipped finger toward the stone pavers and sneered. ""Is this really how you receive me? Where’s my red carpet? Where's the welcoming retinue? And where is the vintage blood-wine I specifically requested in my intake email?"" I tilted my head, offering her a faint, pitying smile. ""We don't do that here."" Tiffany’s mouth twitched into an exaggerated pout. ""What is your problem? I am Daddy’s favorite baby girl!"" On cue, her friends swarmed forward, shoving the phone camera inches from my nose. ""Look at this, chat! The bitter eldest daughter is already hazing her baby sister on day one!"" I caught the flickering reflection on the screen: thousands of hearts and toxic comments scrolling by in real-time. ""Look at how cold Susie is. Totally giving wicked-stepsister energy."" ""The poor girl just got home! Not even a welcome drink? The elitism is disgusting."" My brow tightened. ""I suggest you turn that off. Filming on these grounds is strictly forbidden. It agitates the estate’s ancestral warding, and trust me, you do not want to see what happens when the shadows decide they are hungry."" Tiffany tossed her curls, unimpressed. ""I was kept away from my birthright for eighteen years! Today is history in the making, and my followers deserve to witness it. Just because you're too old and miserable to appreciate a little aesthetic doesn't mean you get to ruin my moment."" I looked past the synthetic glitter on her eyelids. ""It's the house rule. The law of the bloodline."" Her friends immediately sniped back, gesturing rudely at my charcoal bespoke trouser suit. ""Look at you, dressed like a corporate funeral director. Just because you're allergic to joy doesn't mean you can drag Tiffany down. Our girl is adorable. What's wrong with a little content?"" The chat flew faster. ""Boomer energy! Hiding behind 'rules' because she's threatened!"" ""She's clearly jealous because Tiffany is young and gorgeous."" The picture cleared in my mind. She wasn't ignorant of the rules; she was weaponizing them. She wanted a public villain so she could cast herself as the delicate, bullied ingenue and cash in on the internet's misplaced sympathy. I decided not to waste another breath. Turning slightly, I nodded to Morris. ""Process them through the standard protocol. Take them inside."" Morris gave a polite, measured bow. ""Miss Tiffany, if you would follow me."" Tiffany let out a victorious huff, brushed past me with her hoop skirts swinging, and strutted forward. Her friends fell into formation behind her, the camera operator narrating every step. ""Look at this, chat! The front lawn is literally bigger than a football stadium!"" ""Is that fountain seventeenth-century? Tiffany’s going to be having her afternoon tea here every single day!"" Tiffany threw a practiced, two-handed kiss toward the lens. ""Don't worry, my loves! Once my lineage is recognized, we’re going live from the private ballroom!"" Morris stopped abruptly, turning on his heel. His voice was firm. ""Miss Tiffany, I must insist you terminate the transmission. Unsanctioned recording violates the ancient covenants binding this soil. It will trigger an adverse reaction from the estate's sentinels."" Tiffany glared at him, her eyes flashing with sudden venom. ""Who do you think you are talking to, servant?"" Morris lowered his head, maintaining his iron composure. ""These are the Chairman’s explicit instructions. No exceptions."" ""My father's instructions?"" Tiffany placed her hands on her hips, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. ""Those rules are for outsiders! I’m his most precious daughter! You think those rules apply to ""me""?"" Morris remained silent, declining to move an inch forward. Tiffany turned back toward me, her eyes narrowing with paranoid spite. ""I see what's happening. You put this domestic up to it, didn't you? You're terrified I’ll take your place, so you’re using the help to put me in my place!"" Before I could answer, she spun back on Morris, screeching, ""Get on your knees! Kneel down and apologize to me right now!"" Morris froze, a flicker of disbelief crossing his weathered face. He had served House Leonard for nearly twenty years. My brothers and I treated him like an uncle; we had never once raised our voices at him. Yet, technically, in the twisted logic of our aristocratic hierarchy, a recognized blood heir could demand subservience. He hesitated, caught in the humiliation. I took a sharp step forward, my voice dropping an octave, carrying the unnatural resonance of our lineage. ""Morris. Stay on your feet."" Morris let out a subtle breath and stepped back. That was all it took for Tiffany’s theatrical tears to erupt. ""The wicked eldest daughter is abusing me in public! Look at me—I'm tiny, I'm helpless, and she's letting the servants walk all over me!"" The phones swung wildly back to my face. ""Cancel Susie Leonard!"" ""Support the Princess! Take the inheritance!"" ""Kick the cold sister out!"" I crossed my arms, feeling the beginnings of a migraine. The sheer, exhausting noise of it all. These girls were genuinely unhinged. The heavy mahogany doors of the east wing opened, and my younger brothers, Gabriel and Damian, stepped out into the arcade. When they saw the commotion, both halted in surprise. Tiffany’s eyes flared with renewed life. She gasped, gathered her skirts, and threw herself toward them. ""Gabe! Damian! My brothers!"" Her theatrical weeping had caused her mascara to dissolve, leaving two thick, greasy black tracks running down her powdered cheeks. She looked like a melting porcelain doll, but she pressed on, puckering her lips in a tragic pout. ""Brothers! Big sister is terrorizing me! She set the servants on me! You have to protect your little princess!"" She reached out to grab Gabriel’s arm, but he took a smooth, instinctive step backward, his movements possessing a predatory grace that blurred in the afternoon sun. Gabriel adjusted his cuffs, eyeing her from head to toe with cold detachment. ""Who the hell are you?"" Tiffany blinked her crusty lashes. ""I'm your little sister! We're family now!"" Gabriel and Damian exchanged a tired, knowing glance. Another claimant. Another headache for the archives. Seeing neither brother swoon to her rescue, Tiffany stamped her foot on the limestone. ""Are you going to stand up for me or not?! I was disrespected!"" Damian, who had zero tolerance for shrill theatrics, pointed casually toward the great hall. ""Aren't you here for the registry? Then get inside. Keep loitering out here, and you'll miss the blood resonance testing entirely."" Tiffany bristled instantly. ""What? You haven't prepared my private royal suite yet?"" Her voice grated like grinding gears. ""I explicitly requested a throne covered in fresh champagne roses! If it's not set up, I am not stepping foot inside!"" Both brothers stared at her, genuinely dumbfounded. In three years of processing claims, we had heard desperate pleas and legal threats, but never a demand for a rose-covered throne. Tiffany swung around to glare at me again. ""Susie, this is your fault! No red carpet, no welcome party, and now you haven't even arranged my VIP seating!"" I exhaled slowly. Communicating with her was like trying to teach algebra to a rabid Pomeranian. ""I don't handle floor seating. Petty logistics don't cross my desk."" ""Petty?!"" Tiffany shrieked. ""My homecoming is petty? You're the eldest—you should be serving me personally! If you don't fix this right now, I'll tell the whole world how you abuse your own blood!"" Her four cronies raised their phones again, lenses glittering. Gabriel and Damian’s expressions hardened simultaneously. ""Put those phones away,"" Gabriel commanded, his voice laced with the heavy, hypnotic resonance of our kind. ""Recording on private estate grounds is an absolute violation."" ""No!"" Tiffany lunged in front of her friends, shielding them. ""They're my private media team! Nobody touches them!"" Gabriel rubbed his temples. ""This isn't about privacy, you idiot. Filming the rites exposes ancient proprietary blood magic. The warding will backfire on your mind."" Damian nodded grimly. ""We're warning you for your own sanity. The backlash from an exposed covenant isn't something a mortal brain can process."" Tiffany sneered, throwing her head back in mocking laughter. ""For my sanity? Do you think I'm five? You three cooked up this little script together just to scare me off. Well, it won't work! Once I meet Daddy inside, I’m going to make all three of you get down on your knees and beg for my forgiveness!"" Gabriel turned to me, his mouth twisted in disbelief. ""Has she been like this the entire time?"" I shrugged. ""Since the second her van doors opened."" ""The disclosure forms clearly state—"" Damian began. I raised a hand, cutting him off. ""We gave our warnings. She refused. Let her bear the weight of her choices."" My father was a vain, image-conscious creature. He tolerated these assemblies only on the condition of absolute secrecy, fearing the day the mortal world realized what truly hid behind the curtains of his empire. To broadcast the sacred ritual of blood lineage to a pack of internet voyeurs was the ultimate taboo. Just then, my executive assistant, Franklin, strode rapidly down the corridor, carrying a slim leather folder. ""Susie, the board needs your final digital authorization on the ten-billion-dollar pharmaceutical merger. The overseas partners are waiting on the line."" I took the stylus, scanned the summary, and signed the digital pad with a clean stroke. Thomas, our head driver, arrived a second later. ""Madam, Mr. Beaumont’s courier just dropped off a transport of French seventeenth-century ritual silver, acquired at auction in Paris. He requested your personal receipt."" I glanced at the manifest, signed the release, and handed it back. Tiffany stood frozen, her eyes bulging as she tracked every document. Her jaw twitched for three seconds before she finally exploded. ""From now on, I sign every corporate contract! Put every project on hold until I review it! And whatever gifts Alexander Beaumont sends her, I expect identical duplicates delivered to my dressing room! Not a single piece less!"" Her tone was so wildly entitled, so completely untethered from reality, that the entire portico fell dead silent. Even the birds in the ivy seemed to stop singing. Damian was the first to break the quiet, letting out a sharp, incredulous bark of laughter. ""Who do you think you are? You're an unverified stray scratching at the back door."" Tiffany's nostrils flared. ""So what if I was born out of wedlock? We have the same father! That makes me just as much of a royal as you!"" Her friend with the camera pivoted sharply, aiming the lens right at Damian’s throat. ""Leonard heir attacks vulnerable teenager! Look at the classism, chat! The golden children are ganging up on our little princess!"" The stream went berserk. ""Garbage family!"" ""They're just Susie's attack dogs!"" ""Take the company, Tiffany! Ruin them!"" Damian’s eyes darkened, his fists clenching as he took a stride toward the camera. ""Shut that damn thing off before I smash it into the cobblestones."" ""Assault!"" the girls shrieked in chorus. ""He's getting violent! Call the police!"" I reached out, resting a hand gently on Damian’s forearm, pulling him back. ""Don't bother. It's beneath you."" Damian let out a long, furious breath, turned his back, and stared at the garden wall, refusing to give them any more footage. Tiffany took our retreat as victory. Her chin jutted out even higher. ""It's not too late to suck up to me. When I take the reins of the Leonard empire, maybe I'll let you three manage the housekeeping staff."" I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Right at that moment, footsteps clicked briskly on the gravel. Alexander Beaumont had arrived. Our wedding was set for next month; he had dropped by to finalize our private guest list for the ceremony. Tall, striking, dressed in a bespoke charcoal coat that accentuated his sharp, aristocratic jawline, he commanded the space the moment he stepped into the courtyard. Tiffany’s gaze snapped to him. Her pupils dilated with raw, naked hunger. ""Alexander! My prince!"" She launched herself forward like an unguided missile, arms outstretched. Alexander didn't flinch. He simply shifted half a pace to the left with casual, effortless grace—the speed of a predator. Tiffany hit empty air. Losing her balance on four-inch platform heels, she went crashing down, her knees and palms slamming hard against the unyielding marble flagstones. ""Crack."" Her friends panicked, dropping to their knees to haul her up while screeching at Alexander. ""Are you blind?! Why didn't you catch her?! If our princess broke an arm, you couldn't afford the damages!"" Alexander didn't even grant them a glance. He walked straight past the heap of ruffled lace and stopped in front of me, a faint crease between his dark brows. ""Another claimant? What is this one playing at—slip-and-fall fraud?"" I felt the corner of my lips lift. ""Something like that."" Tiffany scrambled to her feet, brushing furiously at the dust on her petticoats. Instead of shrinking in humiliation, her entitlement morphed into brazen territorialism. She marched right up to Alexander, chest thrust out. ""The Beaumont family has an ancient alliance with House Leonard. But the old contract never specified which daughter you had to marry."" She turned, pointing an accusing finger at me. ""Susie has everything. She’s old, she’s greedy, and she’s trying to steal my fiancé!"" A stunned silence washed over the courtyard. Alexander looked at her as if she were speaking in tongues. ""Who on earth told you that you were my fiancée?"" ""You are!"" Tiffany glared at him, clearly exasperated by what she assumed was feigned ignorance. ""The alliance belongs to the most cherished daughter of the main bloodline. That's me. Naturally, you're mine."" Alexander’s expression shifted from mild amusement to sheer disgust. ""I have never laid eyes on you in my life."" Tiffany remained unshaken. With a smug, triumphant smirk, she fished a small, battered photograph out of her designer handbag and thrust it in his face. ""Take a good look!"" It was a photograph from three years ago. A high school auditorium stage beneath a banner that read ""Annual Regional Charity Gala"". Alexander stood at the center, holding a commemorative plaque. Standing to his right was a young girl in a school blazer, on tiptoe, presenting him with a bouquet of lilies. Her features were softer then, free of heavy makeup, but it was undeniably her. ""Recognize it now?"" Tiffany crowed. ""Three years ago! You came to my school, I gave you flowers, and our eyes met. It was fate!"" Alexander spared the photo half a second of his attention. His voice was bone-dry. ""I attend dozens of philanthropic events a year. I don't remember you. And the only woman I have ever loved, or ever will marry, is Susie."" Tiffany froze, her jaw dropping in sheer, wounded disbelief. Then, her fury snapped back toward me like a whip. ""It's you again! You ancient, shameless parasite! The Leonards owed me eighteen years of luxury, and now you're even stealing the man meant for me!"" Her friends shoved the lens into my face again. ""The cold heiress is stealing her baby sister's high school sweetheart! Chat, destroy her in the comments!"" The chat scroll became a white-hot torrent of hate. ""Disgusting old witch!"" ""Stay strong, Tiffany! We’ll make sure Alexander sees the truth!"" ""Susie, have some shame! You can't hoard everything!"" I let out a soft sigh, meeting Tiffany's mink-like glare. ""If Alexander genuinely wanted you, Tiffany, I would gladly walk away. Heaven knows my roster of suitors isn't lacking."" Tiffany’s eyes flared with greedy hope. ""Really?"" I nodded calmly. ""Of course."" Alexander’s fingers instantly closed around mine, his grip tight, an edge of genuine panic flickering in his dark eyes—a vampire’s possessiveness laid bare. ""Susie, stop it. Don't play around like that. You know you're the only one."" I raised an eyebrow at Tiffany, letting the silent message settle between us: ""He’s entirely mine. What can I do?"" Tiffany stomped her foot so hard her ankle nearly rolled again. ""I’m younger than her! I’m prettier than her!"" Alexander let out a cold, sharp breath. ""The world is full of young, pretty girls, Miss. But there is only one eldest daughter of House Leonard."" Tiffany choked on her words, cornered and frantic. ""I’m the youngest child! Daddy loves me the most! Once he names me the sole heir, the entire empire will be mine! You're making a mistake!"" Alexander finally broke. A short, incredulous laugh escaped his throat. He turned to Gabriel, Damian, and me, his eyes wide with baffled amusement. ""Does she literally know nothing about what this family actually is?"" Damian snorted. Gabriel pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and both broke into quiet, unrestrained chuckles. I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my own face. Surrounded by our laughter, Tiffany began to tremble, her lace skirts vibrating with impotent fury. ""What is so funny?!"" She pointed a shaking, manicured finger at the four of us, her teeth gritted so hard I could hear them grinding. ""Just wait until my father steps out! When he sees me, he'll make every single one of you get down on your knees and beg me for mercy!"" Before she could spit another curse, the deep bronze chimes in the central hall struck the hour. A herald’s amplified voice echoed through the courtyard speakers: ""The Lineage Assembly will now commence. All registered applicants, proceed immediately to the Grand Annex."" Tiffany snatched up her skirts, spinning around with a venomous sneer. ""The Princess hasn't taken her seat yet! Don't you dare start without me!"" Her four friends scrambled after her with their tripods and power banks, storming the double doors like a disorganized circus troupe. I waved a hand toward Alexander and my brothers. ""Come on. Let’s go watch the curtain fall."" ... The Grand Annex was swarming with people. Tiffany stepped through the arched threshold, her jaw falling open in awe. Her friends were practically vibrating with vicarious vanity. ""Oh my god, look at the scale of this! Look at all these guests! They're all here to witness your royal recognition! Sure, your sister and brothers are miserable haters, but your dad clearly pulled out all the stops for you!"" Tiffany collected herself instantly. Pushing her shoulders back and lifting her chin, she adopted the regal, benevolent posture of an empress greeting her subjects, waving delicately to the crowd on both sides. Nobody waved back. The people in the room gave her a fleeting, exhausted glance and looked away. A heavy hand tapped her shoulder from behind, giving her a sharp shove. ""Hey, move it. Back of the line."" Tiffany stumbled. ""Excuse me?! What line? I am the guest of honor!"" A middle-aged intake officer wearing an estate security badge and holding a digital tablet walked over, his expression set in stone. ""Name?"" Tiffany stared at him, incensed. ""You didn't even memorize my name? Who trained you?"" Her friend shoved the phone camera toward the man’s badge. ""This is Miss Tiffany! House Leonard’s youngest and most cherished princess!"" The officer didn't blink. ""Right. Tiffany."" He checked a box on his screen. ""Shut down the livestream immediately, or security will escort you to the gates. The Master does not allow his image to be captured by mortal optics."" Tiffany’s face warped with rage. ""You dare speak to me like that?"" The officer rolled his eyes with the practiced indifference of a DMV clerk. ""You haven't cleared blood resonance verification yet. Whether you're a princess or a trespasser is entirely undecided."" Tiffany looked ready to burst a blood vessel. ""You just wait! The moment my heritage is confirmed, you're the first one I’m firing! I'll make sure you never work in this city again!"" Her friends piped up behind her. ""Yes! Blacklist him! Ruin him!"" The officer didn't even look up from his screen. ""Are you killing the stream or not? If you don't, you accept full liability for covenant breach, and the consequences go far beyond just being fired."" The live chat was scrolling at supersonic speed. ""Don't turn it off! We want to see how the billionaire patriarch welcomes his daughter!"" ""This security guy has the exact same nasty attitude as Susie!"" ""Stay strong, Princess! We've got your back!"" Tiffany set her hands on her hips, lifting her chin to a stubborn angle. ""I’m not turning off a damn thing!"" The officer wasted no more words. He reached out, tapped the screen of a silver automated kiosk standing beside the velvet ropes, and an internal printer whirred to life. A small slip of thermal paper popped out of the slot. ""For today's recognition cycle, the estate has admitted one hundred candidates for lineage review."" He tore the slip off and thrust it between her fingers. ""You're number one hundred and one."" Tiffany stood paralyzed. She stared down at the little white ticket in her hand, then slowly lifted her gaze to take in the crowded annex. These hundreds of people weren't distinguished guests gathered to witness her coronation. They were claimants. Bastards. Illegitimate offspring. Just like her. Now that she was actually looking, the signs were undeniable. The six-year-old girl sitting on a velvet bench chewing a strawberry lollipop had my father’s distinct, heavy-lidded amber eyes. The lanky boy leaning against the wainscoting scrolling on his phone carried my father’s exact, high-bridged aquiline nose. A tall woman in a floral dress across the room had my father’s trademark sharp, high cheekbones—cast in the exact same mold, a predatory elegance frozen in time. This wasn't a court. It was a holding pen for Charles Leonard's careless genetics. The color drained from Tiffany’s face so fast she looked gray under her powder. Her voice wobbled into a shrill squeak. ""These people... they're... all my... siblings?"" The officer kept typing. ""Who else would they be?"" Tiffany lunged forward, grabbing his sleeve with claw-like fingers. ""How many children does my father have?!"" The officer peeled her fingers off his suit jacket with two fingers, utterly unfazed by her manic energy. ""The estate has conducted these assemblies for three consecutive years. Counting today's cohort, the confirmed total stands at nine hundred and ninety-nine."" He entered her date of birth into the system, glanced at the output, and added casually, ""Chronologically speaking, you're number four hundred and forty-four."" Tiffany staggered backward, her platform shoe catching on the edge of the carpet. Her elaborate hair bow tipped sideways, dangling uselessly over her ear. ""Then... after recognition..."" she stammered, her voice thin and hollow. ""What do we get? What are the privileges?"" Tired of her voice, the officer unzipped a leather binder, pulled out a stapled legal document, and slapped it against her chest. ""Read it yourself."" Tiffany looked down at the header, her hands shaking so violently the pages rustled. Her four friends crowded over her shoulders, squinting at the legal print. Within five seconds, the color vanished from their faces too.