Chapter 234: The Humiliated Princess

Anette took a few seconds to understand that Victor was actually walking away.

There was no hidden irony in his answer, no attempt to bargain, and much less the embarrassed reaction of someone who had refused the Crown Princess in front of hundreds of vampires.

Victor had simply taken Rakshasa by the arm and started walking, treating her request with the same importance he would give an inconvenient conversation in the middle of the street.

For someone like Anette, who had grown up surrounded by obedience before she even understood the meaning of the word, it did not feel like a simple rejection.

It was an affront.

The disbelief vanished from her face.

Anette’s foot struck the marble.

The floor cracked.

She appeared behind Victor before most of the guests could follow her movement, her fist shooting directly toward the back of his head.

There was no intention of playing around in that blow.

Even weakened by the sealing and far below the strength she had possessed at her peak, Anette still carried a body that had once reached Genesis Class.

The air exploded around her arm, tables trembled, and several nearby vampires felt the pressure of the impact before it even landed.

Victor turned.

Raised one hand.

And caught her fist.

The thunderous impact came a moment later.

A wave of force crossed the hall, shaking chandeliers, tearing napkins from the tables, and knocking over dozens of glasses.

The marble beneath Victor’s feet opened into small cracks, but his body did not slide even a centimeter.

His arm remained still in front of his face, fingers closed around Anette’s fist.

Her eyes widened.

Victor did not even blink.

There was a reason why, among everyone in that hall, Rakshasa and Victor had been the least affected by the Princess’s pressure.

Anette possessed a monstrous aura, developed through thousands of years of blood, authority, and a bloodline that recognized very few beings above it.

For ordinary vampires, that presence was not merely spiritual pressure.

Their own blood reacted.

Muscles weakened.

The body received an instinctive command to bow before a superior existence.

Rakshasa and Victor, however, had built their bodies to reject exactly that kind of submission.

Body Refinement did not strengthen only muscles.

Flesh, vessels, organs, bones, tendons, and circulation were refined until each system stopped functioning like something fragile and became capable of withstanding pressures that would destroy ordinary bodies.

Rakshasa had crossed stages almost no vampire had ever reached.

Victor, even far below her, had developed six stages of the Divine Blood Body Refinement Method in only a few months.

Anette’s presence struck them and found bodies too dense to obey.

It was like trying to push a fortress with wind.

The scene returned to the center of the hall.

Victor was still holding the Princess’s fist.

Anette tried to push forward.

Nothing.

Her strength increased.

Victor’s fingers tightened slightly.

Nothing changed.

That was when Anette noticed something else.

His eyes.

All humor had disappeared.

There was no smile, provocation, or any trace of the lightness with which he had answered only seconds earlier.

Victor’s eyes had taken on that intense neon red that appeared when his blood began to respond.

His face was completely empty, and Anette felt the unpleasant difference between arrogance and indifference.

Victor was not trying to impress her.

He did not look afraid either.

He was simply irritated.

Victor pushed her fist aside.

Anette was forced to take half a step back.

The hall remained silent.

"I don’t know who put this defect in your head that makes you think everything you want is going to be yours," Victor said, keeping his voice low enough that he did not need to shout. "But I belong to no one except myself and the people I love."

His red eyes struck Anette directly.

"You are nothing to me. So get lost."

The silence became heavy.

It was no longer the curious silence from the moment the Princess had asked Victor to be hers.

Now no one dared to make even a single comment.

Some of the guests were still kneeling.

Others had managed to stand after Anette unconsciously reduced her aura to attack.

But no one seemed willing to draw attention to themselves.

Chysis watched from a distance.

A small trace of satisfaction appeared in her eyes.

Serafall crossed her arms, with no intention of intervening.

Rakshasa did not even try to hide her smile.

The three knew Victor well enough to understand exactly what had just happened.

Anette was used to people fearing her position, her blood, and her father.

Victor simply had no interest in any of those things.

The Princess slowly closed her hand.

"You..."

Victor noticed the change.

The energy around her was beginning to rise again.

"What?"

Anette raised her eyes.

Victor tilted his head slightly.

"Going to hit me?"

The provocation made several vampires close their eyes for a moment, almost as if trying to avoid participating in that collective death wish.

Victor continued.

"A ten-thousand-year-old woman doesn’t have even a shred of personality, huh?"

Anette’s eyebrows twitched.

"You’re twenty..."

"Yes. Twenty."

He spread his arms slightly.

"So look how pathetic that is. Ten thousand years old and you need to hit a twenty-year-old because you heard ’no.’"

Anette went still.

Victor was abusing his luck so absurdly that even Rakshasa began watching him more closely.

Not because she believed Anette could kill him there.

The problem was that Victor was deliberately digging himself deeper and deeper.

He turned his back.

On the Princess.

That was worse than every word before it.

"Feel free to hit me."

Anette stared at his back.

Victor turned only his face, allowing one red eye to show from the side.

"Let’s see how long it takes before I become as strong as you."

His expression changed.

A small smile appeared.

"And break you completely."

Anette’s hand trembled.

She had been threatened before.

Many times.

Ancient enemies had tried to kill her, entire clans had declared war on her family, and extremely powerful existences had looked at her as a rival.

But never had someone absurdly younger in vampire terms caught her attack with one hand, rejected her proposal, called her nothing, then turned his back and said he would break her one day.

Victor simply started walking again.

He looked at Rakshasa.

"Shall we go, love?"

Rakshasa immediately approached.

"Let’s."

She slipped her arm through his and followed beside him with such obvious satisfaction that she looked as though she had just received another gift.

Before walking away, Rakshasa looked over her shoulder.

Her eyes met Anette’s.

She did not speak aloud.

She merely moved her lips slowly.

"Get fucked, idiot."

Anette’s mouth fell open.

Rakshasa turned away again and continued walking with Victor as though nothing had happened.

The Princess did not move.

On the outside.

Because inside her, absolutely everything was screaming.

Rage tore through her body with such violence that for a moment Anette nearly lost control of her aura.

The blood in her veins felt like it was boiling.

Every instinct built over thousands of years demanded a simple response.

Kill him.

Break that vampire.

Rip his head off.

Show everyone in that hall what happens when someone treats the Crown Princess like an ordinary woman.

Her gaze followed Victor as he walked away.

She saw his hand on Rakshasa’s waist.

Saw Rakshasa tilt her head slightly toward him.

Saw some people finally begin breathing again.

And that made everything worse.

Blood began to gather around Anette’s fingers.

Then a hand landed on her shoulder.

The presence came without excessive force.

It did not need it.

"You asked for that."

Chysis’s voice was cold.

Anette slowly turned her head.

Chysis stood behind her.

No smile.

No joke.

Only the Marshal staring directly at the Princess.

Anette narrowed her eyes.

"He disrespected me."

"You tried to force him to accept you."

"I made a proposal."

"You gave an order."

Anette fell silent.

Chysis tightened her grip slightly on her shoulder.

"Then you attacked him from behind because you didn’t like his answer."

"He treated me like..."

"An ordinary person?"

Anette’s jaw locked.

Chysis continued:

"To him, you are."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Anette looked toward Victor again in the distance.

He was already talking to Rakshasa as though the confrontation had ended the instant he turned his back.

Chysis noticed where she was looking.

"I like you, Anette."

The Princess did not answer.

"But I like my grandson more."

Anette closed her hand.

Her nails pierced her palm.

Blood began to slowly run between her fingers.

She lowered her head to hide her expression.

Chysis watched the blood dripping down.

"Control it."

Anette took a deep breath.

The red-violet aura around her began to diminish.

Not because the anger had passed.

Quite the opposite.

She was so furious that she needed all her discipline simply to avoid destroying part of the hall.

"He’ll regret this."

Chysis released her shoulder.

"Maybe."

Anette raised her eyes.

The Marshal shrugged.

"But if you intend to make him regret it, become strong enough first."

The Princess stared at her.

Chysis started walking away.

"Because if you attack my grandson again without reason, your argument won’t be with him."

That finally made Anette pay attention.

Chysis did not need to finish.

Serafall stood several meters away.

Rakshasa was with Victor.

And for some reason Anette still did not understand, all three looked at that young vampire as something no one in that hall should touch lightly.

Anette lowered her eyes again.

Blood continued running down her pierced palm.

She closed her hand even tighter.

Victor Valentine.

The name lodged itself in her mind.

Now it was not merely curiosity about a possible Progenitor.

It was not merely a potential tool for surpassing Vlad.

It was personal.

Very personal.

Anette slowly raised her face and watched Victor walk away beside Rakshasa.

The anger was still there.

But beneath it, something else was beginning to appear.

Interest.

A much worse kind of interest.

Because it had been thousands of years since anyone had looked at Anette Alucard Tapes and decided, with complete sincerity, that she did not matter.

And the Princess discovered that she hated it.

Hated it almost unbearably.

But she also realized she could not stop looking at him.