The great hall of the royal castle was cloaked in half-light, the golden sconces flickering weakly against the cold stone walls. Outside, the sky wept rain over the South's polished streets, but within these walls, the air was thick with tension.
At the highest end of the table, beneath the elaborate crest of the royal bloodline, an obsidian bat entwined with serpents, sat King Vallerius. He did not look old. His face, sculpted and still youthful, could be mistaken for a man in his thirties, but his eyes, those hard, frost-bitten red eyes, told another story. Eyes that had seen centuries bleed past. The weight of rule. Of war. Of silence.
Beside him sat his second son, Prince Darius. Younger, slimmer, and dressed in crimson and silver silks far too loud for the occasion. He was eager, as always. Eager to speak, eager to impress, eager to be something. Someone.
The chair meant for the Crown Prince remained empty, as it had for decades. A subtle ghost in every gathering.
The table stretched long, crowded with the most powerful Lords and Ladys in the kingdom, vampires of high blood and higher ambition. Some had sent word of "urgent matters" in their provinces. Others had simply failed to answer the summons. A growing habit of late. The air filled with the subtle rustle of silk, the quiet shifting of cloaks, the occasional clink of goblets filled not with wine, but blood.
Among them, leaning back with practiced ease, sat Lord Samael,his dark red eyes unreadable beneath the shadow of his collar.
King Vallerius tapped a long finger against the table's surface, voice gravel-deep.
"The rogue attacks are increasing. We are bleeding ourselves dry.""
The sentence dropped like a guillotine.
He did not look at any Lord in particular, though his voice carried through the hall with authority. "Another village burned. Hundreds dead. If this continues, we won't have enough blood supply by the next quarter."
"And that's if the humans don't revolt entirely," added one of the Lords darkly.
"Revolt?" Darius scoffed. "They cower before us, barely able to light a fire, and you think they'll revolt?"
"They may cower," another Lord murmured, "but a desperate animal is the most dangerous kind."
Talk turned to murmurs. Murmurs turned to voices. Arguments flickered like sparks down the line, rogue sightings, missing thralls, whispers of unnatural shadows in the North and West. Some denied. Some accused. Others offered hollow solutions, all while clutching goblets of human vintage and pretending not to tremble.
Samael said nothing. He observed.
His gaze drifted from one Lord to another. Which of them wore masks over darker intentions? Which of them had dipped hands into that forbidden cult the mage had spoken of? Who among them had toyed with shades?
He couldn't say.
But he could feel it. Something festered beneath this court. A rot, slow and patient.
He did not look at the King. He wondered... was the King aware? Or worse… involved?
He was lost in thought when the 'slam' of a palm against the table snapped him back.
"Enough," the King barked. "We argue while the kingdom bleeds."
Silence.
Then, the King's cold gaze turned directly to Samael. "Lord Samael," he said, voice precise, "you've been quiet."
All eyes turned.
Samael straightened only slightly, his voice smooth, deliberate. "Because I've been listening. Perhaps more should try it."
A pause. Measured.
The King's brow twitched. "Then listen less. Speak."
Samael gave a faint nod. "If the rogue numbers are increasing, it is not by chance. Rogues are made, not born. And if too many are being made... then someone is either careless or treacherous."
That drew murmurs. Someone hissed.
Prince Darius leaned forward. "Treason is a heavy word, Lord Samael. Especially without proof."
Samael turned his head, slowly. "Do I hear objection, Your Highness?"
Darius's eyes glittered. "I hear paranoia. We've all heard the ghost stories. Cults. Shades. I'm sure the next tale will have witches dancing with demons in the mountains."
"Ghost stories do not burn villages," Samael said coldly.
The tension crackled.
Darius smiled, but it was all teeth. "Perhaps... Perhaps someone simply failed to leash their pet. Mistakes happen."
Samael's fingers drummed once against the table. "You speak of mistakes, yet your bloodline is full of them."
Darius stood.
"So is yours."
The King's voice cracked across the chamber like thunder. "Enough!"
Both men went still.
Darius sat back down, shoulders stiff, his smile gone.
The King's gaze swept over the room. "We are not children clawing for attention. We are the ruling blood of this kingdom, and we will act as such."
He exhaled slowly, then added, "I will send a detachment of Bloodline enforcers to the North. If someone is making rogues... we will find them."
Samael inclined his head. "And if the problem is here, in the court?"
The King's eyes flicked to him, then away. "Then the traitor will bleed."
No one dared speak after that.
Not until the meeting ended, and the King stood, sweeping from the hall with his guards at his back.
The Lords slowly trickled out, some avoiding each other's eyes, others whispering behind gloves.
Darius lingered just long enough to say under his breath, "Careful, Lord Samael. Men who hunt shadows often get lost in them."
Samael didn't look at him. "You should be more concerned with your reflection, prince. Shadows cling to those who have something to hide."
Darius's smile twisted.
Then he left.
Samael stepped out of the great chamber, the heavy doors groaning shut behind him with a finality that seemed to echo through the stone corridor. The air was cooler in the hallway, still tinged with the scent of candle wax and the faintest trace of blood, always blood, no matter how well they cleaned.
He adjusted the collar of his dark velvet cloak. Rogues. Failed Made Vampires. Uncontrolled, ravenous, contaminating what should've been precise, curated feeding grounds. Slaughtering instead of preserving. If they weren't contained, the balance between rule and chaos would crumble.
He rounded the corner briskly, only to collide with another figure.
A gloved hand gripped his arm, steadying him with mock gentleness.
"How clumsy," came the smooth, amused voice. "One would think you were fleeing a funeral."
Samael's jaw tensed as he looked up into a familiar face, golden-blond hair perfectly combed back, green eyes that sparkled with quiet malice, and a mouth tilted into something between a smile and a snare.
"Lord Cassius," Samael said, voice clipped.
Cassius released him and stepped back, brushing invisible dust off his silk doublet, deep burgundy, almost the color of blood. His eyes roamed Samael's figure as if searching for flaws.
"You're looking as stiff as ever. Have the king's lectures finally bored even you to death?" Cassius asked, his tone light, friendly even, but every syllable seemed coated in oil.
Samael's lips curled in a smirk. "I didn't realize the rats of the court were still permitted near the throne."
Cassius chuckled, low and silky. "Oh, you wound me. I only follow the scent of decay, hence why I keep finding myself in your presence."
"Just curious about what you were doing in the court, because you were never wanted in them," Samael said sharply. Then, with a slow tilt of his head, added, "You had to make your own legacy… after all, your father's didn't survive long enough to pass it on. Did he?"
Their eyes locked. The hallway was suddenly too quiet. One of the nearby torches flickered, then died.
Samael's gaze flicked to it. The flame hadn't sputtered out like a breeze had taken it. It had vanished, snuffed, as if swallowed.
Another torch died behind him. Smoke curled upward, faintly gray, trailing like fingers. The temperature dropped.
Samael's eyes narrowed.
"You shouldn't be here," Samael said.
"I go where I please," Cassius replied smoothly. "You forget, I've never been bound by your... tedious hierarchy. I'm not part of the court, true. But I've always preferred to operate in the shadows. There's so much more room there for freedom. For... power."
"Still whispering in the ears of second sons?" Samael asked darkly, eyeing the far end of the hallway.
Cassius's smile deepened. "You noticed. I find his ambition... intoxicating. So much hunger in a vessel so eager to prove himself. Reminds me of you, in your earlier days in the court."
"I was never desperate."
"No," Cassius said, stepping closer, "just obedient."
"I heard you paid the Academy a visit," Cassius said casually.
Samael didn't react immediately. When he did, his expression was unreadable. Only the faint lift of a brow betrayed that he'd heard.
"I assume you weren't standing outside the gates," Samael said mildly. "Which means someone's tongue wagged."
A pause. "Selene, perhaps?"
Cassius chuckled but didn't confirm. "Now why would I spoil the mystery?"
"How's Azrael?" he asked, almost innocently. "I heard he was poisoned."
"By Nightbane, of all things. Now that surprised me."
Samael's jaw tensed, just faintly.
"So it's true, then," Cassius continued, "Not just court gossip. I wonder…" He trailed off for effect. "Does the king know some of that cursed flower survived the burning? I imagine he wouldn't be pleased to hear that a human bridegot her hands on something so... destructive."
With the ease of a man at peace, he turned and walked down the hall.
Samael watched his figure retreat, only to see him veer toward the second prince. The prince barely acknowledged Cassius's approach, but Samael caught it: the glance in his direction, brief but sharp. A glare.
The hall was colder now.
Too cold.
And not a single window was open.