The sun bled its final, glorious colors over the Imperial gardens, staining the manicured lawns and exotic flowerbeds in hues of orange and violet. In the heart of this cultivated tranquility, a solitary figure stood by an ornamental pond, his hand outstretched. Emperor Julius Demetrius, a man whose age was hinted at only by the profound depth of wisdom in his eyes, scattered seeds from a silver dish. A flock of jewel-toned songbirds descended, their chirps a delicate music against the evening's hush. They ate from his palm without fear, a testament to the absolute stillness he commanded.
The peace was broken by the soft, hurried crunch of boots on gravel. A young man, Lysias, one of the Emperor's personal messengers, approached. He stopped a respectful distance away, bowing deeply until the Emperor acknowledged him with a slight tilt of his head.
Your Majesty, Lysias said, his voice low and reverent. Prince Kali has just passed through the main gate. His company rides for the palace now.
The Emperor's hand stilled. A sigh, heavy with the weight of centuries and familial disappointment, escaped him. He continued feeding the birds. That stubborn boy. He never listens. He knows precisely what Gaia attempts with this marriage, and still, he returns. He flicked a seed, watching a sapphire-feathered bird snatch it from the air. Just as I expected he would.
You know him best, Your Majesty.
I do. Do not let him past the palace gates. Inform him I am occupied. He is to return to his own estate and await my summons.
Lysias bowed again. At once, Your Majesty. He retreated as silently as he had arrived, leaving the Emperor alone with his birds and his complicated thoughts.
At the colossal onyx gates of the royal palace, Prince Kali and his Black Blood Guard sat astride their weary horses. The journey's dust still coated their boots and armor. Kali himself was a statue of grim endurance, his storm-grey eyes fixed on the palace spires that pierced the twilight sky.
Lysias emerged from a postern gate and walked toward them, his steps measured. He offered a deep, impeccable bow.
Your Highness. It is a pleasure to have you back. You look well.
I am here to see His Majesty, Kali stated, his voice flat, cutting through any pleasantry.
Yes, Your Highness, Lysias replied, his expression neutral. But he is occupied at the moment. He requests you return to your estate. He will call for you when the time is right.
A beat of silence passed. Kali's face revealed nothing. Understood. That was all.
Lysias bowed once more and withdrew back into the palace's shadow.
As the postern gate sealed shut, Captain Rufus guided his horse closer to Kali's. Your Highness? What are your orders?
We go back. That is what we will do. Kali's tone brooked no discussion.
But the youngest of the guard, Jason, his face still soft with the earnestness of youth, frowned. But, Your Highness, what if it's a lie? he whispered, leaning in. What if the Empress doesn't want you to see him? What if she orchestrated this to stop you from discussing the marriage?
Kali did not even grant him a glance, merely rolling his eyes skyward with a depth of weary patience.
Orion, the silent strategist, reached over and delivered a sharp, brotherly slap to the back of Jason's head. Stupid. Anything that messenger says comes directly from the Emperor's lips. Lysias serves the Emperor alone. He would never lie, not for the Empress, not for anyone. It is part of his sacred vow.
Jason rubbed his head, looking more confused. Huh? What vow?
If the Emperor dies, Lysias dies with him, Nero explained bluntly, a grim smile on his face. It is the ultimate loyalty.
Ohh, Jason said, the concept slowly dawning. Yes, just like we would die for His Highness!
Yes, but not the same, Rufus grumbled, shaking his head.
How is it not the same? Dying is dying, right?
Let it go, Jason, Kali said, finally speaking, a faint thread of amusement in his voice. This is not sword practice. It is law and politics. Do not stress your head over what you do not yet grasp.
A ripple of laughter passed through the veteran guards, the tension of the rejected audience momentarily broken. They turned their mounts, the sound of hooves echoing as they left the silent, imposing palace behind.
The journey to Kali's personal holding within the capital was short. His castle was a fortress of dark stone, more functional than beautiful, a reflection of its master. But as they approached the main entrance, the sight that greeted them was neither functional nor welcome.
A scarlet flag bearing the Valdez crest—a coiled serpent—fluttered from a pole attached to an opulent, blood-red carriage. The carriage was hitched to a team of jet-black horses that stamped their hooves impatiently. The entire display was a splash of garish color against the muted grey of the castle walls.
Your Highness, Ivo muttered, his voice a low rumble. You have a visitor.
Kali's expression did not change. He dismounted, his movements fluid and devoid of reaction. His men followed suit.
Is that Lady Selena Valdez? Jason whispered, wide-eyed.
Who else would grace us with her presence the very hour His Highness returns? Remus replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Yes, Nero added. Even when she knows she is about as welcome as a frost drake in a summer garden.
As if on cue, the carriage door opened. A gloved hand with long, crimson-painted nails emerged, gripping the footman's arm as he helped its occupant descend. Lady Selena Valdez stepped onto the cobblestones, a vision of calculated seduction. Her gown was a cascade of deep red silk, clinging to her curves and sweeping the ground. She moved toward Kali with a hypnotic sway of her hips, a predator confident in her hunt.
Kali, she breathed, her smile brilliant and possessive. You're back, my love.
Kali looked at her, his gaze as interested as if she were a patch of particularly unremarkable moss. Selena, he said, his voice flat. Go back. We need our rest. And with that, he walked straight past her, not breaking his stride, and disappeared through the castle's main doors.
The brilliant smile on Selena's face shattered. Shock, then raw, undiluted fury twisted her beautiful features. She whirled around, her crimson skirts flaring, and her burning eyes landed on Captain Rufus, who had been trying to slip past unnoticed.
Rufus! she snapped. A word.
The captain internally sighed, cursing his prince for leaving him to face this particular storm. He stopped and turned, his face a careful blank. My lady?
She cut him off, stepping closer, her voice a low, venomous hiss. Has he been seeing someone out there? On that damned border? I heard there was a village nearby.
Yes, my lady, there is a village. And no, he has not.
No? Her eyes narrowed to slits. Then why is he treating me like this? Why does he look through me?
Rufus chose his words with the care of a man navigating a field of caltrops. Well, my lady… you must remember, your… association… was never one of particular closeness. It is just… you know.
I know it is just fucking, Rufus! she seethed, her composure fully evaporating. And he started acting strange when I said I wanted more, and then he left! It has been five years! Even for vampires, that is a long time to go without… companionship. Is there a brothel there? Has he never visited? Has he not fucked anyone? And—
I am sorry, my lady, we really must go, Rufus interrupted, spotting the castle's elderly butler emerging from the doorway like a saving grace. He gave a hurried bow and practically fled inside, the rest of the guards following with similar haste, leaving Selena fuming on the steps.
Her own footman approached cautiously. My lady?
You heard that he is getting married, did you not? she said, her voice dangerously quiet.
Hmm, was all he offered in reply.
But she is just human, the footman ventured. Why bother?
Selena shot him a look that could curdle blood. Without another word, she turned and stepped back into the scarlet carriage, the door slamming shut with a sound of finality. The coachman flicked the reins, and the black horses pulled the symbol of her obsession away from the prince's fortress, leaving only the memory of her rage hanging in the cool night air.