One hour. That was enough time to wash away the road and become myself again.

  I dismissed the revenant’s echoing footfalls from my thoughts and crossed toward the wardrobe. Nadine hovered near the center of the room, still absorbing the space as though it might rearrange itself if she blinked too long.

  “You should bathe first,” she said. “You’ve been bleeding on people.”

  “That is an excellent point," I answered, then looked her over. "We both could use a few minutes to clean up."

  She looked down at her travel clothes and just nodded. "Right."

  Maeyke had already anticipated our needs. Steam curled from the adjoining chamber where a copper tub had been filled and perfumed faintly with something herbal and clean. The scent grounded me more than I expected. Old blood and the damp ground clutter of the outer forest had clung stubbornly to my senses. This was stone and oil and something almost floral.

  Nadine waved me ahead, and I washed quickly so a fresh bath could be drawn for her. My body did not tire as a mortal’s would, and grime did not cling to me for long. I was sure she needed it more. Still, the ritual steadied me. I'd worried a little about trying to use the tub with my wings, but something about keeping them hidden in my cloak made them nearly pristine when I undressed. It made it a simple matter of keeping them raised up and out of the water.

  When I emerged, toweling my hair dry, Nadine had begun examining the contents of my wardrobe with open fascination.

  “You own more trousers than most men I know,” she observed.

  “They are more practical. There isn't much call for courtly attire here.”

  She turned one leg toward the light, studying the seams. “No? These are worked, not just stitched.”

  “Discreetly,” I said, feeling oddly defensive.

  She pulled one pair free and held it up. The leather was dark and supple, the seams threaded with subtle patterns that only revealed themselves when the light caught them at the right angle. Fine motifs ran along the seams and panels, the sort of detail most people would never notice unless they knew to look.

  “This kind of seam work isn’t done in town markets,” she said. “The stitching alone would cost a small estate.”

  I grinned. "That's an exaggeration, I'm sure. But no, this isn't work found in town. We don't exactly travel to Angelshade to go shopping, you know.”

  She snorted. “I suppose not." After a pause, she asked, "Is it from the town below?”

  “No. My things are made by castle staff. It is rare to see so much going on down there.”

  She glanced toward the window. “I wonder what they're doing, then?"

  “Nothing special, I'm sure,” I said, taking the pants from her. After a moment’s thought, I lifted my dark drake-leather cloak from the wardrobe and set it aside. “The water for your bath should be ready. You should hurry.”

  Only as Nadine gathered a change of clothes and slipped behind the screen toward the bath did I notice how Maeyke and Coralie were staring at my wings.

  I had left them unfurled without thinking. I'd grown so used to it being safe around Nadine to have them out that I hadn't considered the other two in the room. The feathers caught the lamplight, deep crimson fading into black along the vanes, each edge shadowed like ink pressed into silk. Even folded comfortably behind me, they stretched well past my frame, elegant and impossible to ignore.

  It took me a moment to understand that Coralie's expression wasn't fear, but something bordering on reverence. Maeyke's was more complicated.

  I stepped over to the door above the stairs, sliding the heavy iron bolt home. Then, I took a deep breath and turned back to face them, my wings folding tighter against my back by nervous reflex.

  “I need you both to keep this quiet,” I said.

  Coralie straightened at once. “Of course.”

  Maeyke did not answer immediately. Her gaze traced the structure of the wings with careful precision, as though committing every line to memory.

  “They are not of Lord Dragomir’s blood,” she said at last.

  "That should not be spoken aloud," I answered.

  Her eyes flicked up to mine. There was no accusation there, only acknowledgment.

  “Do you understand what that implies?”

  "I don't really want to find out," I answered honestly.

  Silence settled between us, heavy and thoughtful.

  “I will not speak of them,” Maeyke said finally. “Not to anyone. But if your Father asks me direct questions, you know I cannot lie. He is my creator."

  I nodded. "I know, Maeyke. I would not ask you to try."

  Coralie shifted closer, her eyes still drawn to the wings as though they radiated something she could feel.

  “They are beautiful,” she murmured.

  Heat rose faintly in my cheeks at the sincerity in her voice.

  “And sometimes, they are inconvenient,” I replied.

  She smiled faintly. “Both can be true.”

  That gentleness did not ease the weight I carried for her. The bond between us hummed quietly in the back of my awareness, steady and irrevocable. Needles prickled down my spine when I considered how careful I would need to be now when I spoke to her. I did not want to let casual phrasing carry unintended authority.

  Maeyke stepped forward, guiding me back to my wardrobe, pragmatic as ever. “You will need alterations.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, pulling my spare shirt from our bag. "We had a few shirts adjusted on our journey here. They are a good template."

  She studied the cut and gave a single, slow nod. “There is not enough time to modify both a shirt and vest.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “You will wear one of your old shirts. I will adapt a vest. It will conceal the seam lines better.”

  “That will be enough.”

  She reached for a dark waistcoat already partially tailored and laid it across my desk without ceremony. Needle and thread appeared in her hands as though conjured from memory.

  Coralie lingered near me, uncertain whether to assist or withdraw.

  “You should sit,” I told her, a little uncomfortable with the nervous energy.

  “I am not weak,” she replied. "The blood helped me recover."

  But even as she spoke, she moved to a chair and sat in it. The immediate obedience struck a cord in me. This had been interesting, almost a game, when I didn't know it would be irreversible. Now, it was deeply unsettling. I had chosen not to take the ability to command minds in my evolution. Yet here she was, responding to the weight of my words without resistance.

  I doubt I'd have such a moral predicament if she were an enemy, but she had never been that to me. Now, I wasn't sure what she was. I would have to figure that out.

  I knelt in front of her so we were level.

  “If I speak carelessly,” I said, “you must learn to tell me.”

  She looked startled. “My lady—”

  “Not as a command,” I clarified. “As… correction.”

  Her lips parted, then closed again as she searched for the right shape of a response.

  “I will try,” she said at last.

  That was the most I could reasonably ask.

  Behind us, water shifted softly in the bathing chamber as Nadine moved within it.

  Maeyke worked with swift precision, cutting discreet slits into the back panel of the vest and reinforcing the edges with narrow bands of layered fabric. Her stitches were so small they nearly vanished against the dark cloth.

  "This is your most recent evolution, then? You still cannot take on the form of a bat?" she asked.

  "It is, and I cannot," I said.

  She rotated the vest, continuing her work. "Did you try to send word to your Father? To let him know you were alright, or to ask his advice?"

  “I was busy being kidnapped," I said, shrinking a little at the hidden accusation.

  I'd worried her, too, but that still earned the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth.

  “You will not be able to conceal them indefinitely,” she said after a moment.

  I nodded. “I know. I do not intend to. It just seems dangerous to mention them so soon.”

  “Your father will ask about your evolution.”

  “I expect he will,” I said. "He was already asking about it before I left."

  “And what will you say?”

  “I suppose that depends how he asks… but it is always the same. He asks if I've developed one trait or another, usually if I've gained the form of the bat. I will tell him I have not.”

  “That is true,” she allowed.

  “It is.”

  She finished the final seam and held the vest up for inspection. “Try it.”

  I slipped my arms through and let my wings extend through the slits until they rested inside the reinforced openings. Maeyke laced them shut behind me. The fabric settled smoothly along my back, concealing the base of the wings while allowing them space to move.

  Maeyke stepped closer and adjusted the lay of the collar, her movements instinctive and almost maternal.

  “You have grown,” she murmured.

  “I have.”

  She met my eye for just a moment. “In more ways than one.”

  I only nodded.

  When she stepped back, I crossed the room to retrieve the cloak Nadine had made for me. The enchantment along its lining shimmered faintly as I drew it around my shoulders. The fabric flowed over my wings, and they sank into it as easily as pushing them into water. From the front, there was no sign of them at all.

  Maeyke studied the effect with careful approval. “It will hold under casual observation.”

  “That is all I require.”

  “For now.”

  “For now,” I agreed. The bathing chamber door opened, and I looked up to my cousin. "Nadine will help me with a more suitable cloak when I return."

  She stopped mid-step.

  “You look…” Her eyes narrowed faintly. “More like yourself.”

  “That was the intention,” I said with a grin.

  She approached and circled me once, openly assessing. “You're keeping them hidden, even here?”

  “Yes. For now. It is… necessary.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I suppose you would know.”

  Her gaze dropped to the cloak I had set aside earlier.

  “What is this one for? I suppose you can't wear it today.”

  “I would rather you improve it first.”

  She arched a brow. “Already have the replacement picked out?”

  “You'll like this one,” I said. “That is made from the hide of a Forest Drake. It will practically drink magic in. I wasn't skilled enough to do it myself… but you.”

  She stepped closer and ran her fingers across the outer surface, and her expression changed immediately.

  “Oh!”

  The word carried quiet delight. She pressed her palm flat against the leather, testing it the way an enchanter tests a focus stone, feeling how the material responded.

  “This is excellent,” she murmured. “The conductivity is almost eager.”

  “I thought you might appreciate it.”

  She traced the edge of the cloak thoughtfully before turning it over to examine the lining.

  “I could add some powerful enchantments to this. Maybe something to help with concealment,” she said. “Not just blur the outline, but something a bit stronger and with a better angle. Obviously, I'd start with the enchantment for your wings, but now that I've had time to think about it, I could make it even better!"

  “That would be helpful,” I said, a small smile building with her excitement.

  “And silence it,” she continued, already thinking aloud. “Leather like this can whisper when it moves. A minor enchantment could prevent that.”

  Her fingers moved across the seams, measuring distances, and building the rune structure in her mind.

  “I could bind the edges so it won’t catch on branches. Or weapons. Possibly even teach the cloak how to fall correctly when you move.”

  “Teach it to fall? I'm not sure I understand the how or why of that.”

  She gave me a faint smile. “Sorry. Encourage it to follow a pattern when it drops, and,” a small blush crept in, "for dramatic effect really. No point in leaving wasted potential on the table."

  I only nodded, and she quickly returned her attention to the lining.

  “With something like this, so many options are possible,” she said. “I will need to sketch out some ideas.”

  “That sounds useful,” I said, unsure if she even heard me.

  “It will take time.” She looked up, calculations clearly turning behind her eyes. “But this leather… yes. This will hold the work.”

  I let out a slow breath. "Good. I feel better knowing we have a plan."

  Her smile returned, and with great reluctance, she slowly drew her hands away from the cloak.

  "Well, I guess we'd best not keep your father waiting."

  The word father landed differently now than it had before I left. He was still that, undeniably. But it was finally beginning to settle with me that he was also something larger. Something strategic and cold in ways I understood more clearly than I once had.

  I adjusted the fall of the cloak and extended my hand toward Nadine.

  “Come.”

  Nadine didn’t move immediately. Her gaze shifted from me to the Saint’s Mantle folded over the chair.

  “You’re just leaving that here?”

  “It’s recognizable,” I said. “It will already be strange enough to Father that I’m walking around the castle with my hood up. Hiding the mantle under the cloak would only make it worse. If I have to remove the hood, the Halo will give me enough to explain already. I would leave that behind as well if I could.”

  Maeyke stepped forward before either of us could say more. She reached up, and for a heartbeat I didn’t understand what she was doing. Then her fingers closed around the Halo.

  Nadine and I both froze. The circlet of light lifted cleanly from above my head as though it had always been a simple ornament resting there. The faint golden glow dimmed slightly in her hands, but it did not vanish.

  I stared. I had tried to remove it dozens of times, my hands passing through it like smoke every attempt. Maeyke carried it across the room without ceremony and set it carefully inside the wardrobe, resting it among my folded clothes as though it were nothing more remarkable than jewelry.

  Only then did she turn back toward us.

  “You should not bring her with you,” she said calmly.

  Nadine blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Lord Dragomir has company,” Maeyke replied. “Your presence may not be… appreciated.”

  My thoughts were still caught on the Halo.

  “How did you do that?”

  Maeyke regarded me with mild patience.

  “You could not touch it because it was not meant for you to remove,” she said.

  “What does that mean? Wait, are you telling me Nadine could have removed it this entire time?”

  Maeyke nodded. "Of course. It can only be removed by someone you trust. It is one of the lesser known properties of the Saint's Halo."

  Nadine glanced toward the wardrobe, clearly tempted to go check whether the Halo was truly still there.

  "Why?" she asked, as confused as I was.

  Maeyke only shook her head. "That is not noted in the texts. It is a very old artifact."

  I wanted to ask more questions, but I knew time was limited. They could wait until I returned, and I moved on to the more pressing issue.

  “Father has guests?” I asked.

  “Yes. They arrived several days ago. I believe only a few remain.”

  “What kind of guests?”

  “Emissaries,” Maeyke said. “From other covens.”

  I exhaled slowly. That might explain the activity below the castle, at least.

  “Well,” I said after a moment, turning back toward the door. “That is inconvenient.”

  Nadine folded her arms. “You’re still going?”

  She did not look pleased about it, but only with a moment's thought, practicality won out. A human noble walking unannounced into a gathering of ancient vampires was not the sort of diplomatic introduction that ended well.

  “Fine,” she said at last. “But if you vanish again, I’m coming after you.”

  I snorted, trying to add humor to my voice. “That has not gone well for anyone who tried it so far.” She only stared back, so I continued, "Do not worry yourself over nothing. There is no reason to be concerned."

  Her mouth twitched despite herself.

  “Still,” she said, some of the force drained away. "And what am I supposed to do? Just wait here for you?"

  I glanced down toward the laboratory below. "I thought you might want to spend some time working on your enchanting."

  Her eyes lit up and I watched as she struggled with her frustration at having to stay behind, and excitement to begin working on her new ideas. Finally, she nodded. "Fine."

  I reached for the door.

  “Try not to dismantle my tower while I’m gone.”

  “No promises.”

  I smiled faintly and stepped out into the stairs.

  The air felt different outside the tower. The weight of the unknown settled on my shoulders, my own troubles compounded with the guests in the castle. A growing unease left the world feeling charged in the way the forest sometimes felt before a storm rolled in from the mountains.

  Spectral servants moved through the halls where none had been before. They walked with unusual purpose, their steps brisk and quiet. I recognized most of them, something that must have been intentional considering how many haunted the castle. Some bowed as I passed. Others only inclined their heads, their attention already turned toward the endless list of tasks that must be building with so much going on at once.

  Guests. The word still felt strange to wrap my mind around. My father rarely entertained, and I was certain the timing wasn't coincidence. That didn't make it less frustrating, however. I had many questions I needed to ask him, and I would not have the opportunity if others were present.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I crossed the familiar halls without slowing, the path to the audience chamber carved into memory from years of repetition. The castle moved past me in layered silence, stone corridors giving way to broader halls where the ceilings climbed higher and the wisp light glowed steadier.

  At the base of the grand stair, I paused. Even after all these years, it remained one of the castle’s more theatrical features. The staircase rose in a wide sweep of polished black stone, curving upward to a broad landing before splitting into two mirrored climbs that ascended again toward the upper hall. The railings were carved with winding vines and creatures half hidden among them, their forms worn smooth by centuries of passing hands.

  I started up the first rise, my boots echoing faintly against the stone. Halfway to the landing, something caught my eye.

  Hung from the high walls above the landing, banners were draped between the pillars that framed the upper stairs. My father’s sigil stood at the center as it always had, the deep crimson field and black thorned crest unmistakable. But the banners beside it were not ours.

  I slowed to take them in. One was black silk stitched with muted silver lines that twisted into a crest I did not recognize, something almost geometric and unsettlingly unfamiliar. Another carried a deep violet field marked by a crescent sigil worked in dark gold thread. I almost thought I remembered it from childhood.

  Others hung beyond them, their colors unknown to me. It was a gallery of foreign heraldry. Maeyke had said Emissaries, but I hadn't thought there'd be so many. I only hoped not all of them would be there waiting with Father. She had also said few remained, after all.

  When I reached the upper landing, I found I was not alone. Taos stood near one of the pillars overlooking the stairs, leaning casually against the carved stone as though he had simply wandered there out of sheer coincidence. The wisp light caught in the dark fall of his hair, throwing part of his expression into shadow. He had always looked relaxed in a way that made people underestimate him.

  His gaze lifted as I approached.

  “Well,” he said, pushing away from the pillar with a grace that suggested he'd not been waiting long, “that answers one question. I had begun to suspect you'd locked yourself in the tower.”

  “You thought I would hide from Father's judgement? I am not a child anymore."

  A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth at that.

  “No, you are not.” His eyes moved over me briefly, taking in the cloak, the posture, the faint tension that had not quite left my shoulders. “Though I admit I did not expect you to return with quite so much… noise surrounding you.”

  “Lately, that seems to be happening more than I'd like. At least you got a meal out of it, this time.”

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I've heard a few things. Now you understand why we keep our home so far from the mortals.”

  He stepped into place beside me as we continued down the corridor toward the audience chamber. His presence was familiar, almost comforting in a way few things in the castle ever were. Taos had come and gone throughout my childhood like a storm passing through the forest, appearing for weeks or months before vanishing again into whatever distant places drew his attention.

  He had always brought strange stories back with him. This time, he brought caution.

  “You should know,” he said quietly as we walked, “that the castle has not been quiet while you were gone.”

  “I noticed.”

  “The banners likely helped.”

  “Maeyke warned me there were guests. The banners made it clear how much of an understatement that was.”

  His gaze slid briefly toward the hall behind us, where the unfamiliar heraldry hung from the high stone walls.

  “Most of them have already gone,” he continued, his voice low enough that it would not carry far in the corridor. “A few remain. Your father has been… entertaining.”

  I raised a brow. "That tone holds a lot of implication."

  Taos nodded slightly, though I couldn't miss the hint of surprise in his eyes at my attitude. I would need to be more careful to subdue the changes in my personality.

  “Several covens wished to see how the winds were shifting,” he said. “There are rumors moving through the old places again. Monsters stirring where they should not be. Gods whispering where they have been silent for centuries. It makes the elders restless.”

  “And my father?”

  “He prefers to appear calm when the world grows uncertain.”

  “He prefers to appear calm at all times,” I answered. "Is that what all the activity outside is about?"

  He nodded. "Appearance or not, he is preparing for something. I believe he is waiting for the last of the emissaries to leave before he reveals any of his plans."

  Taos studied me for a moment as we walked, his expression thoughtful in a way that suggested he was considering something he had not quite decided to say.

  “You returning today is… unfortunate timing,” he said eventually.

  “That is something else that has been happening to me far more often, lately.”

  “Yes,” he agreed mildly. “Though this time the consequences may be more complicated than usual.”

  We had nearly reached the doors of the audience chamber now. The carved panels rose high above us, ancient wood etched with scenes from histories older than most kingdoms.

  Taos slowed slightly beside me.

  “You should be careful in there,” he said.

  “With the guests?”

  “With everyone.”

  I glanced at him. “That includes my father?”

  Taos did not answer immediately. For a moment he simply watched the doors, as though measuring the weight of the room beyond them. When he finally spoke, his voice had gone quieter.

  “Especially him.”

  The doors stood closed before us, tall enough that the carved panels disappeared into the dim light above. The wood was old, dark as the surrounding stone, but protected by powerful enchantments dating back centuries. Scenes had been carved across them, things so ancient I would likely never know if they were legends or histories.

  Taos did not approach with me, and I understood it meant he hadn't been summoned as well. I almost smiled when I realized he was just checking on me after the encounter in the Forest.

  The murmur of voices carried faintly through the seam between the doors. Steady and measured words—the kind of conversation that belonged to people who had lived long enough to know urgency rarely improved anything. Just as I knew waiting outside the doors would do me no good. I drew a slow breath and pushed them open.

  The audience chamber had always been large, but tonight it felt vast. The ceiling arched high overhead, its dark beams disappearing into shadow where the wisp light did not quite reach. Long windows lined the far wall, their heavy curtains drawn back to allow a view of the night sky to shine through the glass. The moonlight mixed with the steady glow of the wisps floating through the hall, throwing long reflections across the polished black stone floor.

  The room had been arranged differently than usual. Instead of the open space I was accustomed to crossing alone, several chairs had been drawn forward before the dais where my father’s seat stood. A long table rested nearby, its surface scattered with goblets that glinted faintly in the shifting light.

  The banners I had seen outside continued here, hanging between the pillars that framed the chamber. My father’s crest dominated the central wall above the dais, but the foreign heraldry flanked it on either side like silent witnesses.

  And beneath them stood the guests. Three figures occupied the space before the dais, their attention already turning toward the doors as they opened. They had been speaking quietly among themselves, but the sound faded as I stepped into the room.

  My father sat above them, his posture relaxed in the great chair that I had decided must be a throne as a girl, despite what everyone else insisted. The memory tried to warm my heart against the chill in the room.

  He did not rise when I entered. His gaze settled on me with calm familiarity, as though nothing about the evening had changed. But the others watched with a different kind of interest.

  One of them, a woman with hair as blue-white as moonlit frost, tilted her head slightly as she studied me. Her clothing was elegant without excess, every line precise, every detail deliberate. The thin rings along her fingers caught the light when she shifted her hand, their metal glimmering softly.

  Another leaned casually against the edge of the long table nearby, his posture easy in a way that felt practiced. His dark coat hung open at the throat, and the faint smile resting on his face did not quite reach his eyes.

  The third stood a little apart from the others, her expression unreadable. Black gloves concealed her hands, and the dark fabric of her dress drank the light rather than reflecting it.

  No one reacted beyond their open assessment, and for a moment the room held that silence as though everyone present had agreed without discussion that the next move belonged to me.

  I stepped forward, letting the doors close behind me.

  “My apologies for the interruption,” I said, inclining my head slightly toward the gathered guests.

  My father regarded me with that same calm expression he wore when dealing with particularly tedious projects, but his eyes still scanned me from head to toe.

  “You have returned at a lively hour,” he said. “Come forward, Mirela.”

  The words were not sharp, but they carried the quiet weight of command all the same. I stepped forward from the doorway and crossed the polished floor, the echoes of my boots soft beneath the vaulted ceiling. The guests watched me approach with open curiosity, their attention neither hostile nor welcoming, merely attentive in the way one observes a new piece on a board.

  I inclined my head to my father when I reached the foot of the dais.

  “I apologize for my absence,” I said, keeping my tone steady. “My return took longer than expected.”

  My father regarded me for a moment without speaking, his expression unchanged. Then he lifted one hand slightly, the gesture small and almost casual.

  “That can wait.”

  The words were mild, but they closed the subject as effectively as a slammed door. I felt the pause stretch in the space between us, the apology I had been prepared to offer dissolving before it ever fully formed. The instinct to continue—to explain Angelshade, the pirates, and all the chaos that had followed—rose briefly before I forced it down. It was easier to do knowing I didn't want to discuss these things in the presence of strangers.

  My father’s attention had already shifted away from me, returning to the three figures standing before the dais as though the interruption had been little more than a momentary distraction.

  “As I was saying,” he continued calmly, “we will observe for the moment.”

  The white-haired woman inclined her head slightly, her pale eyes drifting toward me once more before returning to my father.

  “Would that the younger covens could reach the same consensus,” she said. Her voice carried the smooth precision of someone long accustomed to speaking in rooms where every word was weighed. “The pattern has repeated across several territories now. Forsaken things stirring where they should have remained quiet.”

  The man leaning against the table let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh.

  “Monsters returning, gods whispering new cults into existence, the political landscape of the mortals shifting,” he said. “The world always becomes interesting when the heavens start pressing their will again.”

  “You are old enough to remember what happened the last time the heavens stirred,” the woman replied coolly.

  He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, unbothered.

  “I have always preferred interesting.”

  The third visitor had not spoken yet. She stood slightly apart from the others, her gloved hands folded loosely before her.

  “When members of our lines begin to vanish,” she said at last, her voice soft but carrying easily through the chamber, “the matter stops being merely interesting.”

  The room grew quieter after that.

  My father rested one elbow lightly against the arm of his chair, his expression unchanged.

  “And yet,” he said, “the only absence within my own household has already returned.” His gaze shifted briefly toward me before moving back to the others. “If whatever unsettled the younger blood is passing through the old territories,” he continued calmly, “it seems reasonable to assume the rest will surface in time.”

  The white-haired woman regarded him thoughtfully.

  “That would be the most convenient outcome.”

  The man beside the table let out a faint breath of amusement.

  “Convenience is rarely what the world offers when the old powers begin stirring,” he said. “Still, if the disturbances were meant to strike our houses directly, we would have felt it more clearly by now.”

  The white-haired woman spoke again, her gaze shifting between the others.

  “If the old powers truly are stirring,” she said, “the question is not whether we will be affected. It is when.”

  “And what we choose to do when that moment arrives,” the gloved woman added quietly.

  My father’s expression remained calm. “We will watch,” he said. “We will listen. When the truth of the matter becomes clear, we will decide whether action is necessary.”

  The others exchanged brief glances that carried far more meaning than the words themselves. For a moment no one spoke. Then the man near the table lifted his goblet and drained the last of the dark liquid within before setting it aside.

  “A sensible approach,” he said. “It would be unfortunate to start a war with half the monsters in the world before we know which ones are worth killing.”

  The silver-haired woman regarded him coolly. “You assume the choice will be ours.”

  He smiled. “It usually is.”

  The conversation drifted, the tone carrying the feeling of something already decided. I remained where I stood, the understanding settling slowly as the discussion continued without me. This was not a gathering meant for my ears. I had not been summoned to speak. I had simply walked into the end of a conversation already finished.

  Frustration began to build, followed quickly by confusion. I had been summoned, and I had come, but had I always been this irrelevant and simply been content with it? Had I never noticed before, or was this perfectly normal, and these new emotions the only thing out of place?

  The rhythm of the discussion continued somewhere above me, but my attention had already drifted away from it. I found myself studying the stone beneath my feet instead, tracing the faint seams between the polished slabs as though they might reveal something the room itself had not.

  It was the movement that pulled me back. My father had shifted slightly in his chair. He had not raised his voice, nor had he spoken any formal dismissal that I could hear, yet the effect was immediate all the same. The white-haired woman inclined her head toward him with quiet respect, the motion precise enough to feel ceremonial without ever becoming theatrical.

  “It has been… enlightening,” she said.

  The man beside the table pushed away from its edge, the faint smile still lingering on his lips.

  “I will be curious to see which of us proves correct,” he said lightly.

  The gloved woman said nothing at all. She simply dipped her head in acknowledgment before turning toward the doors.

  My father offered them a small, almost courteous nod, but I could feel the finality in it.

  The white-haired woman passed near me as she crossed the chamber, her pale eyes lingering on my face for a moment, cataloging it as she passed.

  The man followed shortly after, pausing only long enough to retrieve his goblet with quiet amusement.

  “You should try not to worry so much,” he said as he passed me, the words casual enough that they might have been meant for anyone in the room.

  Then he was gone.

  The gloved woman lingered for a moment, but seemingly thought better of adding any parting words. She gave a final nod, and a moment later, the doors closed behind her.

  The chamber grew noticeably quieter once they were gone. I had not realized how much of the room their presence occupied until it vanished. For a few seconds neither of us spoke. My father remained seated where he was, his attention resting on me now with calm, patient focus.

  "You wanted to speak?" he said finally.

  I nodded, picking up from where I'd begun before. “I apologize for the delay in my return,” I said at last. “I was… gone longer than I intended.”

  My father inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the words without interrupting, so I continued.

  “I was hunting along the southern boundary of the Forest,” I explained, choosing the words carefully even though the truth itself was not complicated. “I went farther than I should have. I'd studied and I thought I knew where to find prey—I was right, but they were already fleeing. I followed their trail, but then, I was suddenly staring out at Angelshade in the distance.”

  The name lingered in the quiet air between us.

  “I had never seen it before,” I admitted. “Curiosity got the better of me. I thought I could approach the city and leave again before anyone noticed.”

  My father listened without visible reaction.

  “It did not go as planned,” I added after a moment.

  "No," he said calmly, "I had noticed as much."

  I nodded, looking away for a moment. "I was careless. A group in the town was looking for me. They had an old sketch, from when I was younger. They were discussing ways to enter the Forest to find me. I didn't understand why. I stopped to talk to them, never considering them a threat."

  The memory returned easily enough now that I spoke it aloud. The creak of the ship, the narrow space of the coffin lined in silver, the muffled voices of the crew as they argued above me. Somehow, the memory was worse now looking back on it.

  "They poisoned me. Something in my drink, I still don't know how they managed. I woke days later, I'm not sure how many, trapped in a silver lined coffin, weak and struggling to stay conscious."

  My father regarded me for another moment before speaking again.

  “You escaped.”

  “I did. They underestimated me.”

  “Did they tell you why they had come?”

  I hesitated only briefly before answering. “While they thought I was still unconscious, I heard them arguing about their employer,” I said. “One of them mentioned that they had been hired to bring me in alive. They believed the request came from another vampire.”

  My father’s expression did not change, but I knew that look. Something had begun turning behind his eyes.

  “Did they name this patron?” he asked.

  “No. I only heard the crew repeating half the story.”

  “Did you see a sigil? A banner? Anything that might suggest a lineage?”

  I shook my head, "No, Father. There was nothing like that. They were more mercenaries than servants."

  His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he leaned back slightly in his chair.

  “Angelshade was premature,” he said at last. The words landed with a quiet finality that hit me far harder than anger would have. “You were not meant to surface yet.”

  I opened my mouth to explain further, to explain all the things I expected him to be upset about, but the look in his eyes told me he was already moving past that part of the story. He was no longer listening to what had happened. He was considering what it meant.

  My father’s gaze drifted past me, unfocused in the way it often did when his thoughts had moved somewhere far beyond the walls of the room. The world outside these walls had always interested him only when it threatened to intrude upon his domain.

  Whatever calculations he was making now, they seemed to satisfy him. He rose unhurried from his chair and descended the shallow steps of the dais, stopping only a few paces away from me. Standing, he was taller than I remembered him being, the dark coat he wore falling in clean lines to the floor like a shadow given shape.

  “Have you manifested your bat form yet?” he asked.

  The question caught me off guard. For a moment I simply blinked at him.

  “No,” I said at last.

  His expression did not change immediately. If anything, the shift was almost imperceptible, but I knew him well enough to see it. The stillness behind his eyes sharpened, leaving me feeling like I'd fallen short of his expectations.

  “I see.”

  And, that was it. All that he said. I waited, but there was no anger, no lecture on responsibility, no curiosity about my failure to evolve as he expected. Just those two words, spoken with a restraint that somehow carried more disappointment than any scolding would have.

  I expected the next question to follow naturally. My eighteenth birthday had passed while I was gone. I was dreading learning how he would react to my class, but resolved to answer the question honestly and just get it out of the way. My worst fear, that the auras around me might hurt others of my kind, had already been proven false.

  And yet, the silence stretched on. My father said nothing about it. He did not ask what class I had awakened. He did not even ask about the announcement that I was now engaged to be married. I'd brought another person home with me, but, nothing.

  Those things had seemed terribly important, so much so I'd spent time nearly every day for weeks trying to figure out how to explain them to him when I finally came home. Now he simply stood there, studying me as though those matters did not exist at all.

  The silence stretched long enough that I realized he had already moved on to something else entirely.

  It left an uncomfortable gap in the conversation, one that made the words I had planned to say feel suddenly small. Still, I had not forgotten the promises I had made before returning here.

  “There is something else I meant to ask you,” I said.

  His attention returned to me without resistance.

  “In Valoria,” I continued, speaking the name with the care of someone testing the depth of unfamiliar water, “the city is under a curse.”

  He regarded me quietly, neither surprised nor particularly interested.

  “I was there when it was unleashed. There is a schism in the Church. The Heretics were responsible.”

  That at least earned the faintest flicker of acknowledgment, but none of this sounded like a surprise to him.

  “They released something over the city,” I said. “A kind of spreading corruption. It turns people to ashen stone. Entire streets were frozen where they stood. Most of the Cathedral district.”

  My father nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “I have heard of it.”

  The simplicity of the answer made me hesitate. “You… have?”

  “Yes. It's old magic,” he replied. “Very old. Some of our guests were concerned with it."

  I felt a small flicker of hope rise despite myself.

  “There was a spell cast over the city to stop it,” I said quickly. “Someone cast a spell to counter the curse, but only managed to freeze it in place. It is holding for now, but that protection is shrinking. As it pulls back, the people trapped in stone collapse into ash.”

  My father listened with the same calm patience he had shown earlier.

  “Can the curse be broken?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  The answer came without hesitation. Relief surged through me before I could stop it.

  “Then the people who are still trapped—”

  “They would be free of the curse,” he finished.

  For a moment I thought he might say more. Instead he regarded me with a faint, almost distant curiosity.

  “It is an interesting study, Mirela, but do not let it consume you. It is not your concern,” he said.

  I'd almost thought this was going to be easy, but the quiet certainty in his voice extinguished the fragile hope as quickly as it had appeared. I swallowed the protest that rose to my lips and forced myself to move on. That was a problem I could tackle when his mind was less occupied.

  “There is another matter,” I said. “In the town below the forest, several girls have gone missing. It sounds almost as if someone or something else might be hunting in our coven's territory.”

  My father’s expression remained unchanged.

  “It is nothing so fantastical. They were taken south, toward the port,” he said.

  “Taken? Just… taken?”

  “Yes.”

  “By who?”

  “The Heretics, as you call them.” He said it as one might mention the weather. “They have been collecting them quietly for some time,” he continued. “The trails lead toward the southern ports.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “No.”

  I waited for more, but nothing else was forthcoming. It was a mystery he simply had no interest in, his mind busy mulling over something else. Perhaps later, when he was less distracted I might learn more. For now, it was also a solid clue for Dawn. That would have to be enough.

  As I resolved to let these things go for now, Father resolved something else. He watched me for a few seconds after the last question faded from the room, and whatever he had been working on behind that calm expression settled into place.

  “The world beyond the Forest is changing,” he said. “You have seen that much for yourself.”

  “I have.”

  “And you have also seen how quickly curiosity becomes danger.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but he continued before I could.

  “You left the territory without preparation. You traveled to a city that was already under the influence of forces you do not yet understand. You allowed yourself to be captured by mortals who should never have had the opportunity.”

  The words were not delivered as accusations. If anything, his tone was almost reflective, as though he were describing a problem that had already been solved.

  “You survived,” he went on. “That speaks well of your instincts. But survival is not the same as readiness.”

  “I learned from it,” I said carefully. “That was the point of allowing me to hunt outside the castle in the first place.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Within the Forest.” The quiet emphasis made the distinction unmistakable.

  I felt the frustration rising again. “I was hunting,” I said. “I followed the trail farther than intended. It happens.”

  “It should not.”

  His voice did not rise, but the finality of the words landed hard. He began to pace slowly across the stone floor, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he spoke.

  “You were nearly taken from me,” he said. “Not by strength, skill, or even guile. By carelessness.”

  “I escaped.”

  “You survived,” he corrected again, his gaze returning to me. “The distinction matters. Fortune favored you once, and you are learning the wrong lesson from it.”

  The room seemed to shrink around us. “I cannot control the dangers that exist beyond these walls,” he continued. “The hunters who wander the roads. The Heretics who stir old powers for their own purposes. The creatures that begin to crawl out of places the church prefers to pretend do not exist.”

  His expression remained calm, but something in his voice carried a weight I had rarely heard before.

  “What I can control,” he said, “is whether you walk unprepared into the middle of it.”

  The realization hit me like a knife in the heart. “You intend to keep me here."

  My father stopped pacing.

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as necessary.”

  A familiar anger rose in my chest, stronger now that the strange numbness I had once lived with had begun to fade.

  “Father, I made a mistake, and I learned from it,” I said. "You agreed that I was ready to hunt on my own. I have only grown since then."

  His gaze did not waver.

  “I was wrong. That level of responsibility requires a level of judgment you have not yet demonstrated.”

  “It was one mistake,” I argued, only realizing how it sounded after the words left my mouth.

  “You made several,” he replied evenly. “You left the territory. You revealed yourself to the outside world. And you attracted the attention of forces that now appear to be moving pieces around you.”

  He paused then, studying my expression as though measuring how much of that truth I was willing to accept.

  “The Forest has protected you your entire life,” he said, calmly. “It allowed you to grow without interference from the things that would have hunted you if they knew what you were.”

  “I am not a child.”

  “No,” he agreed. “You are something far more valuable than that.”

  The words slipped out so smoothly that I almost missed them.

  Almost.

  “I will not spend the rest of my life hiding in this castle,” I said. "Father, there are things I must do."

  “You will remain here,” he replied.

  I felt the refusal rise instantly. “No.”

  For the first time since the others had left the room, my father’s expression shifted. Not with anger, but patience.

  “You will remain here,” he repeated calmly, “until you are ready. I decide when that happens.”

  The words landed like a gate slamming shut. They were spoken with such a calm certainty that they left very little space for argument—which of course made the argument rise all the faster. I could feel it gathering already, pressing up against my ribs, searching for the right words. There were too many things I could say. Too many truths I had not told him yet.

  Valoria.

  The curse tightening around the city.

  The people trapped inside it.

  My family.

  The thought of them pressed down like a sudden weight on my chest. I imagined the stone figures left trapped along those streets, frozen where they had stood, waiting for the shrinking barrier to reach them. I imagined my father hearing that the people caught inside that curse shared my blood.

  I did not know what he would do with that information. I only knew I was suddenly afraid to give it to him.

  My father watched me in silence while those thoughts flickered across my face. He had always been good at that, reading the arguments before they were spoken.

  I saw the moment he recognized it. Something softened in his expression then, so briefly I almost thought I imagined it. His gaze shifted slightly, not away from me entirely, but past me toward the far wall of the chamber. I followed the movement without meaning to, landing on the painting hanging there.

  It had been there for as long as I could remember, though I had never asked him about it. A man and a woman stood together in the image, their expressions caught somewhere between pride and quiet amusement, a pair of children gathered close beside them.

  His family frozen in a memory older than the republic outside. The one he had lost long before I ever knew him.

  For a moment his attention lingered there, then, his eyes returned to me. He wasn't looking at the vampire standing in front of him, but at the girl who had once raced through these halls with ink-stained fingers and dirt on her boots, certain the entire forest belonged to her.

  I saw the memory pass across his face, even though it lasted no longer than a heartbeat, and when it was gone, the calm calculation had returned. My father stepped closer, closing the last few feet between us with slow, deliberate steps.

  “You are tired,” he said quietly.

  I frowned slightly.

  “I am not—”

  His gaze met mine fully then, and the room seemed to fall away. I blinked at him and realized I was sagging where I stood, the tension I had carried across half the world suddenly slipping from my shoulders.

  “It has been a long trip, Father.”

  “It has been a long, exhausting trip,” he agreed gently. “You need rest. You are hungry.”

  His voice carried a softness I did not remember hearing before, a quiet melody that slid easily past the edges of my thoughts.

  But, he was right.

  The realization rose slowly at first, then all at once. The hollow ache behind my ribs sharpened into something far more demanding. My fangs throbbed quietly as though they had been waiting for me to notice.

  I was ravenous.

  “Yes, Father.”

  He regarded me with calm satisfaction, studying the way the truth of that hunger settled into my expression.

  “It is very important that you evolve again soon, Mirela.”

  The words felt obvious the moment he said them.

  Of course it was important.

  The thought bloomed inside my mind with sudden certainty. It was not simply important. It was necessary. I could feel it in the restless pressure of my blood, in the ache behind my teeth, in the way the hunger sharpened as soon as the possibility was spoken aloud.

  “I want to,” I said quietly.

  “I know.” His voice remained soft. “There have been many who attempted to violate the sanctity of our home while you were away,” he continued. “Adventurers. Crusaders. Men who believed themselves brave enough to challenge the Forest.”

  I listened, the hunger in my chest beginning to pulse with steady insistence.

  “They are in the dungeons now,” he said. “More than usual.”

  The image formed easily in my mind. The stone corridors below the castle. The iron doors. The scent of blood and fear that always lingered there.

  “You should find the strongest among them,” my father said. “Feed until you are full. Do not leave them alive. Take their life as well as their blood. You will need it.”

  “Yes, Father.” The answer slipped from my mouth before I could question it.

  “When you can feed no more,” he continued calmly, “you should return to your room and rest. But after such a long journey, surely you will wake hungry again.”

  I nodded slowly. Of course I would.

  “You must feed like this until the moment comes,” he said. “Until your blood is ready to evolve.”

  The hunger twisted sharply inside me. For the briefest moment, a flicker of hesitation rose through the haze gathering around my thoughts.

  “That… is many,” I murmured faintly. “Isn’t that wasteful?”

  My father’s expression did not change.

  “No, Mirela,” he said gently. “It is for the good of the coven.”

  The words settled over the uncertainty like a warm blanket.

  “You want to support the coven.”

  “Yes, Father,” I said.

  I did.

  He turned slightly then, one hand resting lightly against my shoulder as he guided me toward the doors.

  “Go,” he said softly. “Return to me when you are ready to evolve.”

  The great doors of the audience chamber opened without a sound and I stepped through them without hesitation. The castle blurred around me as I walked, my thoughts narrowing to a single clear purpose. The twisting corridors, the staircases, the flicker of wisps and torches along the stone walls all passed by without meaning.

  The hunger was louder than anything else.

  Below the castle, the dungeons waited.

  Behind me, my father remained where he stood, watching as I disappeared into the halls of the keep.

  The dungeon must grow. The stolen power must be reclaimed. Everything else is of no consequence.

  Viktor had been called many names: the Impaler, the Tyrant, the Dark Emperor. And he couldn’t have cared less. Those who dared oppose him all met swift and brutal ends. Kingdoms fell as he carved out his own empire. With his unparalleled power, he brought the entire world to its knees. Yet, even the mightiest could fall. One day, he made a mistake, a mistake that cost him everything. His reign abruptly ended when he was slain by a group called the Six Heroes, who not only took his life but also stole his power and divided it among themselves.

  Three hundred years later, Viktor came back to life. He awoke in the body of a young boy named Quinn and found himself in a world changed beyond recognition. His castle had been left in ruins, his capital had been razed to the ground, and the once-prosperous Central Plains had become a wild land ruled by trees and beasts. Of all the treasures he once possessed, the only thing he had found was a Dungeon Core, small and underdeveloped, buried under rubble, forgotten by everyone.

  His power was now scattered among the Six Heroes’ descendants, who reigned as kings and queens of this new world. And he wanted it back. With a fledgling Dungeon Core as his only ally, he set out to exact vengeance on his enemies and reclaim what was rightfully his.

  What to expect:

  - A competent, ruthless MC who stops at nothing to achieve his goal

  - A long and epic story

  - Book 2 completed on Royal Road