As Lady Cira ushered young Ysayle from the grand starlit ballroom, the haunting melody of enchanted violins swelled once more, echoing off the marble columns like whispers of old magic. Her silken gown shimmered beneath the chandelier light, and her golden hair trailed behind her like sunlight caught in a breeze.
Cira allowed a soft smile to grace her lips, her voice like wind through chimes.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtN16556voT
"Your father truly is a spectacle," she mused.
Ysayle tilted her head, her curious crimson eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight. She matched her grandmother’s serene expression with one of her own.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAMYeRO9sFa
"He plays beautifully... Mother always asks him to play in the parlor before bed. It lulls me into dreams," she said with a quiet hum, her voice thick with wonder.
Cira glanced down at her, her steps graceful and unhurried.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVaFjn5Ee0u
"Music is his gentlest weapon," she replied, cryptic but fond.
Ysayle blinked up at her. "Why doesn’t Father sing?" she asked innocently.
Cira faltered mid-step, her body tightening as if old ghosts had reached for her spine. What a question... and at such an unexpected time.
She composed herself with a breath and gave a melodic laugh.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrKBsLL50Zp
"Ah, my little dove... your father is many things. And while his voice may be hauntingly beautiful—" she paused, her tone laced with distant melancholy, “it carries danger in every note. A siren’s voice cloaked in velvet.”
Ysayle’s smile faded. Dangerous? Her thoughts twisted. Had Mother heard it? Had she survived it?
"What was it like... watching him grow up?" she ventured, her tone a mixture of reverence and cunning. She knew her grandmother would spill anything, especially if she asked with those wide, gleaming eyes and a pout.
Cira's smile faltered. It folded into something mournful.
"His childhood was not one blessed by light, dearheart..." Her voice lowered like a prayer. "His father—your grandfather—was a tyrant clothed in finery. A cruel man with crueler hands."
Ysayle's breath caught.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCfulEUsrqw
"But... he’s told me of his father. The stories didn’t sound that awful..."
Cira's eyes sharpened as they reached the shadowed courtyard where the carriage awaited, its obsidian trim gleaming beneath moonlight.
"He’s been telling you about his father?" she asked, more intrigued than angry. "That’s quite a tale for your age. Has your mother said nothing of this?"
Ysayle groaned dramatically, folding her arms.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUTm6GPeoqe
"Grandmother. I’m fourteen. A little sex and murder won’t fracture my mind."
The footmen opened the carriage door in silence. Cira stared at her for a breath, then threw her head back in a crystalline laugh, tears gleaming at the corners of her eyes.
"Stars above, I'd nearly forgotten how grown you are~" she teased, watching the girl climb gracefully into the velvet-lined carriage.
Once seated beside her, Cira smoothed her skirts and leaned closer, eyes aglow with mischief.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOXjrBlhWya
"Tell me then... where did he leave off? Perhaps I can offer the parts your father wouldn’t dare speak aloud.”
Ysayle tapped her chin, her mind whirring.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWHfB43SoZB
"Mmm... right before you arrived in his tale. I think someone died at the ball?"
Cira’s eyes sparkled, her lips curving into something sly and knowing.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiGW26L8KhP
"Ah... yes. The night the moon wept gold, and everything changed."9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNSWMCGtBXS
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9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWyLtnmfjWY
The scream split the air like shattered glass, high and ear-piercing, a banshee’s wail reborn in the heart of celebration. The ballroom recoiled as one—ripples of movement spread through silk-clad nobles and masked strangers. Some gasped. Others ran. And Veylan—before thought could anchor his limbs—was already pushing through the crowd, heart pounding like war drums against his ribs.
“Veylan!” a voice called sharply through the fray. Oddfellow—faceless yet somehow visibly stricken—beckoned him with frantic gestures toward a side parlor, where a gathering of guests stood frozen, their faces pale, their expressions curdled with horror.
The moment Veylan entered, the world shifted.
He stopped.
He froze.
And then—he shattered.
Limbs. Scattered like broken dolls. Blood soaked into the once pristine carpet like ink through parchment. And in the center of it all…
Kora’s severed head lay in a still pool of crimson, her eyes wide open, their usual warm hue now glassy and colorless.
Her body—what remained of it—was flung across the chamber like a child's forgotten toy. Her mother and sister lay in torn heaps, limbs akimbo, dresses ripped, lifeless stares locked in eternal shock. In the midst of the carnage stood their father, barefoot in a sea of blood, eyes glowing with an unnatural white fire. His hair had grown wild and tangled, talons where fingers should have been, every inch of him dripping in gore as if the beast within had clawed its way out.
And Selene…
Selene was on her knees. Motionless. As if petrified. Blood soaked her ruffled gown of black and white, pearls now stained with crimson. She clutched the torso of her mother, arms trembling, eyes blank, mouth slack with silent despair.
Veylan’s breath caught in his throat. He reacted before reason returned.
His hands lifted, fingers curling as if plucking invisible strings. A web of blood tore from the father’s veins and lashed itself to Veylan’s fingertips, binding like crimson barbed wire. The man halted instantly—held aloft, suspended in agony.
“EVERYONE OUT,” Veylan commanded, his voice a thunderclap of anguish, fury, and fear. The guests scattered like frightened birds, skirts and coats trailing in their wake. Oddfellow slammed the doors shut just as guards and Veylan’s parents swept into the room.
“Oh, by the stars—what in the hells happened here?!” gasped Cira, Veylan’s mother, clutching her chest as she took in the butchery. The guards wrestled the possessed man to the ground, slipping enchanted cuffs over his wrists. Veylan released the blood-thread with a flick of his wrist. It splattered to the ground in thick drops—blood rain falling in a slow, dreadful rhythm.
His father stepped forward, voice steady but weary. “Selene… are you hurt?” he asked softly, crouching by her side. The girl did not respond. She simply clung tighter to the remains of her mother.
Veylan turned away suddenly and vomited. His stomach heaved violently onto the marble floor.
Oddfellow was at his side at once, steadying him, one hand gently holding back his sweat-drenched hair. He said nothing, simply offering a monogrammed handkerchief.
He knew, of course. Knew of Veylan’s affliction—his unbearable sensitivity to blood, an irony not lost on a man who wields blood magic as a birthright. Veylan had never been able to stomach it. The scent. The warmth. The life of it.
“Is Selene alright?” Veylan croaked, voice ragged as he wiped his mouth and turned, nodding a silent thanks to Oddfellow.
There she was, trembling in Cira’s arms, her pearled mask lying cracked nearby. The very mask she’d worn while dancing with him only moments ago. The stranger who had slipped into his room… the girl in the ballroom… she’d been there the whole time.
He hadn’t even noticed she’d vanished. She must’ve known.
“I’m fine,” Selene snapped suddenly, her voice like a lash. Veylan flinched.
She didn’t recognize him—of course not. He still wore his mask. With a quiet sigh, he lifted it from his face, revealing bloodless cheeks and haunted eyes.
“I highly doubt that, my lady,” he murmured. “You just witnessed your entire family torn apart.”
Selene stiffened at the sight of his face. Recognition flickered behind her eyes. He’d grown since last she’d seen him. He looked older, leaner. And… paler.
Her gaze dropped to the floor. The blood. The bile.
“You’re a vegetarian?” she had once teased.
“Something like that,” he had said.
The memory stung.
“I’ve seen my fair share of violence, your highness,” she lied, voice tight. “Truly. I’m fine.”
Cira gently stroked her hair, exchanging a glance with her husband. “You should stay with us, Selene. Until we know what’s happening.”
Selene nodded once, lips pressed tightly together.
Veylan’s eyes wandered again to Kora’s head. His bride. His fiancée. Gone. He barely blinked, though his eyes gleamed with unshed tears.
“I’ll take care of things here,” he said hoarsely. “Selene needs rest. Oddfellow, see to it everyone knows—the wedding is cancelled. The ball is over.”
Oddfellow bowed his head and slipped from the room.
“Veylan, darling…” Cira approached. “You don’t have to do this. Don’t push yourself—”
“He needs to,” his father interjected firmly. “He must overcome this weakness.”
Veylan’s shoulders dropped. The words struck deeper than they should have. But he nodded.
“I wish to remain,” Selene said suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
The Laurences paused. Exchanged a look.
“As you wish, dear,” Cira said gently. She kissed the crown of Selene’s head, then took her husband’s arm and exited, leaving only the two behind.
The room was still again.
Veylan slowly sank to his knees. His hand hovered above Kora’s cold cheek, trembling slightly. He choked back another wave of nausea.
Selene rummaged quietly and found a drawer of cloths. She tossed one his way.
“So. Blood makes you sick,” she said flatly.
He nodded. Silent.
“I didn’t take you for the type to be so…” she hesitated.
“Weak?” he offered bitterly.
She blinked. “No. I was going to say human.”
She knelt beside him, elegant even amid gore. Together, they began wiping away the mess—futile, perhaps, but it gave their hands purpose.
“Veylan,” she said quietly.
He didn’t look up, but the flicker in his gaze told her he was listening.
“Did you… truly love her? Kora?”
He paused. He hadn’t planned to. At first, Kora had been a means to an end—to get closer to Selene. But time had shifted things. Her laughter had grown on him. Her kindness had softened him.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Of course I did.”
Selene flinched. Of course he did. Despite everything, Kora had been warm, gentle, everything Selene wasn’t sure she could be.
“I’m sorry,” she said, after a long pause.
Veylan looked at her, brow raised. “For what?”
“I assumed… you were a monster. That day on the beach. I treated you like… a predator. I was cruel.”
He blinked, startled. “I don’t blame you. We vampires don’t have the most forgiving of reputations.”
She reached out as he gagged again, clutching the edge of the table and vomiting into a nearby bin. She was beside him instantly, steadying his shoulder.
“Perhaps,” she said gently, “we leave the rest to the morticians.”
He nodded weakly, and she helped him to his feet, dabbing his lips clean with the cloth.
“Come on,” she whispered. And together, they walked from the slaughter.
A few weeks had passed. The tea room, once soaked in unspeakable carnage, now gleamed with an almost spiteful cleanliness—pristine marble unmarred by blood or bone, chandeliers swaying gently as if nothing had ever happened beneath their golden glow. But Veylan remembered. The room may have forgotten, but he had not.
He stood in the center of it, motionless, staring at the very spot where Kora’s fragmented body had once been strewn like shattered porcelain. His breath hitched as he chewed the inside of his cheek, a quiet sigh escaping him as he raked a trembling hand over his face.
“Fuck…” he whispered, his voice raw and aching. “You just had to die on me, didn’t you, my love? A day before the wedding…”
His words hung in the air like smoke, barely tethered to reality.
He shuffled slightly, fingers drawing from his coat a small, creased piece of parchment. Though the paper was slight, it brimmed with tightly scrawled handwriting—his vows, never spoken, never heard.
“I guess... I’ll read them to you now,” he murmured.
Without another word, he turned and exited the room, his footsteps echoing softly through the halls. As he passed the parlor, Selene looked up from her book, brows furrowing as she watched him vanish down the western corridor. She said nothing, simply rose and followed at a distance, her curiosity draped in silent concern.
Veylan descended the spiraling stone steps, lantern light casting long shadows over the moss-slick walls. These steps were forbidden to most—leading beneath the manor, past the dungeon where screams were once currency, and further still, to the morgue. A sacred and sorrowful space carved into the bedrock, where the Laurent family now lay cold and still in their final slumber.
He entered the chamber with reverence, his boots quiet against the stone. The air was frigid, heavy with the scent of lavender oil and ancient iron. He stopped beside the furthest bed, where a white cloth lay gently draped over the shape of his beloved.
His hands trembled as he peeled back the veil, revealing Kora’s peaceful face, pale and perfect in death. A pearl comb still nestled in her hair. Veylan gently curled his fingers around hers—cold, unmoving, and fragile as glass.
He bowed his head, eyes glistening with unshed grief.
Then, softly, he began.
"Kora,9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaWta3AYKkv
If the stars had eyes, they would weep tonight.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡacQNKRT7oy
For you, the moon dimmed herself, and the wind forgot its way.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtvUnQplMlu
You were my stillness in chaos, my gentle in the cruel,9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaVr88Jx0SZ
And though the world deemed us ordinary—9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYgQ35kG4VK
To me, we were a miracle."
"I swear, had the gods asked for my blood to spare yours,9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0uieLWdcIm
I would’ve poured oceans of it at their feet.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn3q3Hx0aOn
Had they asked for my name, I would’ve given it up,9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1ZonKqKlNm
If it meant you’d stay beside me just one more day."
"You were not perfect—but you were mine.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpLdZTBnPP4
And I, yours.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzmbFkULi0u
Even in death, you are my choice.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkwxZ633pXl
You always will be."
"I vow to remember your laughter like a lullaby,9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy7iAV9nBsc
To dream of the home we’ll never build,9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCs6xkDsGdf
To love you in every life,9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLyFVyb7L60
Even when I walk them alone."
"Goodbye, my bride.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3z5anw6N6l
Wait for me. In the quiet between stars."
The words cracked from his lips as a sob tore its way from his throat. He pressed a kiss to her hand and, with trembling fingers, slid the wedding ring onto her finger. Then he sank to his knees, hand clamped over his mouth, tears pouring down his cheeks in aching silence. His body shook, not from the cold, but from heartbreak made flesh.
Just around the corner, cloaked by the stone arch, Selene stood frozen. Her arms wrapped around herself, and her heart—so often hidden behind thorns—twisted painfully. She had never heard Veylan speak with such tenderness, such devotion. Her eyes shimmered, and her head dipped, overcome with a grief that wasn’t entirely her own.
“Oh… dear…” she whispered
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Veylan found himself back upstairs, his thoughts muddled like stormwater. The house was too quiet despite the servants bustling in the distance, and the silence gnawed at him. As he stepped into the grand foyer, his gaze landed on his mother and his elder brother, Jin, speaking near the arched entrance. The sunlight through the stained glass painted their figures in fleeting colors—an illusion of peace.
He approached, his voice low. “Mother. Jin.”
Cira turned, her face instantly alight with a smile that felt far too bright. “Hello, darling~ Did you need something?”
Jin offered no such cheer—just a furrowed brow and a silent nod. For all his aloofness and cold demeanor, Jin had always been perceptive when it came to his younger brother. And seeing Veylan like this—shadowed and dull-eyed—unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Veylan shook his head. “Is everything okay?”
Cira exchanged a look with Jin, who gave a subtle nod before stepping back slightly, arms folding across his chest.
“We were just talking about you, actually,” Cira said gently, reaching out to brush his cheek. Her touch was soft, but it did little to ease the knot in Veylan’s gut.
His brow furrowed deeper. “What for?”
Cira folded her hands in front of her gown, always the image of grace even in discomfort. “We were wondering what your next steps would be, now that your schooling’s finished. And with Jin staying to prepare for the throne… well, we were curious what you intended to do.”
The question hit like a slap through silk. Veylan flinched, his eyes falling to the floor. Hadn’t even crossed his mind. Everything since Kora’s death felt like trudging through fog. Why were they asking him now? While the grave was still warm?
He shrugged, his voice barely above a murmur. “I’m not sure. I had thought of going back to Grasigna… taking Kora with me, settling there. But…” His throat tightened as he bit the inside of his cheek, the sentence left to wither in the air.
Cira’s gaze softened, and her smile returned—but quieter this time. She reached up to smooth back a strand of his hair. “Oh, dear… I nearly forgot.”
Forgot. The word rang hollow. How could she forget? Selene’s mother—Kora’s mother—had been her best friend. Had this house grown so accustomed to grief that death had become just another appointment on the calendar?
Or was this just her way of coping? Hiding, as always, behind elegance and silk-curtained smiles?
“What about that friend of yours who visited often? Oddfellow, wasn’t it?” she asked, her tone perking up a touch. “He’s a councilman now, I hear. In Grasigna. We could inquire—get you a position beside him. Give you something to keep you occupied.”
Veylan blinked, the idea catching him off guard. A seat in the council? It didn’t sound... bad. Oddfellow was one of the few people he trusted. And Grasigna had always felt different. A little brighter. A little more his.
But the thought of returning there alone? Now that he was older, more aware of the weight of things... it was daunting. Terrifying, even.
“I, uh… I’ll think on it. But if you would…?”
Cira’s expression lit up like sunrise. “Of course, my dear! I’ll have Jin send a letter of request to the head council immediately.”
He nodded, fiddling absently with the edge of his sleeve. The forced smile he offered didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m going to head out. Go for a ride.”
Cira inclined her head with practiced grace. “Be safe, darling.”
Veylan bowed slightly and slipped past them, the click of the front doors echoing like a heartbeat.
The moment he was gone, Cira’s smile dropped. She turned toward Jin, her brow creased with concern. “I’ve never seen him so… down. It’s troubling.”
Jin scowled, his arms still folded tightly. “It’s not troubling,” he muttered. “It’s sensitive. And fragile things break.”
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfCNnLPnifQ
The rhythmic clop of hooves echoed softly through the mist-draped woods beyond the estate, where the air was damp and the earth smelled of rot and pine. Veylan rode in silence, his black stallion—Veylun, Kora’s favorite—treading carefully through the muddy paths. He didn’t mind the chill in the wind or the fine drizzle that soaked through his coat. It all matched the way he felt—gray, cold, and forgotten.
The world felt slower these days. He rode not to get somewhere, but to escape everywhere else.
Veylun had been a gift from Kora, actually. She named the stallion after a tragic war hero in one of the old songs she loved. “A man who rode into battle alone,” she had said, resting her head against Veylan’s shoulder. “Just like you do, half the time.” The name was almost too similar to his, and she knew that—she always liked to tease him. Gods, he missed her laugh.
The horse exhaled heavily beneath him, snorting as they reached a hilltop overlook. Veylan dismounted slowly, his boots sinking into wet grass. Below him, the cliffs dropped sharply into the sea, jagged and unforgiving. He could hear the crash of waves far below, like distant thunder. He stood there for a moment, arms folded tight over his chest, watching the wind pull at the trees and scatter leaves like ashes.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been riding—an hour? Two? Time didn’t matter. He just needed to move, to not be inside that house with all its polished silence and smiling lies.
His thoughts turned—inevitably—to Jin.
Jin, who stood like stone during Kora’s funeral. Jin, who offered no words, just a nod. Always the perfect son, the dutiful heir. Cold. Untouchable. Veylan had spent most of his life trying to keep pace with his older brother, trailing behind like a younger shadow that never quite lined up. He used to admire Jin, even envy him, but now…
Now all he saw was someone who had nothing left to lose, and maybe never did.
Veylan gritted his teeth, jaw tight.
It’s sensitive, Jin had said, like grief was a dirty thing that needed to be handled with gloves.
Then there was Oddfellow.
Veylan exhaled, the breath curling white in the chill.
Oddfellow had gone to school with him—a rare friend who hadn’t treated him like the prince of Drakmire, or like a future something. They had studied together, brawled behind the library, broken more than one council rule for the sake of a good dare or a better story. Oddfellow had always been strange in the best way—brilliant and odd, with a sharp tongue and sharper mind. The kind of person who could mock a professor and get applauded for it.
Now he was a councilman in Grasigna. A name of power. A voice that mattered.
And here Veylan was, barely able to hold himself together, being offered a favor.
He didn’t resent Oddfellow—if anything, he respected him. Trusted him more than most. But the thought of being sent to Grasigna under pity? Given a seat like some broken heir needing a distraction? That clawed at him worse than the grief. He didn’t want to be a responsibility. He didn’t want to be managed.
Still… the idea of being elsewhere—somewhere far from the manor, from his brother’s shadow, from the cold stone morgue where Kora slept—that did call to him.
He stepped closer to the edge of the overlook. The wind here was stronger, saltier from the sea. He closed his eyes and let the breeze sting his face.
“I was going to read you my vows under this sky,” he whispered. “You wanted the sea behind us. You said it’d make the photos look dramatic.”
He let out a soft, broken laugh.
“No guests. No music. Just you and me. That’s what you wanted. And now look…”
He reached into his coat and pulled out the crumpled slip of paper—his vows. He hadn’t been able to read them fully in the morgue. He still couldn’t now. The words blurred every time he tried.
“I don’t know if I should go,” he said softly, voice carried off by the wind. “If I go, it’s like I’m leaving you behind. But if I stay, I think this place might kill me.”
He tilted his head back, letting the rain fall into his eyes.
“What would you want, Kora?”
No answer, of course.
But somewhere above, a hawk cried out, long and lonely. He closed his eyes and imagined her in the wind, in the sea, in the trees—everywhere he couldn’t follow.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7Ee09tcidv
By the time Veylan returned to the estate, the sky had darkened into a deep, ash-gray hue, and mist clung to the treetops like old ghosts refusing to let go. Veylun moved slower now, his powerful frame tired and damp, every breath rising in pale clouds. Veylan gave the stallion a gentle pat as they entered the stable, dismounting with a quiet grunt.
He took his time brushing Veylun down, fingers steady despite the cold that had crept into his joints. His gloves were soaked through, and his coat clung to him like a second skin. Mud stained the hem of his trousers, but he didn’t care. It was almost comforting to be dirty—to wear the outside world instead of the polished mask everyone inside demanded of him.
The stablehand appeared, hesitant but respectful, and Veylan gave a small nod before stepping away, letting the boy take over.
The manor loomed before him like a sleeping beast. Its tall, spired silhouette was lit from within by flickering lanterns and the soft orange glow of the hearths. He hesitated at the door, hand resting on the handle. The weight in his chest tightened again. The scent of the rain was still fresh in his hair, but it wouldn't follow him inside.
The moment the heavy door shut behind him, the silence returned. Not the peaceful kind—no, this was the kind that gnawed at the walls, curled through the halls like smoke, and clung to the drapes like dust.
A maid passed by, offered a polite nod, and vanished just as quickly.
Veylan trudged past the entrance hall, his boots leaving faint prints on the marble floor. He could hear voices faintly—his mother speaking to someone in the drawing room, perhaps Jin again. It was always Jin. The golden heir. The center of their mother’s solar system. But even Cira had looked worried earlier, hadn’t she? Like she didn’t know what to do with him anymore. Like she was starting to understand that grief wasn’t just sadness—it was erosion. And Veylan was wearing thin.
He didn't go to his chambers. Not yet.
Instead, he found himself drawn to the west wing, toward the guest rooms where Kora used to stay when visiting. The door was still locked, as it had been since the funeral. He stared at it for a long while. The key weighed heavy in his pocket, but he didn’t reach for it.
Not tonight.
Instead, he walked down the hall and stopped before another door—his study. When he pushed it open, he was hit by the familiar scent of old paper, candle wax, and the faintest trace of ink. This room was his. Untouched by Jin. Unremarkable enough for his mother to ignore. A space that didn’t ask anything of him.
He lit a candle with a flick of his fingers, shadows dancing across the walls. Rain ticked softly against the windowpane.
On the desk sat the letter he’d started writing weeks ago—addressed to Oddfellow.
He approached it slowly, eyes scanning the half-finished lines. Nothing final. Nothing brave.
"Grasigna would be different," he murmured, fingers brushing the parchment. "But I don’t know if different is better."
He picked up the quill, let it hover, then set it back down.
He wasn’t ready to write it yet.
But for the first time since Kora’s death, he didn’t leave the room right away.
He just sat there in the candlelight, alone with the silence. Not to escape it—but to face it. Just for a little while.
The curtains were thrown open with a flourish, and Veylan groaned as sunlight poured in, blinding and golden. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes against the onslaught of brightness. The maid stood near the window, hands clasped politely.
“Good morning, Highness. Today is quite the sunny day! Breakfast is ready in the parlor—I believe your mother and father are already in attendance, as well as Lady Selene. Would you like help getting ready?”
Veylan raised a brow. Sunny? In Drakmire?
That wasn’t normal.
Was it a sign? A gift from Kora?
He shook the thought away and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “No need. Thank you, though. You may be dismissed,” he murmured softly.
The maid nodded and bowed before hurrying from the room, likely with more duties to attend to.
Veylan let out a long breath, dragging the blanket with him as he crossed to the window. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting at the view. The estate grounds were gilded in early morning light. For the first time in memory, the sun had fully broken through Drakmire’s ever-present cloud cover, bathing the gothic spires and dark gardens in a kind of golden haze. It was almost… ethereal. Haunting in its unfamiliar beauty.
Then he saw her.
A woman in white walking through the garden path below, long black hair swirling behind her in the breeze.
Kora.
His breath caught. He blinked. The woman turned and smiled.
But in the next instant, she was gone—replaced by a simple maid, smiling as she greeted another.
Veylan’s shoulders sagged. He exhaled slowly, the sheets slipping from his back and pooling around his feet. He turned away and reached for his robe, tying it around his waist with tired hands before heading downstairs.
The parlor was already warm with light and the scent of spiced tea. He yawned as he stepped inside.
“Ah! Veylan~ good morning,” his father greeted, still dressed in his embroidered robe as he poured himself a cup of tea.
Veylan nodded once, yawning. “Good morning,” he said as he slouched onto one of the couches, eyeing the elaborate spread of fruits, pastries, and meats laid across the table.
His mother, Cira, was already dressed in bright yellows, as if willing the sunlight to stay. Selene sat near the window, the sun spilling over her dark hair as she read, still in her nightgown.
“Did you see how bright it is out, Veylan dear?” Cira asked, ever the conversational spark.
He glanced her way, yawning again. “I did. Quite rare to see it like this…” he said quietly.
She smiled as she buttered a piece of toast. “Isn’t it though? Noctra must have blessed us with such a beautiful day after such a horrid scene.”
Her words trailed off with a sigh, and she looked to Selene. “Say, Selene—have you ever seen Drakmire so bright before?”
Selene looked up from her book, her voice soft. “Considering I’m only a year older than Veylan… no, I don’t recall ever seeing it like this.”
Her eyes flickered toward Veylan, studying him with a hint of something—curiosity, maybe. Or concern.
He didn’t meet her gaze. He scowled faintly and leaned back into the couch, staring at the untouched food. He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t eaten since… since the loss.
A year older? He’d always assumed she was younger.
Cira chuckled lightly, brushing away the moment. “I suppose so.”
Her attention turned back to her son. “Vey dear… are you going to eat?”
Veylan blinked up at her, distant. “Oh. I’m not particularly hungry at the moment. I’ll eat later.”
Cira frowned faintly. “I see… what do you plan on doing today then, darling?”
He rose slowly. “I’m going to take a walk,” he said simply, already moving toward the door.
His father’s expression darkened as he watched Veylan leave. He crossed one leg over the other with a frustrated sigh. “He’s always been so sensitive. I just don’t understand it, Cira.”
Cira’s lips pressed into a line. Of course he wouldn’t understand. He’d never known the kind of loss Veylan had. He’d turned Cira young—kept her close, eternal. He never had to watch her die.
Selene’s fingers tightened around her book. The words struck something in her—sharp and hot. What a prick, she thought, biting her tongue.
Cira placed a calming hand on her husband’s wrist. “Darling… try to be more understanding. He’s trying.”
Selene closed her book gently, standing with quiet grace. “Is it alright if I dismiss myself for the morning?” she asked.
Cira looked up and offered a warm smile. “Of course, dear.”
Selene gave a slight curtsy and slipped from the room, her expression unreadable as she passed the parlor doors. But inside her chest, something burned.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc6IkcX0y36
Veylan yawned as he slipped into the gardens, tugging his robe tighter around his frame. The maids and lawnkeepers had already scattered—that was typical for Drakmire Palace. The staff always disappeared whenever a royal chose to walk the grounds, vanishing like mist to give the illusion of solitude.
He found a bench tucked beneath a rose-covered trellis and sank onto it with a tired sigh, raking a hand through his tousled hair. Leaning back, he tilted his face to the sky, squinting as the sun filtered through the canopy, golden and unrelenting.
It was so bright today. Almost... unnatural.
“Feels like old times...” a voice called.
Veylan jolted slightly and looked over, finding Selene standing nearby, a book folded under one arm. She was backlit by the sun, her silhouette framed in white, but her expression was unreadable.
She hummed softly, gaze drifting skyward before turning to him again. “Doesn’t it?”
He chuckled under his breath. “It really does.”
Selene smiled faintly and crossed the grass, taking a seat beside him. The smile faded almost immediately, replaced by something far more pensive.
“Does it not bother you?” she asked quietly.
Veylan blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
She looked down, fingers brushing along the edge of her book. “The things your father and brother say about you. Not being able to stomach blood... being little more than a placeholder for the throne. Doesn’t that bother you?”
His smile dropped. He swallowed, glancing away.
Of course it bothered him. Of course it did. But he had no say in the things they said. No control over the expectations placed on him before he was even born. So he'd taught himself to push it down. Ignore it. Because what else could he do?
“Why should it?” he said after a pause. “I know who I am. So why should what they say hurt me?”
Selene frowned, her brows knitting together. Was he really so unaffected? No. She could see it—behind his calm, there was weight. It clung to him like mist. Invisible but always present.
“Vey…” she said softly.
He flinched.
It was the first time she had ever used his name like that. Not Highness, not my lord. Just Vey. And it struck something in him.
“Forgive me,” she said, “but... do you think if you drank a little every day, you’d build a tolerance? Enough to stop your father from—”
“No.” His voice was sharp, brittle. His eyes widened slightly with something like fear.
Blood.
He remembered the baptism. The ceremonial chalice. The thick, warm taste of it. He’d swallowed it, just barely. Held it down through the ceremony. But an hour later, it all came back up in a violent, retching wave. He hadn't touched blood since.
“I— I don’t know,” he said, softer this time. “I don’t think I want to try either…”
Selene looked at him gently, her features soft with concern. No wonder he was so thin, so pale. Most vampires drank blood regularly, kept themselves strong. Healthy. But he...
Was he even capable of it?
“Veylan... if you don’t drink, aren’t you afraid you’ll die?” she asked.
He bit his lip. Shrugged. “It’s not something I think about much. Death.” His voice drifted like smoke. “It happens so often... I don’t think I’d mind. Most people see it as something awful. But I think... it could be peaceful, depending on the way it happens.”
He laughed quietly, bitterly. “I don’t think starving would be the worst way to go.”
The sharp sound came faster than he could react.
Slap.
A sting bloomed across his cheek. His head didn’t move, but his eyes went wide, locked straight ahead at the hedges. Slowly, he turned to look at her.
Selene’s hand trembled in her lap, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She bit her lip, trying to hold it all back. But her voice still trembled.
“How could you say something like that about yourself?” she whispered.
“I—”
He was cut off as Selene suddenly stood, spinning to face him with fire behind her eyes.
“You deserve to live, Veylan. To be someone other than a placeholder, a backup plan for when your brother drops dead,” she snapped, her voice trembling with emotion. “You deserve happiness. You deserve to be healthy, to thrive. So why? Why would you say something like that?” Her voice cracked, tears spilling freely now. “Why would you speak of your own death like it’s nothing more than a wish?”
She didn’t know why she was crying—not really. Maybe it was the way he looked at himself. Or maybe it was the unbearable weight of watching someone let themselves rot because no one ever told them they were worth more.
Veylan stared up at her, lips parted slightly. His crimson eyes glistened in the sun as they locked onto her face. She looked like a vision—her pale skin almost glowing, hair rippling gently in the breeze like dark silk. And her tears... they shattered something in him.
“I... I’m sorry,” he whispered. His hands curled into fists in his lap, and he dropped his head. “I didn’t mean what I said, I just... I’m in a bad place.”
It was a lie. A weak one.
Selene didn’t fall for it.
Her eyes sharpened, blazing with fury. She moved faster than he expected, grabbing his face in both hands—rough, but somehow still careful, still gentle.
“Veylan Cassius Laurence,” she hissed. “You listen to me.”
He froze.
“Just because your fiancée is dead doesn’t mean you need to throw your life away to lie beside her in the dirt, do you hear me?” she said, her voice trembling with rage. “I get it. It hurts. It fucking sucks to lose someone. But you—”
Her voice cracked again, and her grip trembled. “You could be so much more. You could thrive. Under her guidance, under Noctra’s light. You could make her proud—Kora would watch you from above, beaming with that dumb smile she always had when she looked at you. But instead... you’re sitting here, wishing for death like it’s some kind of gift.”
Her words pierced him. Not like daggers—like truth. And that always cuts deeper.
“My sister could be naïve,” she said, softer now. “But she would never want this. She would want you to try. To live. To be happy.”
Veylan stared up at her, wide-eyed. Her hands still cradled his face. His chest ached. For a moment, he thought he might cry, overcome by everything she’d said, everything she was.
But instead...
He flushed.
A deep, blooming red crept across his cheeks.
He’d never seen this side of Selene before—so fierce, so wild with emotion. And for a split second, he remembered exactly why he’d agreed to marry Kora in the first place.
Because of her.
Selene.
How heartless, how cruel it was... He’d led Kora into a position of danger, into his cursed world, just so he could keep Selene close. But never—not once—did he want her to die. Not like that. Not in his home. Not in his care.
Now Selene stood here, raw and broken, and still... so strong. Stronger than him. Stronger than anyone.
And he felt small. So, so small. But not the kind of small that makes you run. No. If he ran, he’d run to her.
Because even if Kora was gone… Surely she knew.
Surely Kora always knew—that it had always been Selene.
Of course Kora knew.
She was naive, yes—but she wasn’t stupid. She’d known from the beginning. She’d seen them talking in the gardens at night, whispering under moonlight like lovers in denial. She'd sat beside Selene through heartbreak, wiping away tears over that kiss. That stupid, fleeting, damn kiss.
And when Veylan proposed—not to Selene, but to her—she accepted.
Because she wanted Selene to be happy.
Selene had always been the eldest. Always burdened. Always carrying more than her share. She deserved something good. And if marrying Veylan meant Selene could keep the man she loved close, then Kora would shoulder that pain.
Willingly.
So when Veylan finally broke the silence, his voice raw and broken, Selene barely heard him.
“Thank you...” he choked out.
She froze.
Those words... She never thought she’d hear them from him. Veylan was always so sure of himself, so smooth and composed. But right now—he looked like a man cracked open. Soft. Human.
It unsettled her in a way that made her chest ache.
She let go of his face, sighing, and bonked his forehead lightly with her fist.
“Don’t say that, you idiot,” she mumbled with a tired chuckle.
Then she sat down beside him again, wiping her eyes—just in time to feel a thumb brush across her cheek, wiping away a lingering tear. Her heart stuttered.
“I’ll try,” he murmured. “Just once.”
She blinked at him, caught off guard, before offering a soft smile. “Then try on me.”
Veylan went rigid. “WHAT?!” he yelped, jerking backward like she’d set him on fire, yanking his hand to his chest like it had been bitten by a snake.
“I’m joking, Veylan! Gods—don’t take it to heart,” she snorted, doubling over with laughter.
He stared, dumbfounded. His eye twitched.
“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he muttered, before sighing and grabbing her wrist in mock annoyance.
And then?
He bit her.
She gasped. “Hey!”
But then she felt it—his fangs, sliding into her wrist so gently, like he was afraid to hurt her. Her breath caught in her throat, her face flushing a deep red. She hadn't meant it. Had she?
But she didn’t stop him.
Veylan drank slowly, his brow furrowing in concentration. Her blood was... sweet. Not like the bitter ceremonial blood he’d had before. It tasted alive. And for a moment, he thought he could manage it. But then—his throat began to close, his stomach twisting.
He ripped away with a gag, stumbling to the side of the bench as he vomited into the grass.
Selene blinked, then burst into laughter, wiping tears from her eyes again.
“You have a long way to go,” she giggled.
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