The corridors of the castle felt different after the banquet.

  Not quieter—no, there were still footsteps echoing through stone, servants murmuring as they cleared shattered glass and overturned trays, guards whispering behind rigid discipline—but aware. As if the walls themselves had witnessed something dangerous and were now holding their breath.

  Joseph moved back toward the main hall, eyes scanning every branching passage.

  Lazarus was nowhere in sight.

  He passed a group of servants carefully scrubbing the marble floor where blood had stained it moments earlier. The red had already faded beneath water and cloth, but Joseph could still see it. Could still feel it.

  The castle was alert now.

  Like a beast that had sensed a shift in the balance of power but hadn't yet decided whether to bare its fangs.

  "Joseph."

  He stopped.

  Alistair stood a few steps behind him, tall and composed as ever—but there was tension in the way his shoulders were set, in the tight line of his jaw. Not anger.

  Concern.

  "We need to talk."

  Joseph exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to turn sharp. "I'm looking for Lazarus."

  "This won't take long," Alistair said. His voice was calm, but firm. "And it shouldn't wait."

  For a moment, Joseph considered refusing. Walking away. Tonight, had already tested his restraint enough.

  But something in Alistair's expression made him pause.

  They stepped aside into a quieter corridor where torchlight cast long, wavering shadows against the stone. The noise of the banquet faded into a distant hum, leaving only the soft crackle of flame and the weight of unspoken things.

  Alistair spoke first.

  "What you did tonight," he said carefully, choosing each word as if it might cut, "made you a target."

  Joseph's jaw tightened instantly. "She struck one of my people."

  "I know," Alistair replied without hesitation. "And I'm not saying you were wrong."

  Joseph turned sharply, eyes flashing. "Then what are you saying?"

  Alistair met his gaze head-on. He didn't look away. Didn't soften.

  "I'm saying power decides narratives in this kingdom," he said. "Not truth. Not justice. Power."

  He took a measured breath.

  "Selene has allies—noble houses, commanders, families who owe her favors or fear her influence. Rumors are weapons here, Joseph. And she knows exactly how to use them."

  Joseph's voice dropped, controlled but dangerous. "So what? I let it happen next time? I watch them bleed and bow?"

  "No," Alistair snapped—then stopped himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration breaking through his composed exterior.

  "That's not what I mean," he said, more quietly now. "I mean you assess the ground before you step onto it. You choose when to strike."

  He looked at Joseph with something close to urgency.

  "Not every injustice can be answered head-on. Not yet."

  Joseph's fists clenched at his sides.

  "I stayed silent once," he said. The words were low, almost restrained by force. "I won't do it again."

  The silence that followed stretched thin and brittle.

  Joseph turned away, already taking a step. "If that's all—"

  "Joseph."

  He stopped.

  Alistair's voice had changed.

  It was quieter now. No longer the voice of a prince advising another—but of an older brother speaking honestly.

  "I still think you shouldn't have done it," Alistair admitted.

  Joseph didn't turn.

  "But," Alistair continued after a breath, "I'm glad you did."

  Joseph remained facing forward.

  Yet something in his shoulders eased—just slightly. A tension he hadn't realized he was carrying loosened its grip.

  He didn't respond.

  He simply walked on.

  High above the lower halls, far from the echoes of the banquet, Queen Valeria's chambers glowed in white and gold.

  The room was immaculate.

  Towering wardrobes lined the walls, carved with delicate patterns of vines and sigils. Silken drapes cascaded from ceiling to floor, catching the light like flowing water. Jewels lay arranged on velvet cushions—diamonds, rubies, sapphires—obedient stars waiting to be worn.

  Queen Valeria stood before the mirror, lifting her hands to remove her earrings.

  Her face was calm.

  Perfect.

  Then the memory struck.

  Joseph's eyes.

  Cold. Unyielding. Watching her—not as a subject, not as a child, but as something that judged.

  Her breath hitched.

  Her fingers tightened.

  She ripped the earring free and hurled it at the floor with full force.

  CLANG.

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  Gold and diamonds scattered across the marble, skidding and spinning before coming to rest.

  Her expression twisted, fury breaking through the porcelain calm.

  "He has the same eyes as that bitch," she hissed. "The same defiant stare."

  The door opened softly.

  "Mother?"

  Selene stepped inside, irritation sharp in her posture, her presence carrying the same cold precision she wielded so effortlessly in the hall.

  Queen Valeria straightened instantly.

  The fury vanished. Her posture smoothed. Her expression reset—gentle, composed, regal.

  "Yes, dear?"

  Selene scoffed, arms crossing. "Alistair had no right to interfere. Not in front of everyone."

  The Queen smiled softly.

  Dangerously so.

  "Your brother is… sentimental," she said. "He still believes fairness exists."

  Selene's lips curled. "Joseph embarrassed me."

  Valeria turned toward her daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder, her touch light, reassuring.

  "He always will," she murmured. "That is what he does."

  Selene frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "He steals attention meant for others," the Queen said quietly. "Affection. Sympathy. Loyalty."

  She leaned closer, her voice lowering.

  "Even now, people look at him instead of you."

  Selene's jaw tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface.

  "You are the rightful heir," Valeria continued smoothly. "You carry pure blood. You understand strength."

  Her fingers pressed just slightly harder on Selene's shoulder.

  "He carries chaos."

  Selene's eyes flickered.

  "Chaos always pretends to be righteousness," the Queen whispered. "It disguises itself as moral superiority."

  Something dark stirred behind Selene's gaze.

  "I won't let him take anything from me," she said.

  The Queen smiled.

  "That's my girl."

  Outside the castle, the garden lay silent beneath the moon.

  Stone paths curved gently between ancient trees, their twisted branches reaching skyward like the fingers of old gods. Leaves whispered softly as the night wind passed through them, carrying secrets meant only for the dark. Lanterns glimmered faintly along the edges of the paths, but much of the garden remained untouched by their glow—left to moonlight, shadow, and memory.

  Joseph followed the path instinctively.

  He didn't know why he expected to find Lazarus here.

  Perhaps it was because this place still carried echoes of his father. Or perhaps because secrets had a habit of gathering where truth once lived.

  Near the far end of the garden, beneath a towering tree whose roots split the stone like veins, Lazarus stood with his hands folded behind his back.

  Waiting.

  "I've been looking for you," Joseph said as he approached.

  "I expected you would," Lazarus replied calmly, without turning.

  Joseph stopped beside him, eyes scanning the darkness between the trees. "You vanished after the incident."

  "Some matters require silence," Lazarus said. "Others require distance."

  Joseph didn't argue.

  He didn't circle the subject either.

  "The Conjurare," he said directly. "You mentioned something earlier."

  Lazarus turned then, his sharp eyes catching the moonlight.

  "The royal treasury does not hold them," he said. "At least—not anymore."

  Joseph's gaze hardened. "You think they were moved."

  "Yes," Lazarus said slowly. "I think they were removed long ago—before I ever had reason to look."

  Joseph frowned. "Then where?"

  Lazarus took a few steps forward, boots crunching softly against gravel.

  "Lord William once spoke to me," he said, "of a Ancient chamber."

  Joseph's attention sharpened immediately.

  "Hidden among ruins," Lazarus continued. "Beyond the kingdom's borders. A place abandoned long before the empire took its current shape."

  Joseph's breath slowed. "You know where it is?"

  Lazarus shook his head.

  "Only the Lord did."

  The words settled heavily between them.

  "But," Lazarus added, "if the Conjurare still exists—if they were preserved as he intended—then that chamber is where they would be."

  Joseph exhaled through his nose, his gaze lifting toward the far battlements of the castle.

  Beyond the towering walls, past watchtowers and iron gates, the land darkened— where the truth waited.

  A ruin somewhere.

  Hidden.

  Forgotten.

  Guarded by silence.

  Then Lazarus's gaze sharpened—not toward the castle, but toward Joseph himself.

  "The manifestation tonight," he said. "And the one during the succubus incident in the human realm."

  Joseph stiffened.

  "You've been watching," he said quietly.

  Lazarus didn't deny it.

  "The blood flame," Lazarus continued. "You did not learn it from any script. Any master."

  Joseph shook his head. "I don't know how it happens. It just… appears. When I'm about to lose control."

  Lazarus studied him in silence, as if weighing something far heavier than words.

  "…Then something within you is responding," he said at last. "Not consciously. Instinctively."

  Joseph frowned. "Responding to what?"

  Lazarus's voice lowered.

  "To threat."

  Joseph's hand moved without thought to his chest.

  "The demonic concentration embedded in your wound," Lazarus said. "The corruption should be eating you alive by now."

  Joseph's fingers pressed lightly against the fabric over his heart.

  "But it isn't," Lazarus continued. "Not spreading. Not consuming you."

  A heavy silence fell.

  "That kind of resistance is not natural," Lazarus said. "Nor accidental."

  Joseph swallowed. "Then what is it?"

  Lazarus didn't answer immediately.

  Instead, he looked toward the garden—toward the paths Lord William once walked, toward the place where love had once softened a king.

  "Whatever lies dormant within you," he said slowly, "is neither purely demonic nor purely vampiric."

  Joseph's brow furrowed.

  "It reacts when your will falters," Lazarus continued. "It stabilizes you when you should collapse. It restrains power instead of unleashing it."

  Joseph's voice was quiet. "It feels… like something holding me back."

  Lazarus nodded once. "Then it is not destruction. At least not now!"

  Joseph looked toward the castle walls rising beyond the garden.

  "Then I suppose," he said quietly, "it's time I learn what it is."

  The wind answered him—soft through the leaves, carrying the scent of earth and something more ancient.

  Lazarus turned away.

  "I will try to uncover more information about the Ancient chamber," he said quietly. "Good night, Prince."

  Joseph watched him disappear into the shadows, remaining alone beneath the ancient tree.

  Above them—unseen by either man—a single window on the third floor of the castle reflected the pale glow of the moon.

  The same window

  from which a father once stood

  watching the garden below.

  To be Continued...

  The garden holds his father's secrets.

  The Conjurare waits in ancient darkness.

  And the Queen is done waiting.

  This is no longer a hunt.

  This is a chess game — and the King is gone.

  The Queen moves to claim the throne.

  But she forgot one thing—

  The other pieces are choosing their side.

  And the Knight?

  He's already made his choice.

  The Prince is just getting started.

  And so am I.

  — Ak31