Aria learned very quickly that sneaking around a palace full of vampires required three things: timing, patience, and a very convincing innocent face.
She had the face down.
With a basket of folded linens balanced on her arm, she moved through the servant corridors like she belonged everywhere and nowhere,guards barely spared her a glance. Servants rarely did invisibility was one of the few privileges slaves possessed.
"Aria," Mirelle whispered sharply as she passed her near the kitchen archway.
Aria paused. "If this is about spilled soup, I swear it wasn't me."
Mirelle snorted softly despite herself. "You joke too much for someone about to get caught."
That made Aria still. "Caught doing what?"
Mirelle leaned closer. "You're asking questions. Too many."
Aria sighed. "I'm just… curious."
"Curiosity gets people locked away," Mirelle said, then hesitated. "Or worse."
Aria softened her voice. "I won't be careless. I promise."
Mirelle studied her, then shook her head. "You're strange," she muttered. "But if you're going to be strange, avoid the east wing tonight. The guards there don't sleep."
"Noted," Aria said dryly. "I prefer guards who nap."
Mirelle smiled before hurrying off to continue her duties.
Aria waited a full minute before changing direction entirely.
Instead of the east wing, she slipped toward the lower archives an old section beneath the palace where records, prisoner logs, and forgotten storage rooms were kept. Few servants went there willingly. Fewer guards bothered patrolling it.
The air grew colder as she descended.
Her footsteps echoed softly, and for the first time since beginning her search, unease settled deep in her chest. She tightened her grip on the basket, reminding herself she could still turn back.
She didn't.
A low murmur drifted from around the corner voices.
Aria pressed herself against the wall just as two guards passed, speaking in hushed tones.
"…transport from the southern villages," one said.
"Another batch?" the other replied. "I heard some were moved before the king left."
Aria's heart jumped,moved where?
She waited until their footsteps faded, then slipped away, pulse racing. Whatever was happening beneath the palace, it wasn't meant to be known.
And that meant she was closer than she should be.
---
Far away from the palace and among other villages Viremont rose from the mountains like a crown carved from night.
The city was older than the palace Lucien ruled its stone towers etched with ancient runes, its streets paved in black marble polished smooth by centuries of immortal footsteps. Crimson lanterns floated above archways, glowing softly like captured moons, and the air carried the scent of iron, frost, and old blood.
At the heart of the city stood Castle Noctyrr, a vast fortress of obsidian stone and silver spires. Gargoyles crouched along its walls, their eyes glowing faintly as Lucien's carriage passed beneath the gates. The castle did not welcome visitors, it assessed them.
Lucien stepped out, his presence alone silencing the courtyard.
Waiting for him was a woman of striking beauty.
She had skin the color of pale gold, long midnight hair braided with onyx beads, and eyes like molten wine sharp, intelligent, and entirely unafraid. Her gown clung to her form in flowing layers of dark silk, slit just enough to suggest danger rather than invitation.
"King Lucien," she said smoothly, bowing with practiced grace. "Welcome to Viremont."
Her name was Lady Seraphyne Valcour, a vampire of great age and greater influence. She smiled warmly, though her eyes measured him with cool calculation.
"You honor us with your presence," she continued.
Lucien inclined his head slightly. "I do not come for honor. I come for answers."
Seraphyne's smile widened. "Then you have come to the right place."
She led him through vast corridors lined with blood-red tapestries depicting wars long forgotten. The castle seemed alive, whispering, watching, remembering.
At last, they reached the Council Hall.