The morning light filtered through the ancient stone arches of the palace, casting a soft, ethereal glow as Primus led Hazel on a tour of his sprawling domain. He moved with the effortless grace of a predator, his hand lightly resting on the small of her back—a gesture that was both guiding and possessive. "This palace has stood for centuries," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "And with it come rules that must be followed. No wandering alone after dusk, no speaking to servants without my knowledge, and above all, loyalty—to me."
They wandered through opulent halls lined with tapestries depicting bloody battles and forgotten lore, past chambers filled with artifacts that whispered of a dark history. But it was when they reached the secluded garden that Hazel's breath caught in her throat. This was no ordinary plot of land; it had belonged to Primus's mother, a sacred space he forbade anyone from entering. The iron gates creaked open under his touch, revealing a hidden paradise overgrown with wild roses in shades of deep crimson and midnight black, their thorns glinting like fangs. Ancient willows draped their branches over crystal-clear ponds where koi fish swam lazily, and exotic flowers bloomed in defiance of the season—lilies that shimmered with an otherworldly iridescence, vines heavy with berries that looked too tempting to be safe. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and earth, a sanctuary untouched by time.
Hazel fell in love immediately, her eyes widening as she stepped onto the moss-covered path. "It's beautiful," she whispered, reaching out to touch a velvet petal. For a moment, the weight of her circumstances lifted, replaced by pure wonder.
Primus watched her with a faint, enigmatic smile, but said nothing at first. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant call of a bird.
"Why didn't you invite my family for the banquet and the engagement party, my lord?" Hazel asked suddenly, turning to him to shatter the quiet.
He paused, his crimson eyes flickering with something unreadable—perhaps regret, or a shadow of old pain. "Duke Denzel can visit if he wants to, same as your sisters. But I don't think they will like to come to the house of a monster."
There was a depth in his gaze when he uttered those words, a vulnerability that made him seem almost human for a fleeting second.
Undeterred, Hazel pressed on, her curiosity bubbling over. "Why were you in a coffin for centuries? At least you could tell me more about you—how you ended up there, and how I was the one to wake you up. And why are you in a hurry to introduce a bride?"
Primus chuckled softly, though it held no real mirth. "One question at a time, little rabbit. Well, a certain someone I used to be in love with cursed me and put me in that coffin. Only her bloodline could bring me out, and you are the descendant of that bloodline. As for why I was cursed… that story is for another day. Why I want to marry you in a hurry is because I don't want to let this little rabbit be caught by another hunter. Like I said earlier, I will let you know all this when you are ready." His tone was dismissive, closing the door on further inquiry as he turned away, his posture regal and unyielding.
But the moment shattered abruptly. Primus's head snapped toward a nearby pillar at the garden's entrance, his senses sharpening like a blade. In a blur of motion too fast for Hazel to follow, he reached behind the stone and dragged out a cowering servant by the collar. The man—a thin, wide-eyed human with trembling hands—dropped to his knees instantly, his face pale with terror as he begged for his life.
"Now you have two seconds to tell me who sent you," Primus growled, his voice laced with lethal calm.
The servant stammered, "I thought rats would've been scared to approach me, but I guess I've been too friendly since my return. Now speak," Primus commanded, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"I'm sorry, my lord," the servant stuttered, sweat beading on his forehead.
"I hate to repeat myself," Primus said angrily, his fangs elongating as rage built within him, ready to unleash death.
"My lord, I was asked to spy on the lady by a stranger who gave me a gold coin. I don't know who they are—please spare my life, I have kids!" The servant begged, prostrating himself fully on the ground.
"Spare your life? I will use you to set an example to others, to know their place in my palace." With those cold words, Primus lunged forward. His fangs sank into the servant's neck, piercing the flesh with savage precision. The man gasped, his body convulsing as Primus drank him dry, the life essence draining away in greedy gulps. Blood trickled down the servant's collar, staining the earth. When the body went limp, Primus withdrew, his lips smeared crimson. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he separated the head from the body in a spray of gore, the head rolling to a stop at the base of a rosebush.
Primus straightened, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands clean of the sticky residue. He dropped the soiled cloth onto the corpse without a second glance.
Hazel stood frozen, horror rooting her in place. She couldn't feel her limbs, her vision blurring as the gruesome sight overwhelmed her—the metallic tang of blood in the air, the lifeless eyes staring blankly, the unnatural silence that followed. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground in a heap, her world spinning into darkness.
"Take the lady to her room and feed his body to the dogs," Primus ordered dismissively to the guards who had materialized at the commotion, his voice devoid of remorse as he turned away.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the palace came alive with the arrival of aristocratic vampires from distant towns and high-class humans eager to curry favor. They gathered to celebrate the return of their lord, the air buzzing with anticipation and veiled intrigue.
In his chambers, Primus stood before a grand mirror, admiring his reflection. He was dressed in a black suit adorned with intricate red embroidery that accentuated his predatory elegance. He looked like a being descended from heaven—or perhaps ascended from hell—his midnight black hair packed neatly into a ponytail that highlighted the sharp angles of his face.
"How is my cousin, dear Lazarus? Is he coming tonight?" Primus asked amusingly, still glancing at himself with a hint of vanity.
"Yes, my lord, he arrived an hour ago with your aunty," Lazarus replied dutifully, standing at attention.
"Okay, I'm looking forward to meeting my family. How is the lady?" Primus inquired, adjusting his cufflinks.
"She felt a little bit sick after what she saw today," Lazarus answered.
"She will get used to it. Pay more attention to the servants; we might still have more spies," Primus said lazily, walking out of his chamber with an air of nonchalance.
"Yes, lord," replied Lazarus, thinking to himself, those rats looking for death, as he shook his head in quiet exasperation.