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“The first true fated one in a millennium,” Xavier noted, his tablet displaying power readings that should have been impossible. “And he’s a Valentine. Your instincts about that bloodline were correct.”

“Of course they were.” Dominic’s smile was all fangs. “Why do you think I had their clan eliminated?”

A heavy silence fell. Everyone in the room remembered that night—the systematic destruction of the Valentine Clan. It should have been complete. But one little prince had escaped, smuggled away to New Vale by traitors who’d paid for their interference with their lives.

“Our agents report increased security around Whitlock Tower,” Xavier continued, scrolling through intelligence reports. “The brothers rarely leave his side. And the Blackthorns are providing additional protection?—”

The crystal in Dominic’s hand shattered.

“The Blackthorns,” he spat, ancient blood dripping between his fingers, “forget their place. As do those wolves.” His power filled the room like living shadows, making lesser vampires step back. “Luca Valentine was born in Dark Haven. His power belongs to us.”

“The ritual chambers are being prepared,” Lord Constantine offered smoothly. “Though extracting him from New Vale will be… challenging.”

Dominic turned to the window, watching darkness gather in the perpetual twilight. “Let them think they’ve won. Let them believe their little sanctuary can protect him.” His reflection smiled, cruel and ancient. “They forget what we are capable of. What I am willing to do.”

Behind him, the footage played again. Luca Valentine’s power lit up the screen, a beacon in the darkness. Soon, Dominic thought, that light would belong to Dark Haven.

Where it should have been all along.

Silver Crown

Eternal winter gripped Silver Crown, its crystal spires rising through banks of pristine snow like frozen dreams. In the highest tower of the Winter Palace, King Isolde Augustus watched Luca Valentine defy gravity.

The observation crystal, suspended in the center of his private war room, played the footage with perfect clarity. Unlike Dark Haven’s gothic drama or Storm Gate’s grainy surveillance, Silver Crown’s magic preserved every detail in pristine resolution.

“Remarkable,” Lord Chancellor Maxwell murmured, his aristocratic features reflected in the crystal’s facets. “Such raw power, and yet…” He gestured to the readings their mages had collected. “No formal training. No bloodline enhancement. A pure, natural manifestation.”

The king’s fingers tightened on his silver staff. On-screen, Luca’s power made ancient beings kneel—the same beings who had sneered at Silver Crown’s careful breeding programs, who had called their methods archaic and cruel.

“Centuries of selective pairing,” he said, frost creeping across the floor. “Countless resources spent ensuring only the strongest bloodlines continued. And this little vampire prince achieves naturally what we’ve tried to create for generations.”

Around the war room, Silver Crown’s most powerful families watched in calculated silence. The Frost Dynasty. The Winter Court. The Snow Clan. All of them had participated in the breeding programs, all hoping to produce a fated one of their own.

“Our agents report he’s untutored in proper etiquette,” Lord Frost offered, his white hair catching starlight. “No formal training in ancient customs. New Vale’s influence, no doubt.” His lip curled. “They waste his potential.”

In the crystal, Luca’s power flared again. The Whitlock brothers moved around him in perfect formation—three alphas acting on pure instinct to protect what was theirs. The king noted how their power synchronized, how they anticipated each other’s movements without communication.

“The wolves complicate matters,” Lord Winter said, his ceremonial armor gleaming. “Their claim?—”

“They have no claim,” the king cut him off. “A fated one belongs in Silver Crown. Where such power can be properly… cultivated.”

The crystal shifted to show Luca after the battle, surrounded by celebrating New Vale citizens. Such common displays of emotion. Such lack of proper restraint.

“Our breeding programs have prepared us for this moment,” the king continued. “We alone understand how to harness a fated one’s true potential.” He turned to his generals, their silver armor reflecting the crystal’s light. “Show me our assets in New Vale.”

Multiple images appeared—Silver Crown agents embedded throughout the city. In businesses. In social circles. Even in the supposedly secure supernatural districts.

“The Whitlocks believe their territory is impenetrable,” Lord Maxwell said, pulling up detailed maps of New Vale’s defenses. “They forget that old money opens many doors.”

“And what of Storm Gate’s mercenaries?” Lord Frost asked. “Or Dark Haven’s hunters?”

The king’s laugh held winter’s bite. “Let them plot their crude kidnapping attempts. Let Dominic rage in his shadows.” His power frosted the entire war room, turning the air sharp with cold. “While they fight over scraps, we will show them why Silver Crown’s methods have endured for millennia.”

On-screen, Luca smiled at something one of the brothers said. Such open display of emotion. Such wasted potential.

“Prepare the Winter Court,” the king commanded. “It’s time we reminded New Vale why the old kingdoms still rule.”

In the crystal, snow began to fall over New Vale. Winter was coming.