Page 57

After selecting a stack of promising texts, I settle at my favorite table tucked into a shadowy, isolated corner. One massive volume after another thuds onto the scarred wood as I flip carefully through brittle pages, making notes on spare parchment. Many passages are faded beyond legibility, but I persist. The answers I seek are here somewhere. I can feel it.

As moonlight arcs across the star-strewn sky outside, I chance upon the first obscure reference, a single sentence in an ancient tongue.

“On the winter solstice, the First Blood shall be spilled to renew our power.”

I go very still, rereading the ominous line several times. Though cryptic, implications begin takingshape in my mind that chill me to the core. This sounds like some accursed ritual of blood magic, likely enacted upon the turned vampires forced into servitude beneath the first vampire kings, a brutal means of maintaining control.

Jaw clenched, I delve deeper, piecing together fragments from multiple sources. The ritual seems to involve magically tapping into the power of ancient vampire bloodlines on the solstice when magic peaks. The details remain frustratingly vague. What methods did they use to “spill” this First Blood? Some arcane sacrifice? Imprisonment? Or worse… mass extermination?

The lack of clear records makes me wonder if this violent ritual was intentionally obscured over the centuries. But why? What were my ancestors trying to hide about our past? The not knowing eats at me like acid.

I’m attempting to decipher another disintegrating parchment when approaching footsteps break my concentration. I glance up, uneasy, as none usually disturb my nighttime research vigils.

Prince Theron appears in the doorway, immaculate as always in his dark military-style coat. His handsomeface is set in hard lines, eyes flashing with annoyance as they settle on me.

“Burning the midnight oil again, brother?” He crosses his arms. “Don’t you ever rest?”

I bristle at his condescending tone. “My duties allow little time for leisurely rest.” I make a show of rolling up the scroll laid out before me. “Just catching up on some light reading.”

Theron snorts. “Yes, I can see your choice of ‘light reading’ is progressing rapidly.” He gestures to the haphazard piles of esoteric texts. “Honestly, Draven, I don’t know why you waste time rooting around in the past. Today’s challenges should be your only focus.”

I clench my jaw, willing myself to hold back the angry retort on my tongue. Theron’s lack of interest in our ancestry has always frustrated me. While he seems content to simply inherit the privileges of his princely station without questioning the murky means by which our family secured power long ago, I refuse to be so complacent.

“Have care how you speak,” I reply coldly. “The past echoes more loudly than you know.”

Theron’s eyes flash. “Meaning what exactly? That you’ve uncovered some great revelation in this dust?”He sweeps out an arm angrily, sending a pile of books crashing to the floor, and I flinch at the wanton mistreatment of such priceless volumes.

“Watch yourself, brother,” I warn softly.

Theron continues his careless destruction, clearly bent on goading me now. Priceless scrolls tumble and crack beneath his boots. When I remain stone-faced, he changes tack.

“Or maybe you’re distracted by your new pet witch?” Theron leans over the table, getting in my face. “Do not forget your duties chasing some warm body to rut with.”

At that crass assessment of my bond with Thorn, the last frayed thread of my patience snaps. I launch myself up and around the table, slamming into Theron with bruising force. We go down in a tangle of limbs, crashing into shelves and bringing a rain of books down on us.

Theron recovers first, landing a brutal punch to my jaw that snaps my head back painfully. Fury quickly overrides pain. We trade savage blows, all decorum and royal restraint cast aside. Blood drips down my chin as I pin Theron against the stones, fangs bared inches from his throat.

“The rituals we celebrate at the solstice,” I hiss, tightening my grip on his collar. “Tell me of their origins.”

Confusion wars with rage in Theron’s eyes. “Rituals? What nonsense—“

I shake him hard enough to clack his teeth together. “Do not play the fool! The First Blood… the cleansing of impurity. How many had to die to cement our family’s power?”

All color leeches from Theron’s face. He shoves me back with a roar, reversing our positions to slam me against the wall.

“You tread dangerous ground, little brother.” His arm presses hard across my windpipe, and I wheeze for air that I don’t need but has become reflex. “Speak of treason again and, title be damned, I will strike you down myself.”

Despite the spots dancing across my vision, I cling desperately to consciousness, still seeking answers. “The truth,” I gasp out. “Our people… deserve to know…”

With a sound of disgust, Theron hurls me aside. I hit the flagstones hard enough to crack bone, headspinning wildly. Through the haze, I make out his imposing figure looming above me like an executioner.

“You will cease this pointless crusade. Focus your misguided passions on your failed mating, not fanciful history. It wouldn’t affect the purebloods anyways.” Theron nudges my throbbing side with one polished boot. “Consider yourself lucky the king shall hear nothing of your… doubts.”

23

Thorn

The blood thrums hot beneath my skin as I tidy my chamber. I can feel the thirst rising, that restless itch that signals the need to feed will soon be upon me. The copper kettle begins to steam over the fire, reassuring me that relief is near. The dried petals I purchased last night at the festival market float atop the steaming water, infusing their vibrant color and earthy aroma. No actual blood goes into this brew, only flowers, herbs, and magic, but it will grant me the same respite and strength.