It has been two weeks since I became a vampire.
Two weeks in the servants' quarters.
Two weeks of learning how to feed.
Two weeks of enduring the king's quiet disdain.
Two weeks of Silas avoiding me as if I carried plague.
Two weeks of Cassian tutoring me.
Within these two weeks Cassian made me drink my first blood.
When I say it out loud, it makes me sick.
He said I could not call myself a vampire without drinking it. Said it was necessary. Said it was survival.
He assured me the blood had not been taken by force. The human had given it willingly. Warm blood, poured into a glass like wine.
He considered bringing the human to me.
"I thought it would disturb you," Cassian had said gently. "You were once human. Drinking directly from one might make the transition… harder."
So he brought it to me in a glass.
I hate to admit it.
The taste was… good.
Metallic. Salty. Warm.
But once it slid down my throat, something inside me quieted. It was like eating your favorite dessert for the first time and realizing—this is it. This is what you've been missing.
According to Cassian, it digested properly since I didn't throw up.
Progress.
In these two weeks, I've begun sneaking out of the servants' quarters to watch the men train.
Cassian and Silas are evenly matched. I've seen them spar with swords, fists, even raw strength. Cassian defeats ordinary guards effortlessly, but against Silas, it becomes a battle of wit and precision. Sometimes Silas invents new tricks mid-fight. Sometimes Cassian simply slams him into the ground.
I have never seen the king fight.
They say he trains only in private. If he fought openly, enemies could study his movements, predict his strategies. Only Cassian and Silas are permitted into his personal training hall.
I watch sired vampires. Guards. The occasional pureblood showing off.
None of them reach Cassian's level.
The king has not summoned me since that day.
I keep thinking about Silas's ability to look into my past. If he had sired me instead of Cassian… would I have inherited that power?
I do not dwell on it.
Instead, I focus on my own.
My hearing.
It is unlike any vampire's.
I can hear water dripping six compounds away. I can hear horses and carriages in the market beyond the castle walls. The market is far. Yet I hear it as though I stand among them.
It is terrifying.
It is useful.
They still have not told me if they have found the bastard that left me at deaths door in death alley. They basically dwell on why my eyes haven't changed color like everyone else.
Testing. More testing.
Cassian assures the king I am fully vampire despite my stubborn eye color.
There is something we are missing.
I am taken often to the enchantress—the castle's personal witch. She pricks my skin with needles, mutters spells, examines me like I am a puzzle.
"There is nothing wrong with her," she says one afternoon, eyeing Cassian instead. "Apart from her uniqueness. Why bring this interesting creature to my desk when you could bring yourself to my chambers?"
She flirts shamelessly.
Cassian does not even look at her.
Instead, he watches me. Watches the needles. Watches my expression.
"Is it hurting her?" he asks flatly.
The witch smiles.
Witches and vampires do not mix well. Both dominant. Both territorial. If neither bends, one casts a curse—or one spills blood.
Witches are rare in Greyhaven. Not especially welcomed.
I have never left Greyhaven. I do not know if other creatures exist beyond our borders.
Perhaps there is a town ruled by witches.
Perhaps one ruled by something worse.
But I will never leave Greyhaven.
It is midday.
Training hour.
I finish the dishes quickly and rush toward the courtyard.
The guards often train shirtless.
That is not why I watch them.
That is why Helen watches them.
Out of all the servants, only Helen bothered to speak to me. I do not trust her, but she has not harmed me.
She watches for one reason.
I watch for another.
They do not train gently. They train as if they are already at war. They draw blood. They bruise. They do not stop until one yields.
I am focused on their footwork when Helen gasps beside me.
"Would you shut up?" I whisper. "I know they're hot to you, but let me watch."
"Why are you out of your duty post?"
My spine turns to ice.
I know that voice.
He should not be here.
Slowly, I turn.
Grey eyes meet crimson.
King Darian.
Helen practically dissolves into the air, fleeing without a word. Coward.
"You did not answer my question," he says.
"I—I came to watch them fight."
"You came to spy."
"I did not come to spy. I swear—"
"Do not swear to me. And do not stutter. Stuttering makes you weak."
Is there anything on this earth that does not make someone weak in your eyes?
His gaze sharpens.
"No."
Oh.
He heard that.
"I came to learn," I say carefully.
"Learn?" He steps closer. I step back. "You are not fighting. You are observing. Observation is not learning."
"It is the theory," I reply before fear can stop me. "But theory without practice is useless. If you only imagine you can fight, you will hesitate. Practice removes hesitation."
He studies me.
This is the first time he speaks to me without insult in his tone.
"Do you want to learn how to fight?" he asks.
"Yes."
He smiles faintly.
"Are you prepared to fight like… a vampire?"
I do not answer immediately. He already knows the answer.
"Very well," he continues. "Your skills in the kitchen are impressive. The dishes are precise. The cuts are clean. Your control with a knife is not ordinary."
My breath catches.
He has been watching me.
"Do not look at me like that," he says. "I would not place a stranger in my kitchens without supervision."
"You think I have potential," I say quietly.
"I think you are still weak. You still look human. But human nature is not entirely useless. Rage requires humanity."
He steps even closer.
"One more question, Isolde. Why do you want to fight?"
I hesitate.
"Answer me."
His tone hardens.
"You are fed. Sheltered. Clothed. You are a vampire now. Why do you need combat?"
"You never gave me the chance to explain anything about myself," I snap before I can stop myself.
"You were a nobody who nearly cost my cousin his freedom."
"I am not a nobody."
"You are a no-name," he counters calmly. "Do you have a last name?"
Silence.
"I… do not."
"Family?"
"No."
"You appeared from thin air. A nameless human. Then a nameless vampire. Why should anyone care who you are?"
His voice is not cruel.
It is dissecting.
"The first step to becoming a fighter," he says, "is accepting who you are. For you, that should be simple."
"Why?"
"Because you do not even know who you are."
The words strike harder than any insult.
"You know what you have become," he continues. "But not who you are."
He tilts his head slightly.
"So tell me, Isolde… why do you want to learn to fight?"
"To be strong."
He laughs.
A sharp, unexpected sound.
"You think strength comes from combat?" he asks. "The enchantress cannot wield a sword. She is still powerful. Strength is mastery of what you possess."
He steps closer still.
"Do you think you are worthy of training?"
I cannot meet his eyes.
The only reason that rises in my throat is revenge.
He sees it.
"You want to fight to avenge the man who hurt you," he says softly. "That is not a bad reason. Revenge is a powerful engine."
He pauses.
"But what happens when you succeed? When he is dead? When the pain is repaid?"
Silence.
"You will be aimless," he finishes. "One drive is not enough. You need another to sustain you."
His gaze locks with mine.
"Understand this. Train for revenge if you must. But build something beyond it."
I nod.
"Good."
He straightens.
"And since I am in a charitable mood…"
My heart stutters.
"I will train you myself."
"What?"
The training hall is nothing like I imagined.
No banners. No court. No witnesses.
Just stone. Steel. Silence.
I sit on a wooden bench, watching the King prepare.
Darian shrugs off his outer cloak, revealing a fitted black robe tied at the waist. It looks regal, even here. Even now. The fabric stretches slightly when he moves, outlining the controlled flex of muscle beneath it.
He does not rush.
He never rushes.
I cross my arms and try not to glare.
Why combat?
Why not improve my abilities?
Why not teach me control? Strategy? Power?
Why this?
But I say nothing.
He knows best.
That is what everyone believes.
So I let him guide me.
He walks to the center mat and gestures for me to follow. I stand and step onto it.
"Before we improve your abilities," he says evenly, "we improve your strength."
His gaze travels over me once.
"You are a very weak vampire. You have not trained. You do not exercise. Your core strength is lacking. Your arms are weak. Your legs are weak."
Each word lands harder than the last.
"So we begin there."
I say nothing.
I simply nod like a puppet and wait for instruction.
"Attack me."
The command is casual.
Too casual.
I move instantly.
If there is one thing I have wanted since I arrived in this kingdom, it is an excuse to strike him.
I lunge.
Too eager. Too obvious.
He blocks effortlessly.
Three minutes pass.
Not a single hit.
Not one.
My pride begins to splinter.
His mouth curves slightly at the edges.
"Time for me to attack you."
He doesn't give me time to brace.
He moves.
Fast.
Effortless.
I try to mirror his defense.
Stupidest decision of my life.
His fist strikes my abdomen — I cough. A second blow to my shoulder. His knee drives into my calf in a way I didn't even know was possible. I stumble.
He doesn't stop.
He doesn't slow.
I hit the mat.
He's on me instantly.
Punch. Block. Strike. Shift.
I can't keep up.
I can't breathe.
I try to surrender.
A foolish move.
His hits grow harsher.
"If you surrender in battle," he says coldly, "you die."
He hauls me upright and throws me across the room.
My back slams into the stone wall.
Pain sears through me before my body begins to heal.
He does not give me time to stand.
He grips my arm and hurls me again like I weigh nothing.
I am a rag doll.
His expression is vicious.
Relentless.
I try to speak.
Four fingers clamp around my throat.
"You are a fool," he says after what feels like an hour of merciless assault.
I shove him away.
"You could have said you wanted to kill me instead of train me!" I shout. "Those attacks were brutal. You treated me like an enemy!"
"Have you seen the guards fight?" he counters sharply. "Since you've been spying on them, is this not the same ruthlessness you witness?"
His eyes darken.
"You are weak. And there is no excuse for weakness."
"I am not weak!"
"You can take a blow but cannot block one. You cannot land one. You are a pathetic excuse for a vampire."
"Enough!" I snap. "You keep telling me I am weak. Pathetic. That I do not deserve to be a vampire. I didn't want to be one in the first place!"
His jaw tightens.
"If you did not want to be one," he says slowly, "why do you continue to act like one?"
"Because I was given no choice!"
Silence cracks between us.
"You think taunting me makes me stronger?" I demand. "You think humiliating me will make me tougher? It doesn't. It reduces me."
"Being heartless has saved me," he replies.
"And having weaknesses has saved you," I fire back.
His gaze sharpens.
"You do not have weaknesses," I say. "That's what saves you."
He steps closer.
"Listen carefully, little girl—"
"Do not call me that," I snap. "Never call me little girl."
"Excuse me?"
"You summoned a so-called little girl to train with you and then beat her senseless. What is there to bully? I am nobody. As you constantly remind me."
His nostrils flare.
"Why do you keep pulling me back?" I press. "The court trial is over. Everything is over. So why me?"
He says nothing.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other.
I don't regret a word.
Then—
He laughs.
Throws his head back and laughs.
"In all my reign," he says, smiling dangerously, "no one has disrespected me the way you have in two days."
"Maybe they should try it," I mutter.
His eyes flash.
"I have taken a great deal of your insolence. You should be grateful. You are not even worth my time."
"Then stop wasting it."
"But I will not have a weak vampire under my rule," he continues. "If I must train you myself, so be it. Cassian goes easy on you."
"You call that easy?"
"I do not like you," he adds flatly. "I do not like anyone. But you are under my rule. You will learn. Or you will break."
Then he says it.
"Look at yourself. Your weakness made you what you hate most."
My blood runs cold.
He didn't just say that.
He didn't just imply that my weakness is the reason I was turned.
Maybe he's right.
If I had been stronger—
If I had fought—
I take a step back.
He doesn't follow.
He doesn't apologize.
Movement echoes from the doorway.
"What exactly is happening here?"
Cassian.
"Training," Darian answers casually.
"I thought that was my duty."
"I felt like doing it."
Cassian folds his arms. "And what have you trained?"
"Basics. She cannot land a blow."
"She has taken numerous," Darian adds.
Cassian facepalms.
"If she's taken blows from you, she should be dead."
"I reduced my strength."
Cassian bursts out laughing.
"Reduced it? Cousin, you never reduce your blows with me. I always end up in the infirmary."
For the first time, I see something unfamiliar on Darian's face.
Embarrassment.
Family.
So he does have a weakness.
Cassian turns to me. "We'll continue from where we stopped."
"If where we stopped means being beaten senseless, then yes."
"He went easy on you."
"You call that easy?"
"Yes."
He raises his fist.
"Get past my attack."
He swings.
I duck.
"Too slow."
Again.
It hits my shoulder.
"Too slow."
Again.
I step aside.
"Too predictable."
Again.
I bow.
"Too predictable."
Again.
Again.
Again.
By the end of it, I am exhausted.
And furious.
Darian chuckles from the bench.
"She looks exhausted."
"She is," Cassian replies.
Darian stands and approaches.
"Your posture is correct," he says. "But Cassian is not ordinary."
He gestures toward his cousin.
"He is your sire. He has enhanced auditory perception. He hears bones. Joints. The subtle rotation before a strike. That is how he predicts."
My breath catches.
"That means… I inherited it."
He gives me a look.
Focus.
"Listen," he orders.
I close my eyes.
"The wind against my shirt. The creak of stone. Water dripping below. Your breathing. Cassian shifting his weight."
"Deeper."
I try.
Nothing.
He swings.
I fail.
Again.
I miss by an inch.
"Separate your thoughts," he says quietly.
I breathe.
Silence my anger.
Silence my pride.
I listen.
There—
A faint pop.
Left side.
I move.
I grip his wrist mid-strike.
I did it.
I blocked him.
He immediately drives a fist into my stomach.
"Not bad."
I glare.
"That does not make you exceptional," he adds coolly. "Now put me on my back."
He tackles me.
We grapple.
Wall. Mat. Floor. Knees. Breath. Heat.
He hooks his arm around my throat from behind.
I freeze.
His body presses against mine.
His breath brushes my ear.
His hand grips my waist.
My pulse pounds violently.
This isn't supposed to feel like this.
This proximity—
This awareness—
It's wrong.
And yet—
Gods help me.
His grip tightens unconsciously.
I don't hate it.
Cassian clears his throat.
"I think that's enough training for today."
Darian releases me instantly as if burned.
"Yes. Enough."
His voice is clipped.
"You may return to your servant quarters."
Servant quarters.
Something tightens in my chest.
I bow stiffly and leave.
As the door closes behind me, I hear Cassian ask quietly:
"What was that about?"
Silence answers him.