By the time I reach the servants' quarters, my head feels heavier than my body.
I barely make it past the corridor before I bump into Helen.
She gasps dramatically. "You've been busy today. We didn't see you in the kitchen at all. Did you get punished by the king?"
I ignore her and continue walking.
Today is not a day for conversations. Not with her. Not with anyone.
But Helen matches my pace, her curiosity stretching thin like rotten fabric.
"Is the king hot?" she whispers loudly. "Did he punish you? Did he send you to the dungeon? Hope you're not traumatized. But you don't look like someone that's been in the dungeon all day. Did he starve you? You didn't eat, did you? Well… you look a little famished."
She tilts her head.
"But vampires are never famished. Are you okay? Come on, tell me something."
I stop abruptly.
"I do not want to tell you anything," I snap. "I am tired. I am stressed. And I want to rest."
She snorts. "Vampires don't rest. We have strength."
I glare at her.
"Well, what should I expect?" she continues, mockery dripping from her voice. "You are the unique one."
My eyes narrow. "What is that supposed to mean?"
She shrugs. "Nothing. Just whispers I've been hearing. One vampire whose eye color refused to turn red. Frost-grey. Like the moon. You are the unique one people talk about. Or more like… the abomination."
The word lands between us.
"But as long as you can tolerate blood," she adds with a sneer, "you're not that different from us. Are you?"
Understanding dawns slowly.
"So that's why you've been trying to get close to me," I say quietly. "You wanted to find out what makes me different. So you could run back and gossip."
Her silence confirms it.
I had been this close to trusting her. This close to believing maybe she was simply foolish, not cruel.
I smile.
"Well, sorry to waste your time, Helen. I have no unique qualities. I don't know why my eyes refuse to turn red. I don't care why."
I step closer, lowering my voice.
"But I will make a place for myself in this palace. And from today onward, you will stay far away from me."
I walk past her.
I can feel her stare burning into my back.
I don't care.
I've endured worse today.
The Next Morning
The kitchen falls quiet when two guards enter.
"We have been summoned by the king," one of them says.
Me.
They mean me.
Every servant's gaze turns in my direction.
Curious.
Amused.
Satisfied.
Helen is laughing.
Maybe she assumes I've done something wrong.
Have I?
I do not ask.
Darian taught me something, even if he did not say it outright: keep your head high. The moment you bow out of fear, they will crush you.
If he can spite me, I will not let the servants do the same.
I walk with the guards.
Questions swarm my thoughts.
When we reach the garden, I see him.
King Darian.
He is kneeling near a cluster of lotus flowers, hands steady, movements precise.
Since when did kings garden?
The guards leave.
I am alone with him.
I decide to approach.
Before I speak, he says, "Took you long enough. Sit."
I glance around. No chairs.
"Your Highness, where would you like me to sit?"
He does not look at me. "When did you start calling me Your Highness?"
"Isn't that what everyone calls you?"
He huffs faintly. "What everyone calls me. That is new."
He finally raises his head.
His gaze studies my face carefully. Too carefully.
"You seem calmer today."
I say nothing.
He gestures toward a patch of bare pavement.
I am to sit on the ground.
Of course.
"Our lesson today is combat," he says.
I scan the garden. "With what weapons?"
He smiles again.
That smile.
I don't know what it means — amusement? mockery? something softer?
He looks almost charming when he smiles.
Did I just think that?
The smile vanishes.
"There are no weapons," he says. "So you make weapons out of the environment."
I blink at him.
"It is not every time you will be prepared. Always carry a weapon. A small knife. Hide it in your boot. Your corset. Anywhere comfortable. But sometimes you will be caught unarmed. Perhaps at a gathering."
"Why are you teaching me self-defense for gatherings? I am just a servant. You made that clear."
"Yes," he says smoothly. "You are just a servant. This is a castle. We host events. If we are ambushed inside our own walls, do you expect the servants to remain servants?"
He rises slowly.
"I can fight. But I cannot fight alone."
He gestures around us.
"In a dining hall? Forks. Knives. Glass. You stab. You tear. You slit."
"But we are not in a dining hall."
"Exactly. We are in a garden."
He steps toward a rose bush.
"Have you seen a rose stem?"
"Yes."
"It has thorns. Those thorns prick, don't they?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Imagine binding several stems together. Strangle someone. The thorns tear their throat. For an ordinary man, that is enough."
My eyes widen.
"For a vampire," he continues, "you need wood. Oak is best. But any wood driven straight into the heart will slow healing. Scan your environment. Find something sharp. And if you hesitate…"
"You die."
Silence stretches.
"Like yesterday," I murmur.
"Yes. But today will be different. You have twenty minutes. Find a weapon. Attack me."
Attack him?
In a garden?
I search frantically.
Trees. Flowerpots. An apple tree.
Fine.
I approach the tree confidently—
And realize it is far taller than I thought.
Who planted this monstrosity?
I grip the bark and begin climbing anyway.
I have climbed worse. At the shelter, when they starved us, we stole fruit from neighboring yards.
I reach a branch and yank until it cracks free.
I leap down.
The landing doesn't hurt.
I laugh quietly.
I almost like being a vampire.
Darian watches. Unmoving.
I bind stems together, weaving flowers around the branch to add weight.
It is clumsy. Ugly.
But it is something.
I charge at him.
I raise the branch to stab—
He moves.
In a blink, I am on the pavement, pain slamming into my back.
A whimper escapes me.
"Too slow," he says.
I glare at him.
"You did the obvious. Tree. Stem. Chest. Predictable."
He steps closer.
"When you are predictable, you die. You must do what they do not expect."
"I am learning," I argue.
"You are learning. But you are not willing."
My jaw tightens.
"You are driven by revenge."
My expression shifts.
"You want to get back at the man who left you to die in Death Alley. You want him to pay for turning you into this."
He crouches slightly.
"He left you to die. Cassian saved you. You owe your life to Cassian."
My silence confirms it.
"If you want revenge," Darian continues softly, "you must learn properly."
I stand.
"How?"
"You are doing everything right. That is the problem."
"What?"
"When you do everything right, you become predictable. Don't let me know your next move."
He pauses.
Then:
"Kael has been spotted around Greyhaven's chapel."
My breath catches.
"I thought vampires cannot enter churches."
"They cannot. I said around the chapel. He is being helped. A human… or a witch."
"I thought witches were scarce in Greyhaven."
"So did I."
His gaze sharpens.
"It means there is a spy within my walls."
The air changes.
"I would rather train the new ones," he says quietly, "so I know who I can trust."
"You have not given me a reason to trust you."
"I do not want your trust."
"Exactly."
He studies me.
"You are too innocent for a vampire. You should be ruthless."
My chest tightens.
"To be safe, I will assign Silas to you."
"What?"
"He will teach you pharmacy. Herbs. Flowers. Poisons."
"Is that all we are doing today?"
"Do you wish to do more?"
I shake my head.
"You may go."
I bow and leave the garden.
But something feels different.
The air.
The castle.
Him.
Why does everything feel like it is shifting?
Instead of returning to the servants' quarters… I walk.
I tell myself I am only taking a tour of the castle.
But that is a lie.
I am looking for Silas.
If he is to teach me pharmacy, then I might as well begin now. I do not want to stand before him completely ignorant. I have been ignorant enough these past few days.
I try to move like a wallflower.
I try to look invisible.
But I have not mastered the art of anonymity. I walk too stiffly. I look around too much. Suspicion clings to me like perfume.
After what feels like thirty minutes of wandering through corridors that twist and double back, I finally find it.
The library.
The same one where Cassian and I had our first lesson.
Strangely, there are no guards at the entrance. No restrictions. No one watching who enters or leaves.
So I step inside.
The air smells like parchment and dust and something older. The shelves stretch high, taller than I expected, lined with books and scrolls bound in leather and thread.
I walk slowly through the aisles.
Maybe I will find something.
Something about my eyes.
Something about frost-grey instead of red.
Something that explains why I feel… different.
I pull out books on plants and herbs first. If Silas will teach me pharmacy, I will not sit there clueless.
Then I move toward another section — history.
Origins of vampires.
Witches.
The treaty between humans and vampires.
Rogues.
I gather them all and sit at a long wooden table.
If this keeps me away from the kitchen and those who despise me, then I will stay here until dark.
Reading has never been difficult for me.
Time has.
When I was human, I chased money, survival, scraps of dignity. But whenever I could steal a quiet hour, I read. Romance novels. Horror. Anything that allowed me to escape.
Now, as I flip through pages and unroll old scrolls, I feel something almost familiar.
Peace.
I begin with the herbal texts.
Lotus.
I pause.
The book describes its uses in detail.
Lotuses cure a vast number of vampire sicknesses. Among all flora safe for consumption, lotus is considered one of the most powerful. Brewed into tea, it detoxifies the system. If a vampire consumes tainted human blood — poisoned, bewitched, or infected — lotus cleanses it.
My mind drifts to the garden.
To Darian kneeling among them.
That is why he was tending them himself.
It is not gardening.
It is preservation.
I turn the page.
Whispering Willows.
Ah.
The third tree in the garden.
The book describes them as having a darker origin. Once sacred to witches. Used in charms. Sacrifices. Binding rituals.
It says their roots grow deep — unnaturally deep — traveling beyond the soil they are planted in. Affecting the foundation of buildings. Creeping past compound walls. Disrupting other plant life.
If their roots steal so many nutrients…
How are the other plants thriving?
I frown.
Either the soil here is extraordinary… or something balances it.
I continue reading.
Substitutes for oak wood can include certain dense hardwoods. Not as effective, but still damaging if driven into a vampire's heart.
Then I see something new.
Basking wood combined with marigold essence can prevent proper healing in vampires.
I sit back.
Marigold.
A simple flower.
And yet…
There is so much we do not say aloud.
Eventually, sleep begins to tug at me.
I close the herbal texts and reach for history instead.
Caricature drawings of early vampires fill the pages. Pale, sharp, monstrous. Nothing different from what Cassian has already told me.
Then I see it.
A torn page.
The line before the missing section reads:
The vampires rule the night. They share the night—
The rest is gone.
They share the night with who?
I sit very still.
Vampires rule the night. That is what we are told.
But if we share it… then with what?
Another creature?
Another species?
Another kind of predator?
And another question forms.
If we are creatures of the night, how do we survive the day?
It was midday when Cassian and Silas found me in that alley.
I have walked under the sun.
I am not ash.
Maybe what we are told is only half the truth.
Maybe daylight weakens us… but does not kill us.
So what else in these books is wrong?
I stare at the torn page again.
Who removed it?
And why?
Perhaps I am reading too much into it.
Or perhaps I am not reading enough.
By the time I close the final book, darkness presses against the windows.
I have been here all day.
I return the scrolls carefully and leave the library.
The corridors are quieter now.
On my way back to the servants' quarters, I nearly collide with someone.
"Cassian?"
"Where are you coming from?" he asks.
"The library."
He studies me. "Why?"
"The king… he said he would assign me to Silas. To teach me the basics of pharmacy."
"Oh."
His expression shifts slightly. Hard to read.
"So you were preparing ahead of time."
"I do not want to be entirely clueless."
He nods slowly. "Alright. You can carry on. I think you've had a long day. You require rest."
"Thank you."
I take a few steps before he calls my name.
"Oh, and Isolde."
I turn. "Yes?"
"Remember what I said about not letting the king notice you? I meant it."
My brows furrow. "I do not understand."
"The more you and the king become closer… the more danger both of you will be in."
Danger?
"Go and rest," he says firmly.
And then he walks away.
I stand there alone in the corridor.
Me and the king are not close.
Why does he make it sound like spending time with Darian will cost me something?
Why does it feel like everyone knows something I do not?
And why—
Why does the thought of danger not scare me as much as it should?
The next morning, I do not go looking for Silas.
Silas finds me.
A sharp knock lands on my door before the sun has fully risen.
I open it to find him standing there, arms folded, expression permanently irritated.
"Get ready," he says flatly. "You have twenty minutes."
"What is it with vampires and time?" I mutter.
His eyes narrow.
"Eighteen minutes."
I shut the door.
When I am ready, I follow him through winding corridors I have not seen before. We stop at a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron.
He pushes it open.
The room smells sharp — herbs, alcohol, something metallic.
It looks like a laboratory.
Shelves line the walls, filled with jars of preserved plants, bones, powders. A long wooden table stands at the center, covered in glass vials, pestles, knives.
He gestures for me to sit.
"I do not know why he wants me to teach you this," Silas begins. "I do not know what you and him are doing. And I do not honestly care."
"Why are you always grumpy?" I ask.
"I am not grumpy," he snaps. "You all are stressing me, and I am simply exercising my utmost distaste for being stressed."
He exhales slowly, like he is forcing himself not to strangle someone.
"I will teach you two things today. Only two. If you fail those two things, I will inform him that you are unteachable and I can have my life back."
"You already have your life."
He stares at me.
"You do not understand what I mean."
He turns toward the worktable.
"Now. Basics. Have you ever brewed a potion before?"
"No. Am I supposed to do that?"
He pinches the bridge of his nose.
"You are truly hopeless, aren't you?"
"I prefer inexperienced."
He ignores that.
"We will do something very simple. You see that plant over there?"
I turn. "Yes."
"They are called forget-me-nots."
"Oh."
"You will pluck them and bring them to me. Then you will wash them and place them in that pot. In that order."
"Why are you brewing things like you are a witch?"
He stiffens.
"I am not a witch. I am a vampire who took delight in studying medicine."
"Oh. Okay."
"So. Bring the forget-me-nots. Wash them. Place them in the pot."
I walk to the plant, carefully pluck the small blue flowers, wash them as instructed, and place them into the pot.
He examines my work.
Nods once.
"Next step. You see that cupboard behind you?"
"Yes."
"Go get me the spices inside."
I open it.
There are dozens of jars.
"But there are a lot of spices."
"I said get me the spices in there."
"You mean… all of them?"
"All of them. If I tell you to take one, you would not know which one. So save me the trouble."
In my head, I mock him.
Save me the trouble?
You are making me carry an entire cupboard.
I begin grabbing jars. They stack awkwardly in my arms. A few nearly slip.
"Be careful with those!" he snaps.
"Then assist me so they don't fall," I reply.
He glares.
"We both do not want to be here. So it is better we work together and make this work. Or we both give up — I say you are unteachable, and you tell him I am a bad teacher. Agreed?"
"No."
"Yes or no?"
"I want to learn."
He pauses.
"Why?"
"I have to."
His eyes study me.
"…Bring the spices."
It feels like hours before we finish grinding, boiling, mixing.
The potion darkens into something thick and silver-grey.
"You see this?" he says.
He lifts a frog from a small container.
My stomach tightens.
"We do not test potions on humans. When you test on humans and it fails, complications arise. We do not test on vampires either. Unless they are rogues."
"So… you are testing on a frog first?"
"Yes."
"What is this supposed to do?"
He does not answer.
Instead, he takes a scalpel and — without hesitation — slices the frog open.
I flinch.
He smears the potion over the wound.
The frog jerks.
Its body spasms.
Then it stills.
And then —
It moves.
The wound closes.
It blinks.
"On the frog," Silas explains calmly, "it resurrects."
My heart pounds.
"But on a vampire… we will see."
He turns toward the door.
"Bring in the rogue."
Two men in white drag in a vampire.
He looks feral.
Snarling.
Restrained to a long wooden stretcher.
"You may leave," Silas tells the men.
They exit.
Silas takes a knife and slices open the rogue's arm.
The flesh begins to heal immediately —
Until he smears the potion over it.
The healing stops.
The skin blackens.
The arm begins to disintegrate slowly.
The rogue screams.
"What are you—?"
"You see," Silas interrupts, watching carefully, "on the frog, it resurrects. On a vampire, it stops healing and accelerates decay."
"Why would you create something that kills vampires?"
"No, no, no," he says sharply. "I am not creating something to kill vampires. I am creating something to eliminate rogues. It does not work the same way on purebloods. I refuse to test it on purebloods."
The rogue continues screaming as the corruption spreads up his arm.
"This stays between you and me," Silas says quietly. "This is what some of the guards use on rogues. Cassian handles rogue containment. My duty is to ensure rogues go extinct."
"Why not just find their sire? Make the sire control them?"
"They were not turned by current purebloods. The sire bond does not apply. They are unstable. They rampage. So yes — we eliminate them."
The rogue goes still.
I say nothing.
The room feels colder.
"And the second thing we will do today," Silas continues as if we did not just witness a death, "is resuscitation."
He hands me a rag doll. Larger than normal. Weighted.
"Press the chest repeatedly."
I stare at him.
"What?"
"If a vampire is weakened but not fully dead, chest compression can stimulate blood circulation. Again. Press."
I place my hands on the doll's chest awkwardly.
"Harder."
I press harder.
"Again."
The lab smells like death and herbs.
And I suddenly understand something.
This is not just pharmacy.
This is war preparation.