It had been three days since I found myself standing in the library with no memory of how I got there.
Three days.
Three long, confusing days where the king was nowhere to be seen.
Or perhaps that was not entirely accurate.
Everyone else seemed to see him just fine.
Silas spoke about conversations he had with him. Cassian casually mentioned how they had begun sparring again and even repeated some instructions the king had given him regarding my training.
Everyone saw him.
Everyone except me.
Which meant he wasn't absent.
He was avoiding me.
The realization gnawed at the back of my mind like a persistent itch.
It made no sense.
Why would a king avoid someone like me? I was nothing. A nobody. A newly turned vampire who was still learning how not to trip over her own strength.
Yet the pattern was impossible to ignore.
Whenever I entered a room, he had apparently just left.
Whenever I asked about him, he had apparently been there moments earlier.
It was almost impressive.
Like he was making himself invisible to me—and me alone.
I was beginning to feel paranoid.
Currently, I was with Cassian.
We stood near the castle gates, and he looked unusually relaxed today.
"Today," he announced suddenly, stretching his arms behind his head, "we are not fighting."
I blinked at him.
"Not fighting?"
"Not sparring. Not dueling. None of that."
He flashed me a grin.
"We're leaving the castle."
That alone was strange enough to make me suspicious.
Cassian and I rarely left the castle together.
Whenever I needed to go outside—for herbs, research, or observation—Silas was the one who escorted me. Cassian preferred training grounds and sparring sessions.
So when he said we were leaving simply to "take a stroll," I couldn't hide my surprise.
"You want to go into Greyhaven?" I asked.
"Yes."
"For fun?"
"For fun."
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You're acting suspicious."
He laughed.
"We've fought enough this week. You've sparred with me, with Silas, and probably with the furniture when you get bored."
"I do not spar with furniture."
"You punched a pillar yesterday."
"That pillar started it."
He laughed again, clearly amused.
"Come on," he said. "You've seen Greyhaven as a human. Why not see it as a vampire?"
"I already have," I replied. "With Silas."
"And?"
I sighed.
"Humans are frightened of us."
"Accurate."
"They don't just fear us," I continued. "They loathe us. Shop owners stare like they're calculating whether we'll drain their bloodlines."
Cassian chuckled.
"Tavern owners are different."
"Of course they are," I said. "They assume vampires spend large amounts of money."
"They're not wrong."
"But normal humans?" I continued. "They look at us like we're monsters."
"They're also not wrong."
I rolled my eyes.
Despite that, I followed him out of the castle gates.
Greyhaven stretched before us like a familiar memory wearing a different face.
The streets were lively. Market stalls crowded the roads, lanterns swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. People walked quickly, some glancing at us with thinly disguised nervousness.
Others looked away immediately.
Vampires were not exactly welcome guests.
Cassian didn't seem to care.
"Relax," he said casually. "I'm taking you somewhere interesting."
"Define interesting."
"You'll see."
We walked through several narrow streets before he finally stopped in front of a building that looked like a large wooden kennel.
I frowned.
"A dog house?"
"I knew you'd say that."
"I've never been a fan of dogs."
That wasn't entirely true.
Dogs liked me.
A lot.
And that was precisely the problem.
When dogs wagged their tails aggressively and sniffed around me, it made me nervous. Not because they were dangerous—but because they were too friendly.
Also, when I had been human, I could barely afford to feed myself.
Owning a dog would have been cruel.
"I could barely eat properly," I muttered as we entered. "Getting a dog would have been evil."
Cassian glanced at me.
"You overthink everything."
Inside the building, the sound hit us immediately.
Barking.
Whining.
Scratching.
Dozens of dogs filled the kennels.
The smell of fur, hay, and animal musk lingered heavily in the air.
I immediately noticed something strange.
The owner of the place was a vampire.
Which was unusual.
In Greyhaven, most dog houses were not actually dog houses.
They were slaughterhouses.
Dogs were killed and sold to taverns as meat.
The thought made my stomach twist.
I had never eaten dog meat in my life.
And I certainly didn't want to start.
But this place looked different.
These dogs were alive.
Healthy.
Fed.
Curious.
The owner approached us and nodded respectfully to Cassian.
He led us deeper into the kennel room where cages lined the walls.
Some dogs barked excitedly.
Some whined.
Others simply stared.
When we reached one cage in particular, my attention was immediately drawn to a small furry creature sitting quietly inside.
It stared at me.
Not aggressively.
Not fearfully.
Just… staring.
As if it knew me.
I crouched slowly.
"Can I pet this one?"
The owner reacted instantly.
"No!"
The speed of his answer startled me.
"What?" I blinked.
"That one is violent."
I looked at the tiny dog again.
"You mean this cute little thing?"
Cassian laughed.
"Cute little thing?" he repeated. "That is the most stubborn dog in this entire house."
"But he's well behaved."
"WELL BEHAVED?" Cassian and the owner exclaimed at the same time.
The owner sighed.
"Knock yourselves out," he muttered. "But I advise you to pet from a distance."
Ignoring the warning, I slowly reached my hand through the cage bars.
The moment my fingers touched the dog's head—
He leaned into my hand.
Soft whining escaped him.
My chest tightened.
His fur was warm and thick beneath my fingers.
Cassian and the owner stared at me in complete shock.
"How are you doing that?" Cassian asked.
"Doing what?"
"That dog is the most violent one here," the owner said. "No one can touch him. Feeding him is a battle. Bathing him is war."
I blinked.
"Really?"
"Yes!"
I shrugged.
"Animals love me."
The dog continued leaning into my hand like he had been waiting his entire life for someone to pet him.
Eventually, I pulled my hand back and stood up.
We continued walking past the cages.
Something strange began to happen.
Dogs stopped what they were doing.
They stared.
At me.
Not at Cassian.
At me.
Some walked closer to their cages.
Some tilted their heads.
Some wagged their tails slowly.
The awareness prickled at the back of my mind.
But I ignored it.
Maybe animals simply sensed vampires differently.
When we reached the next kennel room, something immediately stood out.
Silence.
Complete silence.
No barking.
No whining.
Nothing.
"Are there dogs here?" I asked.
Cassian smiled faintly.
"Not dogs."
"What?"
"Just one."
"Then why is it isolated?"
The owner spoke this time.
"It came here wounded. We treated it. But it doesn't like the other dogs."
"So you separated it?"
"Yes."
"Does it like being alone?"
"I think so."
I stepped closer to the cage.
Inside lay a dog with ginger fur.
It looked almost like a fox.
Its black eyes were dull, staring at nothing.
Until it noticed us.
Then its head lifted slowly.
"Celine," the owner called.
The dog barely acknowledged him.
"Celine?" I repeated.
"Yes," the owner said. "We found her under moonlight when she was injured. Her eyes looked beautiful in the moonlight, so we named her Celine."
I tilted my head.
"She doesn't like the name."
The words left my mouth before I realized I had spoken them.
The owner frowned.
"What?"
But the dog—
The dog lifted its head and looked directly at me.
Not like an animal.
Like someone listening.
The dog house owner simply does not notice it.
But I do.
I see her eyes looking at me.
They are not ordinary eyes. They follow every movement I make, watching me with an intensity that feels almost… human. As though she understands far more than an animal should.
"You mean…" I begin slowly, still staring at her. "The name doesn't fit her."
"Yes," the owner says, nodding. "It does not."
He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and glances toward the cage.
"She looks a bit of a wild one, but she has been tamed."
I shake my head slightly.
"She's not wild," I say.
The words leave my mouth before I even realize I believe them.
"She likes the isolation."
The owner raises a brow.
"Yes, she likes the isolation," he agrees. "But she wants friends."
Something about the way the dog sits there—quiet, patient, observant—makes my chest tighten.
Slowly, I reach into the cage.
I touch her head.
Her fur is softer than I expected, warm beneath my fingers.
And just like the first dog earlier, she leans into my touch.
The reaction is immediate.
The owner jerks forward.
"Careful—!"
His hand shoots toward mine as if he intends to pull me away.
"She's violent to people that touch her," he warns quickly.
But my hand is already resting on her head.
His sudden movement causes the dog to growl.
Not at me.
At him.
A low, irritated sound, as though she is annoyed that he tried to interfere.
Almost as if—
She was defending me.
"She will not harm me," I say.
My voice comes out far more certain than I expect.
Too certain.
Certain enough that even I wonder where that confidence comes from.
The owner looks between me and the dog with disbelief.
"She's really violent," he insists. "Keep a distance."
But the dog only watches him calmly now.
"You tried to stop me," I point out. "That's why she reacted."
I lean closer.
"Let me."
Gently, I rub her head again.
She closes her eyes.
Leans further into my palm.
The owner stares at us like he is witnessing something impossible.
Then he turns to Cassian.
"Don't you think she should work here?"
Cassian lets out a small laugh.
"No can do."
The owner frowns.
"Why not?"
Cassian folds his arms casually.
"She is palace."
He tilts his head toward me with an amused smile.
"She is castle servant alone."
The owner chuckles.
"She's castle material then."
Cassian nods.
"Yes."
Then the owner squints at him.
"And you are a sire?"
"Yes," Cassian answers easily. "I am a sire."
By the time we leave the dog house, evening is already beginning to settle over the city.
Cassian stretches his arms behind his head as we walk.
"You know," he says casually, "we could take a carriage back."
I look at him.
"But we won't."
He grins.
"We won't."
I sigh.
"Why?"
"Because," he says, pointing down the street, "you barely exercise outside of training."
That earns him a glare.
"And walking will do you good."
I roll my eyes but follow him anyway.
The streets are lively.
Merchants shout over one another. Children run between stalls. The scent of roasted meat, baked bread, and fried snacks fills the air.
We stop often.
Too often.
Cassian buys something from nearly every stall.
"I might be human," he says dramatically while handing me a pastry, "or I might be a vampire. But that does not mean I cannot have human snacks."
He shrugs.
"Although it will not taste the same."
How wrong he is.
I take a bite.
Sweet.
Warm.
Perfect.
The flavors burst across my tongue.
It tastes even better than it did when I was human.
Maybe it's because I never had enough money to buy these things before.
Maybe it's because now I can finally enjoy them without counting coins in my head.
Cassian watches me carefully.
"Well?"
"It's good."
He raises a brow.
"Just good?"
I take another bite.
"It's amazing."
He laughs.
"Told you."
We continue walking through the streets.
Stopping.
Eating.
Talking.
Sometimes we stroll in silence.
Sometimes we chat endlessly.
I tell him about my training.
About the techniques Silas has been forcing into my head.
About the steps I keep messing up.
Cassian listens with interest.
But suddenly a thought strikes me.
"Silas."
Cassian glances at me.
"What about him?"
"I didn't have my session with him today."
Cassian shrugs.
"He might be expecting me."
"Oh," Cassian says.
Then he smirks.
"I'm pretty sure he's excited that you did not come today."
I snort.
"True. That man hates my guts."
Cassian laughs.
"He doesn't hate anyone."
"He does."
"No," Cassian insists. "He's just… there."
I narrow my eyes.
"That's not reassuring."
We walk a little farther.
Then Cassian speaks again.
"I was wondering."
His tone is more serious now.
"Would you like to leave the castle if you're given the chance?"
I stop walking.
"What?"
He slows beside me.
"You were taken to the castle against your will."
I remain silent.
"You were turned into a vampire against your will."
Still silent.
"So I was wondering…"
He gestures vaguely.
"If you were done with your training and everything… would you like to leave the castle?"
I stare at him.
"We would not hold you," he continues.
"We would not stop you."
"No," I say quickly.
Too quickly.
Cassian notices.
"You wouldn't?"
"I can't leave the castle."
"Why?"
He looks genuinely curious.
"We would give you shelter like other vampires," he explains. "You will not be exempted."
I shake my head firmly.
"You cannot—"
"I'm pretty sure you don't like being a servant," he finishes.
His words make something in me tighten.
"I have served people all my life," I say quietly.
"I have served people as a source of living."
He watches me carefully.
"And I will not leave the place that gave me shelter."
My voice hardens.
"A roof over my head."
"Food in my belly."
"People have trained me."
I meet his eyes.
"I will not leave it."
I take a breath.
"I will stay."
Cassian studies my face.
"So even if we volunteered…" he says slowly.
"Even if I volunteered to house you…"
"You would still stay in the castle?"
My eyes narrow.
"Why are you trying to convince me to leave the castle?"
"I am not trying to convince you."
"You are."
He sighs.
"Something is up," I say.
"And you are not telling me."
"I am not telling you?" he repeats.
"You are the one acting odd."
"I am not acting odd."
"You are."
He sighs again.
Then he asks quietly—
"Why were you in the library three days ago?"
My stomach twists.
"I don't remember."
The words feel strange even as I say them.
Because it's true.
My memories of the library are…
Broken.
Fragments.
Like flickering torchlight in fog.
A shadow.
A whisper.
Something is missing.
Something important.
Cassian studies me carefully.
Then he looks away.
"I'm sorry that I'm asking too much of you."
"You should be."
He laughs.
"You really don't take apologies, do you?"
"I do not take apologies that do not come from the heart."
"It came from the heart," he says quickly.
"I swear it."
"You do not swear it."
I shake my head.
"Stop swearing."
He laughs again.
Then he gestures toward another street.
"Should we make a stop at the chapel?
"Why? I thought vampires can't enter the chapel."
"Well, vampires can't. Doesn't mean sired vampires cannot."
"I'm pretty sure that all vampires can enter the chapel."
"You're right. The thing is, vampires can enter the chapel — purebloods too. That is just a myth, like other myths that have been spread over time. The only thing vampires cannot do inside the chapel is have contact with holy water. Real holy water."
"So we could just go to the chapel?"
"Were you religious when you were human?"
"I went to the chapel once in a while."
"Don't you have things you want to do in the chapel?"
"True. I might have something I want to do in the chapel," I say. "I have not confessed in a while."
"Sure. Me too. So, I could go first — or you could go first — so that your mom doesn't hear what you're saying."
"Okay, that sounds like fun."
I stroll beside him, and we make our way toward the chapel.
When we cross the chapel gates, familiarity washes over me. I see many things I recognize — details I've seen before, even if I've been here less frequently now. The sight of it again makes something inside me settle. It makes me feel at ease.
But there is still a small inkling at the back of my mind — a lingering thought about what the king told me.
I try to wave it off.
The chapel is safe.
And I am with Cassian.
And I can fight.
At least… I can last long enough in a fight before someone comes to help.
When we reach the confession box, he lets me step inside first.
He tells me with a smile, "They built the confession box in a way that vampires cannot hear what you're saying — even me, with my impressive hearing. I cannot hear what you're confessing to the priest."
He assures me.
I smile.
"I don't care what you're going to do with my information. I have no secrets."
"I'm just trying to assure you," he says gently, then closes the door to the confession room.
It's small in here.
Quiet.
The confession box is not unfamiliar to me. The silence feels almost comforting.
Then I hear the second door open — the door where the priest sits.
He doesn't say anything.
So I assume he is waiting for me to confess — as though I am confessing directly to the Lord, asking for forgiveness.
I have never been a deeply religious person.
But I have always liked this part of life — walking into a chapel, sitting inside a box, and confessing my sins. Hoping. Believing. Thinking that the gods might forgive me.
So I simply do it.
"Father, I have sinned," I say.
"It's been one month since I became one of the undead.
One month since I learned the basics of being undead.
One month since I flooded my entire heart with revenge for the one who caused me to become like this.
One month since I began to feel odd attractions to something that is supposed to be forbidden.
I am trying to figure myself out, Father — and I know it is hard in this situation.
I am expecting a lot from myself.
But now I feel like everything I have worked for in this one month is about to be jeopardized because I feel like I am forgetting something.
I am missing something.
A part of me is missing.
And if I finally get my revenge… I fear I will lose myself.
I want something forbidden, Father.
I crave something forbidden."
He remains quiet.
Not a single sound.
He has not asked me what I am craving.
He has not asked what forbidden thing I mean.
He simply stays silent — allowing me to talk.
And I am grateful for that.
Because if he interrupts me… I might spill everything.
Right now, I pretend the person in the next room does not exist.
I pretend I am speaking only to the gods.
No one else is listening.
No one is judging.
"I want someone," I continue quietly.
"And I am pretty sure he does not want me.
That feeling alone kills me.
Because I am not supposed to want him.
I keep wondering if he is what I am missing…
But whenever he acts distant — whenever it feels like he is avoiding me — I feel distraught.
I don't know what I'm feeling.
Maybe it is just me overthinking again.
But Father…
I have not killed anyone.
I have not sold my body.
I have only become the thing I once hated.
That is all."
I stop.
Silence fills the box.
Not even a breath escapes the other side.
I open the door and step out.
My eyes search for Cassian — and I find him.
He is speaking with one of the priests.
They seem deep in conversation.
Using my enhanced hearing — as Cassian taught me — I try to listen.
"Have you heard anything?"
"Nothing at all. It's as though the entire information grapevine has vanished. It's quiet. But if I hear anything, I will write to you."
Cassian nods.
Then he turns.
He sees me.
And I quickly pretend I wasn't listening.
"Are you done?"
"Yes."
"Aren't you going to confess?"
"Nah. I don't need to confess anything. I have always been sinning — and I will continue being a sinner," he says with a laugh.
This is the most joyful I have seen him since I entered the castle.
"Well, we are outside the castle."
"You don't understand. We have never truly bonded."
"Well… we have a sire bond," he replies with a smile.
"You sound a lot like Silas right now."
"Well, we are cousins after all," he says with another laugh.
Too many laughs in one day.
"Come on. Let's head back."
By the time we return to the castle, the clouds have swallowed the sun.
The sky is dark.
The streets glow under the light of stars and the silver moon.
We walk through the shadows.
And oddly…
I am not afraid.
Not of the dark.
Not of the night.
Because I belong to it now.
I am one of the creatures that rule it.
I laugh softly to myself.
When we reach the castle, we part ways.
I return to the servants' quarters.
I have barely stepped into the kitchen since training — since the library — since that event.
No one has punished me for it.
But I know whispers exist.
Whispers of me weaving my way through power.
Whispers of me bedding the king's cousins to gain favor.
The servants would believe that easily.
I hear them.
Thanks to my heightened hearing.
But I also know something else —
I am stronger than most of them.
Aura-wise.
Power-wise.
If they tried anything, I could defend myself.
Yet strangely…
No one dares approach me.
And I do not know why.
I feel restless.
I want to practice.
Train.
Test my abilities on someone who is not my sparring partner.
I smile to myself.
When I finally reach my room, I see something on my bed.
A note.
I pick it up and read:
You missed your session with Silas. You were not in your room, nor were you in the library. Once you receive this note, make your way back to the private training room — where we had our first sparring session.
I don't need to think twice.
I don't need a sorcerer to tell me this message came from the king.
Which makes it even more confusing.
One minute, he avoids me.
The next minute, he summons me.
Odd.
Very odd.
But I do not dwell on it.
I head straight to the private training room.
When I arrive, I open the doors.
Silas is there.
And the king.
Silas looks at me like—
You actually came.
The king does not even spare me a glance.
This is weird.
"I saw your note," I say — more toward the king than Silas.
He acknowledges me with a simple nod.
"Get into position."
"You're going to spar with Silas."
"I thought we were sparring against each other."
"If I spar with you, I will kill you."
His tone is bored.
Cold.
Different from how he usually speaks to me.
Except for that night — in the judgment courtroom.
Whatever that moment was.
I cannot explain it.
I look at him.
Silas glances between us.
"Is there trouble?" Silas asks.
Darren glares at him.
"You people are going to fight. And I am going to fix your positions and your stances."
"Now begin."
I am not prepared.
"Begin!" he commands.
Silas lunges at me.
His kick lands against my ribs — unexpected.
I quickly regain balance and elbow him in the neck.
He counters.
My leg instinctively rises.
I strike him in the groin.
A terrible move.
A predictable move.
But effective.
Silas collapses to the floor groaning.
"Oh — I'm sorry," I say immediately.
"Never apologize to your enemy," the king snaps.
"He's not my enemy."
Silas raises a thumb from the ground.
"I thought vampires heal quickly."
"Quick healing for cuts and punches — not for knees to the nuts," Silas groans.
I feel guilty.
The king looks at me.
I cannot read that look.
"Enough," he says.
"Now — spar with me."
"I thought you said if you spar with me, you'd kill me."
"I'll go easy on you."
His words make my heart jump.
I am giddy.
Excited.
We begin.
He goes easy.
Too easy.
So easy that I notice.
He is holding back.
It frustrates me.
I know I have surpassed this level.
He is treating me like I am fragile.
Like I need protection.
Annoying.
But every time our fingers touch —
He flinches.
As if burned.
He avoids physical contact.
Yet…
His touch feels familiar.
Too familiar.
Like he has touched me before.
Like my body recognizes his.
It makes no sense.
We continue.
He tumbles me.
My back hits the mat.
"You are distracted," he says.
"You are distracting me!" I snap back.
Silas makes a strange noise.
"Why is there so much tension in this room? I do not like tension."
"There is something wrong," I point out.
"There is nothing wrong," the king replies.
"You are distracted. It is not good for you."
"Why are you acting weird?"
"You are the one acting weird."
"Stop pointing fingers at me!"
"You keep answering my questions with questions!"
"I don't even know what to say to you!"
"You are frustrated — and you are pouring it on me."
"I am not!"
"Stop making me sound crazy!"
"You are not crazy."
His eyes hold emotion.
Too much emotion.
But he hides it.
Why is he behaving like this?
Another round begins.
The tension thickens.
The crickets outside signal time passing.
Night deepens.
Finally, I give up.
"I should go back."
"We are not done," he says.
"I am tired," Silas interrupts.
"Vampires don't get tired."
"I prefer my lab over this tension," Silas mutters.
The king nods.
"Okay. Let her go."
I feel a strange emptiness when his hands leave mine.
Why do I miss his warmth?
I mentally facepalm.
I bow slightly.
Then I walk behind Silas as we return to our quarters.
Silas breaks the silence.
"His body language is screaming guilty."
"What?"
"He looks guilty."
"Of what?"
"I don't know."
"Has he offended you?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
For the second time — apart from that first moment when he tried to convince Cassian not to turn me — Silas sounds serious.
Then he switches back to his careless attitude.
"I don't want to understand it," he says.
"Neither do I."
We part ways.
I return to my room.
I lie down.
And I replay everything in my mind.
What does Silas mean —
His body language is screaming guilty?
Why is the king guilty?