An itch travelled through the vampire's jaw like a hot rush, his fangs aching to pierce through flesh. A sensation alike of needles grazing his skin, the coldness of his blood was seeking warmth. This pain only added to his discomfort as he pushed a few stands of silver hair out of his face. Momentarily, the vampire's eyes averted from the large set of doors and flied to the window. Over the glass, the night invited him to abandon the cold throne and quench his thirst.

With a silent sigh, his gaze turned to the looking presence beside him, the vampire meeting his eyes with a nonchalnt expression. "In due time, Your Highness," his advisor spoke, guessing the question before it even came out of the ruler's mouth.

The nobilty standing at the sides of the room was growing impatient of the wait, whispering hushed words to each other. The Commander was late, and now each moment seemed to drag on, further increasing the monarch's frustrations.

It had been mere moments before the doors to the throne room parted, a single vampire walking up to the throne. The messenger's form was hunched as she kneeled in front of them. "Your Highness, Commander Aelius is dead," she spoke. "Our forces at Lorn village were vanquished by Gharnadul's knights."

Silence fell, the treacherous whispers turning into looks full of mockery and taunt. Their lips twitched into venomous smiles, none daring to speak yet.

Galar could feel their eyes on him as they anticipated words that he did not have. This failure, they were awaiting for it. The vampire felt his mind go blank and a terrible dizziness overcame him. He placed a hand over his head, recounting his thoughts. Commander Aelius is dead.

The knights of Gharnadul had gained knowledge of the attack soon enough to reach the village before his forces took over. Commander Aelius was known to work with secrecy, yet he had failed so miserably- no, Galar himself had failed.

"With all respect, Your Highness, I believe I had expressed my concerns Commander Aelius was not the right one to lead this attack. He was far too abrasive for such a matter."

Galar did not bother to glance at the one that had spoken up. Soon others would follow.

"Your Highness, if we fail to even occupy the borders, then we should reconsider the power that Gharandul holds."

"Someone needs to ascend to Commander Aelius's position. The knights can not be left with no lead."

Their voices were rising and the ruler could sense the growing uproar between the nobles.

"Another defeat we must endure. . . the late King left a fool for a heir."

The words pierced through Galar like a well-sharpened dagger, said loud enough for him to hear over the commotion.

"That is enough. Your concerns will be answered, but for now, His Highness wishes to be left alone." Lord Lysander's voice filled the throne room and the vampires seemed to go silent, one by one begrudgingly bowing and taking their leave. Galar waited until they were all gone, exhaling deeply and casting a thankful glance to the vampire beside him. The Lord's gaze had now turned strict again.

"Your Highness, we are wasting valuable time and resources, " he said. "Gharnadul is nothing but an impoverished province, ruled by one of its past conquerors. Its people still feel the fear of your father's massacres in a land that should belong to us. We must seize the opportunities before they raise their spirits!"

Galar nodded along with the vampire's words, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. The massacres, his father's reign of blood, it was the path he was supposed to follow. "Lord Lysander, I heed your advice, I truly do."

A cold chuckle left the Lord's lips, usually an indication of his annoyance. "No, Your Highness. You do not understand." His hand came to rest on the monarch's shoulder, almost gripping in a harsh manner. "If you would follow me."

Knowing it wasn't really a request, Galar rose to his feet. Perhaps it would be pleasant to take a stroll around the castle, something he hardly had time for after assuming his duties as King. At 22 years of age he would still have the duties of a prince, were it not for the late King's untimely passing. After an exhausting battle in one of Gharnadul's towns, King Alaion had been gravely injured leading to his unfortunate death when Galar was only 12 years old. The young prince had been forced to ascend to the throne with haste.

Galar walked close beside Lord Lysander as they made their way out of the dark throne room and into a much lighter hallway. Although darkness was not an obstacle to his kind, Galar always preferred the warm glow of candlelight.
His eyes lifted upwards, lingering on the large paintings that decorated the walls. Illustrations of his ancestors battles, victories, betrothals, massacres. He came to stand next to Lord Lysander who was gazing upon a particular image. Galar felt a chill run through him even if there was no window open for a breeze to come in.

A town drowning in blood, its undoubtedly human residents fleeing in all directions. A dark figure loomed above them, holding the terrified creatures over its beastly mouth and devouring them one by one. The God he worshipped.

"Your loyalty lies to the God, Your Highness. You should feel gratitude that our Lord Veanke chose your bloodline to lead us all to glory, to offer him the blood of our thralls," Lord Lysander spoke, his crimson eyes glinting. "Do not forget your duty, Galar. "

The vampire stared at the painting for a bit longer, before letting his head drop. His father had followed his duty, yet the God had still taken him, taken him too soon. He sighed, disregarding the grief he was feeling. It wasn't the moment for it, at least it never seemed to be in his advisor's presence.

"And remember, our beauty lies in cruelty."

"Come now, Your Highness, you need to rest." Lord Lysander's voice had suddenly turned back to a comforting tone.

"Regarding Gharnadul and the knights-"

"No more decisions for now, Galar. We'll let them come to us," the vampire reassured as he walked the ruler to his chambers. Galar seemed to only nod in silent agreement, the doors of his living quarters shutting close and leaving the advisor out.

Lord Lysander's lips lifted into a satisfied smile. He slowly made his way to the tower while he hummed a soft tune, the melody echoing between the walls of the castle. At the top of the tower the messenger awaited.

"The Commander's fraction was sighted days ago by the villagers, as you ordered, my Lord. Gharnadul's knights massacred them," she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

The vampire offered her a tight smile as he then gazed ahead into the distance of the North. "Very well done my dear, very well indeed."

"So, my Lord, what shall our next move be?"

The messenger grinned, approaching the vampire closer to the edge. However the smile was wiped off her lips as icy cold fingers wrapped around her throat, the Lord's nails digging into her flesh. Ripping skin and muscle, Lord Lysander tore her heart out of her chest, swiftly discarding it. Her body shuddered one last time as it was thrown off the tower, crashing to the ground below.

The Lord grimaced and wiped his bloodied hand on his robes. Unfortunately for the messenger, she had ran out of ways to be of use to him. And anyone else that knew about his plans was an unfortunate obstacle in his path.

Oh how he wished to be the one chosen by the almighty God to rule. But even Gods sometimes made mistakes.

For years he had been a useless monarch, a pawn in the game Lord Lysander had been committed to against Gharnadul. And he was so close to winning. But the young ruler had grown up and become a vampire of his own. He wasn't an easily manipulated child anymore and that enraged the Lord greatly. So did his countless questions.

Throughout his lifetime of 200 years, Alaion had ruled Charis with an iron fist. The people of Charis praised him for his devotion to their God, for Alaion had painted the lands red with human blood. His massacres would forever remain in history as the most gruesome. But in the massacre of Korr, the vampire King had sustained a grave injure that later led to his death, leaving behind a young son and a heartbroken mother.

Alaion's son was the exact opposite. Since young, Lord Lysander had sensed his gentle and pitiful nature. Galar was vampire with a human's heart, a weak vampire. And now he struggled to follow in his father's steps, making Lord Leander believe that his plans had to unfold fast. Before the vampire monarch doomed them all.

He ignored his duty to the God and his defiance would inevitably be punished. It was futile to fight against one's fate when a God was involved in it. Lord Leander only wished that Galar's punishment wouldn't be inflicted upon his people. They did not deserve the incompetence of their ruler.

Lord Lysander gritted his teeth and paced around, letting the cold wind blow against his face. He had spent 50 years by Alaion's side and 22 more by his useless son's side. It was time for a change.

Even Gods made mistakes. And Galar was one of them.