"She's your Master, ain't she? You take care of it." Qadir barely reacted, a wooden box thrown at his feet. He was just passing by the cuisine quarters, hardly expecting anyone to talk to him, let alone order him around. "There's more outside." The older human added with a hand motion, annoyance clear upon his voice.

He was tempted to just completely ignore whatever it was the man had tasked him to, but he did mention Silia. He grabbed the box, hardly caring about its weight, before making his way into the kitchen. As he sat the wooden box on one of the shelves, he popped it open. The content were all blood bags, the ones she usually fed on. I need to put them in cold, he thought.

Placing them as he made his way back outside, he found the pile of boxes of the same purpose. At the last piece though, he noticed that they had some sort of label glued on them. Now that he thought about it, he never actually wondered where the blood Silia fed on came from, just that the household had a decent amount of it. Turning the wooden piece over, he read above it.

He didn't recognize the addresses on them nor cared for the weight and dimensions of the box, what he did notice was the Sender part marked with the Avram seal. The Royal family's one.

He frowned. Qadir always assumed, perhaps wrongfully, that only the Nandors knew of Silia's condition. But then, how many people knew? No. There was another question, the one who was fuming through his mind though he knew there'd be no answers. 

Why on Earth was a petty noble like Silia worth enough for the Royals to go out of their way? What interest could they possibly have in keeping her alive? She wasn't exactly a beloved figure, even among her own kin.

The sight of the Avram crest stamped so plainly on the boxes gnawed at him. As more slaves entered the kitchen quarters, he quickly finished storing the last blood bags.

Back outside, the early dawn air was cool and still. He paused in the courtyard, leaning against the stone wall while trying to piece it all together. There had to be more to it than just a sense of duty. What even was duty for the likes of vampires?

Qadir's thoughts shifted back to the ball, the way Princess Irina had spoken to Silia. Friendly, yes, as his Master had described. But perhaps not in the way someone of her station would normally engage with a lesser noble. He needed more information.

The courtyard around him began to stir with life as more servants moved about, preparing for another day of endless duties. But Qadir remained in place, staring into the distance with his mind racing. The royal family held all the power in this realm. They wouldn't extend their resources without reason. Whatever the connection was between Nandors and Avrams, it was more than he had been led to believe.

Straightening himself, Qadir made his way toward the quieter hidden corridors of the estate. If the royals were watching over Silia, for whatever reasons, there was a chance they were watching everyone around her too. He couldn't afford to be caught off guard by them, of all people. He had been lucky at the ball already with Irina being the chosen royal emissary.

It wasn't the first trip into the library of the Nandor the human was making but for once, he knew of a bit more on what to look for. He had assumed after scanning through the large room that there was nothing of interest. Their House weren't that relevant and didn't hold anything useful book wise. But he could've been wrong, maybe he had overlooked it.

The library of House Nandor was an imposing space despite its relative lack of prominence. It was filled with dust-coated shelves, ancient tomes with worn spines and scrolls tucked away in corners that hadn't been disturbed in years. It felt more like a forgotten relic than a place of proper knowledge.

Cobwebs had quietly claimed the upper corners of the room. He could tell even cleaning hadn't been done correctly for a good while. He wondered if specifically chosen slaves were picked for interacting with such materials but then again, it's not like that many of them could read.

His eyes roved over the worn titles as he moved through the aisles, hoping for something—a journal, a correspondence—that might shed light on the Nandors ties to the royal family. After seeing the Avram seal on the blood boxes earlier, he knew there had to be something about the two Houses on paper.

But the deeper he delved, the more underwhelming his findings became. He opened a dusty ledger to find enlarged correspondences, their content dull and mundane. The first was a series of letters between Nandor and a minor noble family about taxes. They argued over tarifs of imported fabrics and the price of grain during a poor harvest year. Another set of documents contained negotiations about the annexation of a small city near the coast, a debate that went back and forth for years without much resolution.

Qadir frowned, flipping through more pages each less interesting than the last. Trade agreements, family disputes over dowries, requests for aid during regional conflicts—it was all routine noble business. Nothing hinted at anything larger, and certainly nothing connected to the royal family's mysterious involvement in Silia's health.

Frustration crept in as he scanned more and more useless documents. A map of the Nandor territories caught his eye, it was a simple layout of their holdings: forests, small villages, and farmland. No secret marks or hidden routes. He traced his finger along the inked lines, half-expecting some clue to appear, but there was nothing.

With a sigh, Qadir shoved the map back onto the shelf. It was a dead end.

Just as he was about to give up, he heard the faint sound of the door of the entrance closing in as footsteps approached. His instincts kicked in as he quickly ducked behind a tall shelf, pressing himself against the wall, his heart racing. The steps grew louder, though they were light. And insanely familiar. As he quickly took a look over, he confirmed his guess. Silia.

She looked over the table as she made her way around it before stopping abruptly. Silence fell for a short while before her gaze turned toward him. "Do you want me to pretend you're not in here?" She asked softly, waiting.

Qadir cursed under his breath. He stepped out from his hiding place, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he met her gaze. She was standing in near the table still, arms crossed, one brow arched with an expression of curiosity rather than anger.

"I simply wasn't expecting you." Qadir said, trying to play it off as casually as possible.

Silia narrowed her eyes but seemed more amused than anything else. "Clearly." She took a step closer, her gaze flicking between the bookshelves and the table scattered with the materials he had been looking through. "Why are you in here? I know you've always been rather curious but you've never exactly strike me as the scholar type."

Qadir shrugged, hoping to deflect her suspicion. "Maybe I've taken up an interest in maps and historical land disputes." She rolled her eyes. "Right. Because tax negotiations are so thrilling."

He chuckled slightly, shaking his head. "I'll admit, this isn't the most exciting place I've ever been to." He gestured toward the mess of papers. "But I thought there might be something worth looking at."

Silia tilted her head, her expression a bit more cautious now. "Something worth looking at? What exactly are you hoping to find?"

Qadir shifted his weight, giving a sheepish grin. "If I'm being honest, I'm here because of the ball." He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture of feigned embarrassment. "I didn't know half as much as I should about the ones I'm supposedly serving. Every other bloodslave I spoke to seemed to know their Houses inside and out—family history, alliances, all that. I looked like an idiot in comparison." Silia raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt, her interest evident.

"I figured..." Qadir continued, "If I'm going to remain here, I should at least know a bit more about it. Thought maybe I could find something useful in here. You know, family records or whatever." He shrugged. That should hit home enough, he thought.

Silia's expression softened, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "You felt embarrassed?" She asked, a hint of guilt creeping into her tone.

Qadir nodded, keeping up the act. "It's not your fault." He dismissed quickly. "I just figured I'd take the initiative. I didn't want to look incompetent again if I'm ever in front of others."

Silia sighed, her arms falling to her sides. "I... didn't realize. I've never really thought about what you might need to know." She admitted. "I'm not exactly used to this. I know I've never really... taught you anything." Her words were genuine, a moment of vulnerability slipping through. "I just assumed you'd pick things up on your own."

Qadir shook his head, feigning reassurance. "It's not your responsibility. I'm here to serve you, not the other way around."

"No." She cut in, her voice firmer now, "It is my responsibility. If you're serving my House, you should have the tools to do that properly." She glanced around the room then back at him, her gaze thoughtful. "You can take whatever you want from here and keep them in my quarters. Any books or records that would help. I don't think anyone will mind."

Qadir allowed a grateful nod. "I appreciate that."

Silia sat on the table as he moved toward one of the shelves, picking up another document to inspect, he couldn't help but notice the overwhelming number of maps scattered throughout the library. "You have a lot of maps here." He said, casually holding one up to emphasize the point. "Seems like every other book or scroll is about territories or land."

Silia nodded softly, her arms resting her as she sat in a more relaxed stance. "Yeah, that's one of the few things we're known, well, used to be known, for. Mapping." She said, her voice holding a trace of pride despite the self-deprecating tone. "A long time ago, my ancestors were some of the best cartographers in the lands. The Nandors were incredibly skilled at mapping new territories, charting routes, and navigating areas that no one else could. It was an extremely valuable art back then."

Qadir glanced back at the shelves, nodding as he looked over more maps. "So, that's how your family became part of the nobility? By charting maps?"

Silia gave a small smile, her eyes distant as if remembering something she had only heard in stories. "Yes. They mapped out everything from trade routes to hidden pathways through forests and mountain passes. It helped them gain favor with more powerful Houses and even the Crown." She went on. "Have you ever heard of the Winter and Summer lands? Surely you have."

Qadir nodded. "I've met a lot of humans whose goal were to reach them but it's all legends, isn't it?" He could remember it, how many times had he heard of those. Whether it'd be in the caves or whichever companions he had made from his former low slave life, they all talked about it like some sort of promised land.

That over there, you'll find humans who have evolved from the extreme hardships of those regions. That witches originated from there. That you'll find freedom from your former life... Qadir never cared much for it.

Even if such lands and people came to exist, why would they help humankind? They supposedly lived perfectly well on their own. If anything, there could be another sort of being leaving them to slavery, same as here. To him, it was made up stories where you'll add anything you'd wish for that was deemed impossible in this life.

Silia let out a soft chuckle, her fingers tapping idly on the wooden desk. "Legends always originate from somewhere, don't they?" Her eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he gave her a look. "Those lands are very real. Though, I doubt far to what you must've heard."

Qadir raised an eyebrow, his skepticism palpable as he waited for her to go on.

"They're supposedly at the very north and at the very south of the Empire. Unconquered areas that were never even explored due to the extreme weather there. There's a saying that goes; "Even a vampire in the Winter lands can feel the cold, as he would feel thirst for water in the Summer lands". They're almost unreachable because of that, most sees them as random pieces of Earth." She shrugged. "There's no blood, no resources. It's a barren wasteland for our kind. Nothing to conquer, nothing to gain."

Qadir tilted his head, mulling over her words. "But humans still try to reach it."

"Desperation breeds fantasy." Silia said with a shrug. "They think there's something better out there, something more than the life they've been given. But even if they did reach those lands, they'd find nothing but death."

He ran a hand through his hair, his mind flicking back to the countless stories he'd heard over the years. "What about the witches?" He tried.

Silia paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Witches are real enough; one sits at the very throne next to our King. But as for them coming from those lands? I don't know. No one really does. It's all speculation. From what our world knows, it's unlikely."

Qadir examined one of the older maps, the ink faded but the precision of the lines still clear. "It's impressive work." He said, meaning it.

"It is. But like most things, the art's been lost over the centuries." She explained. "Now, we're just another noble house, clinging to old glories." She paused, her eyes flickering toward the door. "Most of the interesting things wouldn't be in this estate anyway. Only Meyena's parents and a few of my cousins live here. The real legacy of the Nandors is in Virnan, our principal vampire coastal city. That's where the real history is kept. Our biggest estate, where most of our ancestors are buried and live still."

Qadir froze, a sound of annoyance almost dripping through his mouth. Now he understood why that library felt so void for such a House. He looked at her, intrigued. "So this is just a side branch?" Silia nodded. "More or less. My cousins and I are the youngest generation—"

"Silia!" A voice echoed through the hall, cutting through the quiet of the library.

She sighed, instantly recognizing the voice. It was one of her cousins—Ivan, by the sound of it. The annoyance was evident in his tone, though it was far too familiar. He rarely ever called her for something important, yet he always had the ability to interrupt at the worst times.

Silia glanced toward the door then back at Qadir, her eyes narrowing as if contemplating whether to ignore the summon altogether. "Seems I'm needed elsewhere." She said, rolling her eyes as she pushed herself to stand up.

Qadir raised an eyebrow, glancing between her and the door. "You're just going to leave me here?"

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Why not? Like I said, take whatever you want." Qadir nodded, but his eyes stayed on her, clearly aware she was leaving him unattended.

As she started to walk toward the door, Silia turned back one last time. "If you do happen to find something interesting, don't keep it to yourself." There was an edge of mischief in her voice, and with that, she exited the library. Qadir was left alone, the dim light from the high windows casting long shadows over the shelves, leaving him in the quiet company of books, maps, and forgotten histories.

Silia walked briskly down the hallway, rounding the corner as she spotted Ivan who was lounging casually against a pillar, a frown already painted on his lips. His gaze met hers with that unmistakable glint and she knew immediately that whatever he had to say was going to be a pain.

"There you are." He called, pushing himself off the pillar with an almost lazy shove. His voice was cold, as though her appearance were a personal inconvenience. "The library, was it?" He pretended to guess, though the condescending undertone was unmistakable.

Silia narrowed her eyes, already growing impatient at the thought of going away. "What do you want, Ivan? I was busy."

Ivan let out a low chuckle, stepping toward her with a deliberate slowness, like a predator sizing up its prey. "I find that hard to believe." His words laced with mockery.

Silia crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "Get to the point or I'm leaving."

For a moment, Ivan's lips twisted into a smirk. "Uncle's leaving tonight." He finally said, the casual tone making it seem as if he were delivering insignificant news though his eyes betrayed something more calculated.

Silia raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And what about it?"

It wasn't unusual that the Earl and his wife came and go between the estate and Virnan, sorting things out, exchanging with different family members... He was much more away than present, which was expected from the Head of the family.

"Thought you'd care." Ivan muttered, the smirk never leaving his face as he closed the distance between them, his presence looming.

"I don't see why it matters." She plainly replied.

His eyes darkened, that was when she knew there was more behind his words. "It matters because you've been stepping out of line lately." Ivan sneered, his voice dropping low, threatening. "I won't stand aside as you try to cross us, Silia."

"Excuse me?" She frowned, confusion filling her as her gaze moved back and forth between his hand, now firmly holding her elbow and his face.

"You think because you've got a minute to shine, you'll actually be worth something in this family?" His voice was a low growl, the hostility spilling out in waves.

"What are you going on about, Ivan?" Silia stepped back, or well, tried to, as the tension in the air thickened enough to cut.

"I'm the one that'll put glory back to our House, not you. And idle chat with royalty isn't going to cut it." Ivan spat, his voice dripping with malice.

"You need help. Medical one." She pauses. "For you brain." She clarified, looking at him in utter disbelief. She could feel the crack before she heard it, the sickening snap that sent agony shooting through her elbow.

Silia felt at a loss for words. Of course, she was used to negative attention from others around within the household. But to think the only way to make her relevant enough, either as a threat or an opportunity through their eyes was because she merely spoke to a Royal for a few minutes gave her nausea.

As she moved forward ready to attack her cousin back, short steps were echoing through the hall. Leandra appeared, her eyes catching the two of them before she approached. She hesitated for a moment, sensing the tension in the air but greeting them politely nonetheless.

The human gave the pair a short nod. "Master Ivan, Master Silia." Silia barely managed a nod, biting down on her lip to keep from lashing out on anything standing near her. Ivan, meanwhile let go of her arm, the smirk returning to his lips as he acknowledged the bloodslave with a curt nod.

Leandra quickly made her exit, her footsteps fading as she disappeared around the corner, leaving the two of them alone again.

"Sees, that's how your bloodslave should act." Ivan sneered after her.

Silia clutched her arm, the pain still radiating from her elbow, but she refused to show weakness. "I don't recall asking."

Ivan chuckled darkly, stepping away as if satisfied with the damage he'd done. "Remember your place, Silia. You'll never be more than a stain on this family's name." With that, he turned and walked away leaving Silia standing in the hallway, her heart pounding and her elbow throbbing painfully.

She watched him leave, the anger bubbling beneath her pain. Her gaze fixated on his figure slowly drifting away as she pictured herself through dozens of scenarios to break his neck from behind. She let out a sigh as he grew further. I'll just go back to Qadir, she thought.

She'd hoped to return to the library, even if it meant distracting him from his pointless curiosity about their House. She'd probably start ranting on how she hated every living being of the estate anyways. But as she turned the corner, her steps slowing down as she neared the entrance, Silia stopped dead in her tracks.

"I didn't expect you to behave so well at the ball." Meyena's voice was heard, her eyes gleaming with an odd sort of amusement.

The two of them stood at the entrance, their figures a sharp contrast to the light wood of the library doors. Silia was ready to burst forward, stopping whatever conflict her cousin might've been about to inflict into Qadir, but she abruptly stopped.

"You had expectations?" He asked back, his voice slightly lower than the tone she had learnt to recognize. Silia blinked from the shadows of the hallway; her eyes careful as she watched them interact.

"I always do, for everyone." Her eyes narrowed at him. "And everything." She added. Meyena's voice was light, lilting, with that same smug tone that always laced her words when she felt she had the upper hand. She had that sight of someone in control, someone who knew exactly how to bend others to her will.

Qadir stood there, tall and composed, his expression unreadable as always. His hands were clasped lazily behind his back, a gesture that would made him appear more formal if it wasn't for the insufferable air of smugness he always carried. He didn't break eye contact with Meyena.

"My cousins weren't happy either, you know. They expected a mess." Meyena said with a low, teasing tone. There was a pause, the quiet hanging heavy in the air before Qadir responded.

"I don't recall having to care for the thoughts of others beside my Master, do I?" He replied, his voice smooth but with that familiar edge. Meyena let out a soft, almost musical laugh.

"Everyone cares for something, Qadir. Even you, I'm sure."

Silia clenched her fists, the blood pulsing in her injured elbow. Meyena had a point. No one in this world, no matter how strong or indifferent they appeared was completely immune to the forces around them. But it was Meyena's voice, that smug confidence, that made it unbearable. It was as if she had her claws in everything and everyone.

"You're right." Qadir said after a beat. His voice was low as well, contemplative. "I do."

She turned over swiftly, unable to keep her gaze on them. Something in the way he said it struck her, like a quiet admission of something deeper. Her mind raced as she stood, pressed against the cool stone wall. Why would it hurt to hear him say that? And in front of her cousin, of all people...

Meyena didn't miss a beat, leaning in just slightly, her smile widening. "I'll be glad to lend a hand." She murmured, her words dripping with suggestive intent. "If you were mine."

Silia's stomach twisted and for a moment, she felt like the ground had slipped out from under her. She didn't need to see Meyena's face to know exactly what she meant by that. It was all in her tone, that thinly veiled offer.

Everyone knew Silia for her temper, her impulsivity. And yet, she couldn't gather any strength to stop these two, or throw a fit at what was going on. She refused to move. A bitter lump formed in her throat, her body going warmer at the disbelief mixing with her anger.

Meyena had always been like this—manipulative, always finding a way to assert dominance, to twist others around her finger. And now, Qadir was no exception. The very thought of him even considering Meyena's words made Silia's heart squeeze painfully.

Her gaze lowered, staring at the floor, unable to look up and face any of the situation. It felt as though the weight of her place in this world was pressing down on her all over again—an outsider. She didn't understand why her hopes had been up for some reason toward the man. He remained after all a human. A greedy one.

She darted back, turning on her heel as she walked away before she could hear Qadir's response, if he even dared to have one. Of course he will. She thought, rolling her eyes back. She didn't want to know.

She'd been foolish enough to think he could be different, that she could form any kind of connection that wasn't tainted by power and manipulation, by her own environment. The world she lived in didn't allow for that. And in case she forgot, her own family was there as a reminder.

Her steps quickened, echoing in the empty corridor as she put distance between herself and the conversation she hadn't meant to overhear. The ache in her elbow throbbed with every movement, a reminder of the physical pain that barely masked the deeper one lodged in her chest.

Silia strode down the hallway, her heels echoing like a relentless drumbeat against the stone floors, the sound framing the hallways. Her mind was a whirlwind of hurt and anger, tangled together until she couldn't tell one from the other. She hated Meyena for her smugness, the way she always managed to twist everything to her advantage with a few choice of words and a perfectly practiced smile. And she hated herself for letting it bother her.

Why does it matter? She'd asked herself the same question countless times, only for the bitterness to bubble up, just as vicious as before. Qadir had no reason to care about her, nor she about him. And yet, that tiny flicker of jealousy seared her pride, reminding her just how alone she truly was in this family, how little she meant to anyone here or afar.

Her fingers clenched, nails digging into her palm. This was exactly what they wanted, what they all thrived on—watching her fumble. And Qadir? He was just another part of it, another piece in the endless puzzle of people looking down on her. He had been bought for it.

Suddenly, her thoughts were disrupted by a shuffling sound. She looked up just in time to see a slave stumbling clumsily across her path. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with a greying beard and a wary, tired look. As he rounded the corner too quickly, he tripped, his shoes scuffing loudly against the floor before he caught himself with a startled gasp. His eyes met hers, widening as he realized who he'd nearly run into.

But instead of the expected fear, he quickly straightened himself, brushing off the incident with an air of near-indifference, not even bothering to lower his gaze. There was no nervousness in his face, no hasty apologies tumbling from his lips. He simply looked her over, unperturbed, as if he'd seen her for what she was: the weakling, the outsider, the vampire who couldn't—who wasn't even allowed to—bite back. A flicker of resentment crossed his expression, barely noticeable but to Silia, it was as glaring as a slap to the face.

Her vision blurred with anger. Without further thinking, she reached forward and seized him by the shoulder, her grip as cold and firm as iron. Before he had a chance to react, she hurled him toward the stone wall with unleashed force. The man's body collided against the wall, a sickening crack breaking the silence as he slid down, slumping to the floor. Blood trickled from his head, staining the pale stone beneath him.

Silia stared at him, barely registering the scene before her. All her life, she'd been used to this, hadn't she? Always on the outside, always a step behind, watching others have everything she would never have. Why does it matter? She asked herself the question again, but no proper answer came. She was a vampire; it was unnatural for her kind to handle well humiliation. It wasn't about Meyena or even Qadir.

They would never let her be part of their world—no amount of trying, of holding her head high, of pretending she was like them would ever change that. She turned away from the unconscious man on the floor. He didn't matter; none of them did. She didn't need them, any of them.