Qadir's steps were light as he moved farther down the empty corridor. The dull hum of distant conversation and music from the ballroom fading behind him, replaced by the oppressive silence of the Kadijan estate's empty halls. His eyes scanned the path ahead, searching for the stairwell he'd glimpsed at earlier, as they were all guided towards the organizations of the evening. The one leading into the deeper, darker parts of the castle.

He had long passed the servant quarter by now, his last string of excuse for his presence away from the ballroom drifting away. Just a few minutes, he told himself. It wasn't the smartest idea, wandering alone at this kind of event, away from all. He wasn't even sure what he was actually looking for, but he felt the need to dig around, the newest opportunity clouding his judgement slightly.

He kept his pace measured, weaving through dimly lit corridors, lined with towering statues of vampire ancestors and tapestries woven with bloody legends he could and couldn't recognize. His senses were attuned to every shadow, every flicker of movement. Just as he rounded a corner, making his way toward the searched stairwell, a sharp voice pierced the stillness.

"Where do you think you're going?!" A voice seethed from behind, the suddenness hitting him like a whip.

Qadir cursed under his breath, slowing his pace but not stopping. Damn it, not her.

Leandra's hurried footsteps echoed behind him. "Qadir!" She half-shouted, her voice already tight with suspicion.

"Learn to mind your business, woman!" He almost groaned back, despair shining through the annoyance he felt as he stopped dead in his tracks to face her.

"You think I don't know what you're doing? Trying to wander off like some sneaky little rat?" Leandra cut him off, catching up and grabbing his arm, her nails digging in.

Qadir pulled his arm free and glanced around, lowering his voice. "I'm just looking for a moment to breathe, Leandra. Get a little air."

Leandra's glare was sharp and accusing, her lips a thin line. But beneath the surface of her anger, there was something else—fear. She was always angry, arrogant, but tonight there was a tension in her posture, a nervous energy that betrayed her usual icy control.

"Breathe somewhere else." She hissed, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. Qadir opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of footsteps—a heavier, deliberate one—echoed through the corridor, sending a chill up her spine.

Leandra's face paled instantly. "Someone's coming." She whispered, panic flashing in her eyes as Qadir nodded, listening closely.

His eyes darted around, searching for somewhere to hide. His gaze landed on a small door under the stairs ahead. Without thinking, he grabbed Leandra's wrist and pulled her toward it.

"What the hell—" She started, but Qadir yanked open the door, revealing a cramped space filled with cleaning supplies. He shoved her inside and followed, shutting the door just as the approaching footsteps grew louder.

The sound of the vampire's shoes hitting the stone floor grew closer, the click of heels steady and ominous. Leandra held her breath, pressing herself against the confined walls, her eyes wide with fear. She trembled visibly as Qadir could feel the heat of her panic in the cornered space.

He peeked through the narrow crack of the door and saw a tall, elegant vampire pass by, dressed in dark ornate robes. The vampire paused for a moment, sniffing the air, then turned his head toward the closet.

His heart pounded in his chest. He exchanged a look with Leandra, whose face was now drained of color, her lips slightly parted in silent terror. If he opens the door... Qadir grabbed one of the brooms aligned in the space as the other human gave him a look of disbelief.

The vampire's hand hovered near the door and Qadir's stomach twisted in dread. But before the vampire could make a move, Leandra made a quiet, desperate noise—a tiny, involuntary whimper.

The vampire had heard it. Qadir hand shot out, grasping the handle, yanking the door open in one swift movement.

"Oh—" He went, acting startled. "Apologies, Sir." Qadir voiced, his usual casualness immediately coming back.

Qadir forced a smile as the vampire's piercing gaze swept over him and Leandra. The vampire was tall and imposing, his dark robes flowing like shadows, his eyes gleaming with the faintest red hue. The vampire stared at them, his thin lips curling in a cold smirk.

"Apologies?" He repeated softly, his voice laced with menace. "And what, pray tell, are two bloodslaves doing hiding in a broom closet?"

Qadir lifted the broom he'd grabbed, keeping his hand from shaking. "We were... Sent to get cleaning supplies, my Lord." He said, his voice steady, though every nerve in his body screamed at him to hit and run. "There was a spill in the ballroom. We didn't mean to disturb anyone."

Leandra, standing beside him, was rigid with fear, her knuckles white as she clutched a rag to her chest. Her eyes darted between Qadir and the vampire, a barely suppressed panic making her breathing quick and shallow as she nodded quickly.

The vampire's gaze lingered on her, and Qadir could feel the air grow heavy with the predator's interest. "Cleaning supplies?" he repeated slowly, as if savoring the words. He stepped closer, towering over them, and Leandra flinched, shrinking against the wall.

"Yes, my Lord." Leandra whispered, her voice barely audible. "We... We didn't mean to stray. Please. We were only following orders."

The vampire's eyes narrowed, and Qadir could see the fear tightening Leandra's posture, her eyes glistening as if she were on the verge of tears. She wasn't just scared—she was terrified. Qadir understood the weight of her fear though, she thought she might die at this very instant.

"Following orders?" The vampire mused, tilting his head slightly as if considering. His gaze flicked from the broom in Qadir's hand to the rag Leandra clutched. For a moment, the silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as the vampire's cruel smile widened. "I suppose that's believable... For now."

Leandra's shoulders sagged in relief, but Qadir noticed the tremble in her hands as she lowered them. The vampire studied them for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on Leandra's face. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the corridor like the tolling of a bell.

The moment he was out of sight, Leandra let out a shaky breath, her entire body sagging against the wall. Her eyes were wide, brimming with unshed tears as she fought to compose herself.

Qadir looked at her, his own heart still pounding. "We should get back—"

"Don't." Leandra snapped, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "I'll never follow you anywhere ever again." Her eyes glistened, and though she tried to maintain her usual sharp edge, the fear was too raw. One tear slipped down her cheek which she quickly wiped away, as if ashamed of showing weakness.

"Glad we agree on that." He stated quietly, watching her as she wiped her eyes again, trying to collect herself. Without planning to reply, she turned and walked away, her steps unsteady but determined. Qadir stood there for a moment, watching her retreat.

"Leandra." He voiced as the woman stopped, slowly turning over. "The worst thing you can do is showing them your fear. They thrive in it." He explained, slight pity marking his gaze. She looked at him for a short but tense moment, unsure of what to make of it.

A flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes, but the weight of his words loomed over her. Leandra opened her mouth to retort but closed it shortly after, swallowing back whatever bitter response had threatened to spill out. Instead, she simply turned away, her heart pounding in her chest as she walked back down the corridor.

Her fingers brushed against the cool, polished surface of the walls as she passed, seeking an anchor in the dimly lit corridor. The fear that had flickered in her chest now threatened to overtake her, but she fought against it, pushing her emotions down as she walked, forcing herself to breathe steadily.

He knew wandering the castle had been a reckless idea. Stupid, even. The weight of his history pressed on him. He had lived through more than most humans, had seen things most wouldn't believe, and that gnawing need to find some angle, some vulnerability against his captors was an obsession he couldn't shake away. It wasn't just curiosity. It was survival. And desperation.

He shook his head. Tonight, he had already pushed his luck far enough. As he made his way back swiftly to the bloodslave area, all he wished for was a chair to sit and spend the rest of the evening on. There wasn't any, though. So, he settled for leaning against the nearest wall, observing quietly the discussions taking places around him.

Every word he overheard was a piece of the puzzle he was trying to assemble, a puzzle that could potentially offer him a way out—or at least a better understanding of the intricate dynamics at play around him.

If Leandra had been in shambles just moments ago, she was now perfectly playing her part, mingling among others of her own. Qadir had noticed a few times, how she resembled Meyena. It wasn't in an obnoxious manner, but the way the girl held herself, moved around, or even how her hair was done... He wondered if it was intentional. Given the vampire's personality, it wouldn't surprise him.

The laughter and clinking of glasses filled the room, but he remained silent, content to observe. He felt the light weight of eyes on him, but he knew it would happen. Silia had warned him about it, though she was nowhere to be seen at the instant. Qadir found himself alone amidst the group of people, watching the movements of other with quiet interest.

"You're Lady Silia's bloodslave, right?" A voice asked, keeping his tone low, as if trying to avoid attracting attention. "I've seen you earlier, but I don't believe we've met."

Qadir shifted sightly, glancing over. The first thing he noticed was how similar the man looked to him. He had the same dark curls framing his face and a similar complexion. His features were strikingly familiar—the sharp lines of his nose, the slight beard outlining his jaw—but there were differences too.

He looked younger and was shorter, by a few good centimeters. He carried himself with a certain wariness, as if always keeping one eye on the vampires around them.

"I'm Dris, bound to Lord Altan of House Tareq." Qadir returned the nod, acknowledging the other bloodslave. "Qadir." he replied simply, still taking in the details of the ballroom. "And yes, Lady Silia is my Master." He wasn't sure why the man came to him, but given his attitude, perhaps the Houses they served had somewhat of a closure he wasn't aware.

Dris glanced around, then leaned in slightly. "Strange, isn't it? Being in a place like this for the first time." He asked, though there was no sort of malice in his tone—only quiet curiosity.

Qadir remained quiet for a moment, his gaze still wandering. "There's only a few remaining things I can call strange in this world." He finally replied, a short snort marking his face.

Dris smirked. "That's one way to put it." He nodded toward Princess Irina, surrounded by vampires on the far side of the room. "She's the reason why most of them bothered showing up."

Qadir followed Dris's gaze carefully. "Your Lord Altan enjoy these shows?" He asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"Not particularly." Dris replied, shifting slightly. "But tonight's important--" Before Dris could go on, a voice laced with mockery cut through their quiet exchange.

"Isn't this something? Having a nice little chat?" A man strolled toward them, his lips curled in a smirk, his robes signaling his high status among the humans gathered around. His steps were confident, his eyes gleaming with arrogance.

His eyes flicked over Qadir, then Dris. "I was wondering why the atmosphere felt so mundane. Now I see why—two slaves trying to play pretend in a place like this." Qadir didn't react, watching him with the same arrogance he always carried. Was this what this event was about, pointless interactions with overly confident idiots? If so, he understood Silia better now.

Dris shifted awkwardly beside Qadir, clearly eager to avoid further confrontation. "We were just talking, Kieran." He said, trying to defuse the situation.

"Tell me..." Kieran continued, his tone dripping with mockery. "What deep philosophical topic are you discussing? The meaning of servitude? How to best grovel before your masters?"

Qadir turned his attention slowly, meeting the man's gaze with a calm intensity that seemed to catch the twos off guard. "Is that a problem for you?" Qadir asked, his voice even.

Kieran's smirk faltered for a moment, his amusement giving way to irritation. He wasn't used to being spoken to so bluntly, especially not by someone from a lesser House. "Watch yourself, Nandor." Kieran said, his voice growing cold. "You might want to remember your place."

Qadir couldn't help but smirk. Whoever that human was, he knew who Qadir was and who he was owned by. But he couldn't say the same about him. Qadir looked at him blankly. "Who are you?" He asked once again, truthfully this time.

Dris took a step back, clearly sensing the tension rising, but Qadir didn't budge. Instead, he took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them. "I'm Kieran." He said, leaning in. "Bounded to House Kadijan. You're standing in my domain. You're going to want to remember that."

"I wasn't aware slaves could own anything." He smirked back.

Kieran's anger flared. His hand shot out, grabbing Qadir by the collar, pulling him closer. "You think you're funny? Because you're new, you can walk around with that smug look?" Dris looked around anxiously, clearly noticing the bits of attention the twos started to gather.

Qadir met Kieran's eyes without a trace of fear. Then, slowly, with a controlled motion, he grasped Kieran's wrist. With brute strength, Qadir began to peel the man's hand off his collar, prying it away with a measured, deliberate force.

"I'd be careful." Qadir said quietly, his voice cold and sharp. "There are other beings out here that can kill a human besides a vampire, in case you forgot." He voiced; the threat crystal clear through his tone.

Kieran's eyes widened slightly as his hand was removed, the raw strength behind Qadir's grip unexpected. The confidence in his own superiority wavered as he took a half step back, staring at Qadir in disbelief. Before the tension could escalate further, a new voice joined the fray.

"Everything alright here?"

A man stepped into the circle, his presence commanding immediate attention. His amber eyes swept over the scene with a calm authority, and it didn't take long for Kieran to step back further, his bravado quickly fading in the face of the fourth bloodslave.

His gaze flicked to Qadir, then back to Kieran. "I suggest we avoid any unnecessary incidents, especially tonight."

Kieran clenched his jaw but said nothing, clearly not wanting to push his luck with a royal emissary present. He gave Qadir one last look before turning sharply and disappearing into the crowd.

The new presence had shifted the energy immediately. Kieran may have retreated, but the tension in the air still lingered. Dris stood awkwardly beside Qadir, clearly relieved by the interruption but hesitant to get involved further.

The man turned to face Qadir, offering him a nod that was almost... respectful. It was a subtle gesture, but it wasn't lost on Qadir. "You handled that well." He said, his tone neutral but with a faint note of approval. "Kieran can be... difficult."

Qadir didn't respond right away. His eyes studied him, noticing how the man carried himself—tall, composed, and confident, but not arrogant like Kieran. There was something almost noble about the way he moved, though he was still a bloodslave, bound to serve just like the rest of them.

"I get used to difficult people." Qadir finally said, his voice calm as always.

He gave a small smile. "I suppose you do." There was a pause before he extended his hand. "Ruvan, bound to Princess Irina Avram."

Qadir hesitated for a moment, the gesture catching him off guard. It had been a long time since anyone had extended their hand to him, especially not as a sign of mutual respect. He reached out, shaking Ruvan's hand firmly. The contact felt strange, almost foreign, a reminder of how far he had fallen in the social order. "Qadir. Bound to Lady Silia Nandor." He replied, releasing the handshake.

Ruvan nodded slightly to Dris, the two acknowledging each other as well. He seemed to sense that the conversation had turned into something more meaningful than just idle pleasantries, which was a surprising turn of events that calmed his nerves down a notch.

"You don't look like someone who's new to this world." Ruvan said, his tone casual but observant, as though he were sizing Qadir up. "You handle yourself well, for someone in... your position."

Qadir's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the subtle dig in Ruvan's words. "You mean, for a human?"

"Yes, for a human." He added, almost rolling his eyes as his gaze swept over the crowd of bloodslaves in the room. "Most of them forget themselves... What they are." Ruvan voiced softly, a sound that was surprisingly warm. "But still, we're all in the same position, after all."

Qadir raised an eyebrow. "Are we?" His tone wasn't accusatory, but the question hung in the air.

Ruvan considered that for a moment before nodding. "Not really." he admitted. "But regardless of who we serve, we face the same dangers, don't we?"

There was something about the way Ruvan said that, a quiet understanding that ran deeper than the surface of their conversation. Qadir didn't know much about him yet, but the way Ruvan carried himself, the subtle respect he had shown, was enough to make him stand out among the rest.

"Fair point." Qadir replied, his voice steady. He looked over, finally spotting Silia far among the crowd of creatures.

. . .

"Lady Silia. It's good to see you." Princess Irina stepped in, her delicate but striking features brightening as she approached. Silia's stomach tightened at the sight of her. Irina, the youngest of the royal family and tenth child of the King, radiated an effortless charm that could disarm even the most hardened of hearts.

With hair that shimmered like brown zircon, Irina's locks rested tightly braided at the top of her head, framing her face and emphasizing her large, expressive eyes. Those eyes, a vivid shade of sand brown, sparkled with a blend of mischief and warmth, hinting at the playful spirit that lay beneath her polished exterior. Her lips that curved into a perpetual smile, which seemed to light up the room.

Silia blinked, surprised by the warmth in Irina's voice. Royals weren't known for their kindness, especially not toward someone like her. She was frankly surprised the girl even knew her name. But Irina seemed... genuine, though there was a practiced elegance in the way she spoke.

Her gown, a rich hue of pink adorned with intricate embroidery hugged her slender figure, accentuating her graceful posture. The fabric flowed elegantly around her, pooling softly at her feet. Irina exuded a sense of youthful exuberance, yet there was an underlying maturity to her demeanor, a true reflection of her upbringing.

"Your Highness." Silia replied with a respectful nod, though she couldn't hide the slight edge in her tone. "It's an honor."

Irina waved her hand, dismissing the formality. "Please, there's no need for that. After all, we're the same age, aren't we?" She smiled, her eyes sparkling with something Silia couldn't quite place.

Silia hesitated, unsure how to respond. She wasn't used to being treated as an equal, especially by someone like Irina. "We are...?" She replied, question lacing her tone. Irina nodded shortly, her smile widening, and for a moment, Silia saw a glimpse of something more within the gaze of the princess. Relief.

"Yes, definitely. I made a point to check—seems I'm a few months younger though." she added with a playful wink. Silia couldn't help but be amused, despite her nervousness. Why would a Royal even cares to check for such things? She wondered.

"I don't think we've ever formerly met, yet. But I've heard of you."

"You did." Silia affirmed; her brows furrowing as she let an embarrassed smile frame her face. Whatever the Princess did hear, it must've been about the many scenes she had caused over the years. "I tend to avoid those kinds of events nowadays." She added truthfully.

"I get it." The Princess stated simply, before allowing herself to talk more openly as she looked around. "In truth, so do I. At first, I was so excited about having to attend to all those balls and social affairs." She smiled ironically. "Then, I realized I was the one sent as an emissary by my family because they wouldn't bother with those. Since I'm the youngest, I don't have much say." She grimaced, waving her hand.

"We're not that different then." Silia replied shyly, her anxiety ever so slowly drifting away. "I was forced to attend because it had been so long already since I came to one of these events." Irina smiled back at the shared experience.

"Honestly, if I have to hear one more person talk about the weather as if it's some grand revelation, I might lose it." Silia raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her expression.

"I suppose small talk isn't exactly riveting." She wondered how different the event must be for the two of them. Silia hardly could breathe before another person she despised came to taunt her. Maybe not that different, she realized.

"Exactly!" Irina exclaimed, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "I mean, we're vampires—immortal, powerful, feared—and we're here discussing whether or not it might rain next week. It's ridiculous."

"Wait until they hear of the next Winter storm." Silia added before laughing softly, a genuine laugh she hadn't expected to share tonight.

Irina grinned, clearly pleased to have drawn out Silia's laughter. "See? You get it. And look at that one." She nodded subtly towards a vampire across the room, dressed in ostentatious silks and jewels. "He's been rambling on about his 'rare collection' of imported human wines for the past half hour. As if anyone actually cares? I don't even like wine!" She whined.

Silia glanced at the vampire in question, then back at Irina. "Is it bad?" She wondered.

"Girl—Don't even." Irina puffed, shaking her head in frantic nods of yes.

Before Irina could go on—which she clearly intended on, an older vampire approached dressed in red robes, the insignia of the Royal House shining on his chest. He gave a polite bow to the princess. "Your Highness, I beg your pardon for the interruption, but Lord Adam has requested your presence. He wishes to discuss the matter of the Western Province."

Irina's expression shifted slightly, her smile fading into a more formal demeanor. "Of course, he does." She sighed, rolling her eyes before giving Silia an apologetic look. "Duty calls, it seems. I hope we get a chance to speak again, Lady Silia."

Silia nodded, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on her face. "Of course, Your Highness. Thank you for your time."

Irina's gaze lingered for a moment, her smile softening once more before she turned away, her robes flowing elegantly behind her as she followed the older vampire into the throng of guests. Silia watched her go, feeling a strange sense of lightness. It had been a long time since she'd felt anything close to friendliness from another vampire, let alone a royal.

She hadn't even realized how much she wished for that. A sigh escaped her lips, one she didn't realize she'd been holding either. The interaction had been so... ordinary. Such unlike of what she had grown accustomed to in her life.

Loneliness was something Silia knew all too well. It clung to her like a second skin, a constant companion that never truly left, no matter how many people surrounded her. She could still remember, even as a child, trying her best to fit in, to be the daughter her family wanted her to be. She had wanted nothing more than their approval, to be part of this world in a real way.

Despite all the hatred that simmered within her toward her own family, there was still a part of her that longed for their acceptance, their affection. She wished, if not craved, irrationally, that she could somehow be enough for them, that one day they might see her as someone worthy of respect and not as a burden.

It was an exhausting contradiction. And even now, as she stood among the grandeur of the vampire nobility, surrounded by wealth and power, she felt lonely. The princess kindness had been a surprise, an unexpected warmth in an otherwise cold experience she wished would end soon enough.

It made her understand just how starved she was for genuine connection—how much she yearned for someone to enjoy spending time with. Perhaps that's why she treated Qadir so well. She snorted at the thought. It was a funny, but still, disgusting one. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. He was a human, after all.

Her inner monologue would've kept going if it wasn't for Meyena's rushed face appearing in front of Silia. "Why the hell was she speaking with you?!" She half shushed; half screamed. A surprising talent.

Silia's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips as she looked at Meyena, letting a deliberate silence stretch between them before she finally spoke. "Oh, you mean the Princess?" She replied with mock innocence. "I'm not sure... She must've left five minutes ago, it's hard to remember already."

Meyena's face twisted with irritation, her eyes darkening. "Don't play games with me, Silia. What did she say?" She mouthed each word.

Silia shrugged; her expression entirely nonchalant. "Nothing much, I assure you. We were just having a lovely conversation about... The weather." She waved her hand dismissively, the gesture dripping with condescension. "Why don't you ask her yourself, if you're so interested?"

Meyena's jaw clenched, her gaze flaring with anger. "Stop lying, you're hiding something. You always have some angle, some scheme."

"Me? Scheming?" Silia feigned shock, her smile widening. "You flatter me, truly, dear cousin. But I'm afraid this time it's just your paranoia." She gave a slight, almost dismissive tilt of her head, her eyes flitting ironized concern before drifting away from Meyena as if she'd already lost interest in the conversation.

Meyena's expression darkened further, Silia's aloofness only seeming to frustrate her more. "You think this is some kind of joke? Speaking to a royal like that—It could mean serious consequences for all of us." She kept going, her fingers slightly gripping along her emerald gown.

The last sentence immediately drew Silia's sharp gaze straight back onto hers. "Even better." Her voice dropped, the taunting edge deepening along the subtle threat as she smiled.

The color drained slightly from Meyena's face, and Silia felt a twisted satisfaction at the sight. Meyena sputtered, her words failing her for a moment, as Silia took the opportunity to step past her with a smirk tugging at her lips.

She moved through the ballroom, her gaze drifting over the crowd without really seeing anyone. The tension of her exchange with Meyena faded as she distanced herself, replaced by a sense of triumph, however fleeting and unexpected it was at such event. Silia enjoyed getting under Meyena's skin; it was one of the few pleasures she allowed herself in this world that otherwise seemed determined to belittle her.

She scanned the room, searching for Qadir in the throng of vampires and humans. It didn't take long to spot him—his figure standing out with a defiant stance among the sea of submissive humans. A hint of a smile played on her lips. At least she had one person here who wasn't entirely insufferable.

Silia meant to make her way towards him but as she approached, a clink of a glass rang through the ballroom, the delicate yet sharp sound cutting through the chatter and laughter like a blade. Conversations halted mid-sentence as all eyes turned toward the center of the room.

Duke Bekim of House Hysa's voice rose above the murmur of the crowd—a voice that commanded attention effortlessly. Silia recognized it instantly, a reminder of how often he'd be the one to draw focus during gatherings like these. He was tall, his posture composed, every detail of his appearance deliberately crafted, from his embroidered robes bearing the crest of House Hysa to the subtle glint of a golden ring on his finger.

"Splendid gathering, isn't it?" Bekim remarked, raising his glass with an easy smile. His eyes swept the crowd, lingering momentarily on various nobles who were gathered, waiting for his next words. "To the continued success and prosperity of our King—May his reign be eternal."

The nobles around him raised their glasses as well, echoes of "To the King" reverberating around them, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Silia's gaze moved from faces to faces, watching how each House responded, a subtle dance of loyalty and hidden intentions as some glasses were held up faster or higher than others.

Duke Bekim didn't speak further but his gaze mirrored hers, moving from faces to faces in an almost clinical assessment of those before him. His eyes lingered momentarily on House Kadijan, acknowledging their devotion, before moving to House Kovač with an almost imperceptible hint of amusement. He knew exactly what their lack of enthusiasm meant and enjoyed making it known to everyone else in his silent scrutiny.

Vampires were known for their perfect beauty when compared to their human likes, it was fair to admit the man was as beautiful as he was intimidating. Very few people had dared to defy House Hyra and remained standing to tell the story. But the Nandors did, well, Silia did.

Her thoughts unwillingly pulled back to the last major event she had attended—a night she could never quite shake off, decades ago. It had gone terribly wrong, one of many, but this time she had made a mistake she couldn't make deed for. She had killed Duke Bekim's bloodslave, a young human who had barely reached adulthood.

She despised how humans, bloodslaves, of important Houses thought their life suddenly meant something. The boy had been poking her left and right through the night, for what reason had he taken a peculiar interest in her, she would never know.

A bloodslave remains a mere human, they can't defy a vampire. But this peculiar position gives them credit. They are an extension of their masters, you can't just kill one without provoking political chaos, especially through this kind of event. A moment of childish weakness, like many, that had led to an irreversible action of her fault.

House Hysa was not one to forgive easily. And although Duke Bekim had showed her mercy at the accident, her family had not, back then. She tried her best to avoid being anywhere near him or anyone bearing the Hysa name, tonight included. But as the saying goes, you can never remain too far from a Hysa's gaze.

Bekim's gaze moved across, finally reaching Silia. His eyes locking onto hers for a brief moment, his smile deepened as if waiting for her reaction. There was a spark of something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps. He thrived on these moments, on watching how others squirmed or maintained composure.

She had hoped to keep her distance, to blend in and remain unnoticed, as much as she could at the least. But now, here he was, his eyes pinning her in place even across the hall, as if silently reminding her of that he indeed remembered her mistake. Silia swallowed; her expression composed even as her thoughts churned.

She merely held his gaze, her expression neutral. But after a moment, she looked away, her chin lifting slightly in an obvious uncomfortable manner. It was a small gesture—one that Duke Bekim seemed to appreciate, as a knowing smile played at his lips before he turned his attention back onto the others.

She took a slow breath, her eyes fixing on some distant point across the ballroom. It was over, and she couldn't change what had happened, but that didn't make it any easier to face him now. Every amount of eye contact felt like an accusation, like he was daring her to make another mess.

As the toasts concluded, the glasses lowered, and the crowd began to shift once more. The conversations resumed but the undercurrent of tension remained. Silia understood all too well that in these halls, true power was not simply about who knelt first or raised their glass the highest. Duke Bekim had taken the opportunity to remind everyone of that very fact, in the most public, polished way possible.

She sighed, suddenly feeling the need for fresh air. Her earlier plan to meet Qadir slipped from her mind, replaced by the desire for some quiet. Turning away from the bustling crowd, she made her way towards one of the more isolated balconies.

Outside, Silia leaned against the railing, her gaze drifting lazily over the gardens below. She wasn't looking for anything in particular, just letting her eyes wander as she tried to shed the constant tension that had built up in the ballroom. The cool night air filled her lungs, a small rest from the stifling formality inside.

Still, her eyes caught a glimpse of movement—a figure cloaked in dark fabric slipping through the garden, nearly invisible against the night. She watched without much interest as they approached another person hidden in the shadows, their exchange quick but unmistakable. A rolled parchment, sealed with a wax stamp, changed hands.

Silia squinted, just barely making out the seal of House Tareq on the parchment, but she didn't bother trying to make sense of the interaction. Just another secret in a world brimming with them—a subtle transaction in the dark, whatever it might be. She turned her head away, choosing instead to focus on the stars above.

Whatever they were up to, it wasn't her concern—at least, not tonight. The ball had been exhausting enough without getting herself involved in whatever clandestine dealings were going on below.

A sense of pride crept over her, her thoughts shifting to the events of the evening. Despite all the opportunities for things to go wrong, she'd managed to handle herself well. She'd navigated the conversations without stumbling too much.

Silia allowed herself a small smile. Tonight, she had been stronger than her past failures, more composed than she'd given herself credit for. Things could've gone so much worse. Way worse, she thought.

Perhaps she had grown. She liked to think of it that way, but in all truth, she wasn't that sure about it. Her family, for some reason, stayed far from her tonight. Beside the slight exchange with Meyena, no one came to taunt her or belittle her in front of others. And the worst of it all; Qadir didn't embarrass her, which she was sure Emil had prayed for.

Maybe it should worry her. The absence of her cousin's constant jabs felt almost unnatural, as if they were planning something in the shadows, waiting for a better opportunity. It wasn't like them to ignore a chance to remind her of her place. But for tonight, she decided to embrace the unusual peace.