Knuckles.

Dagger.

Sword.

Morning star.

"Good," Gheorge said. "Now try weapons that will reach beyond arms-length."

Frederick gripped the spear and concentrated.

Throwing knife.

Spear.

Javelin.

Pike.

Sword staff.

War hammer.

Staff shifted and morphed with ease between shapes. A unique weapon in all of the Star, and it belonged to him.

"Excellent," Gheorge said, "but think. What might be the problem with weapons like spears or throwing knives? What would be the problem with ranged weaponry?"

"If I throw them," Frederick said, "I might miss my target, or lose the weapon completely."

Gheorge dipped his head. "You don't want an opponent-especially a vampyre-to retrieve a weapon like Staff. And what other problems might happen if you change Staff?"

Frederick weighted the war hammer between his palms. "Well, for one, I might hesitate and make the wrong shape in a fatal moment."

"Good-"

"And two, if I change it into a weapon for the relevant range, it might not be a weapon I'm familiar with, making handling a problem."

"Excellent, Freddie," Gheorge said. "There's is no point in commanding Staff to be a war hammer if you are not good at wielding it. We will train you to handle a broad range of weaponry-human or vampyre, for you must be adaptable. But stick with the weapons you're confident in using for the meantime. Now, what part of the day are we up to?"

Staff shifted into a sword within Frederick's hands. "Training of the senses."

The smile on Gheorge's face was delighted as he faded. The presence that replaced him weighted thickly in the air. He had come to know that Gheorge felt like mirth, energy, and lightness. This flowed like rain. Wrapped like silk. Crept like midnight. Strong. Predatory. Sensual.

"Gheorge?" Frederick called. Did the presence of vampyres change based on their intent? This ... this felt quite personal.

It came for him, rushing at his side. Frederick swung and missed, the presence vanishing.

Left-

Staff lengthened into a spear. If he miscalculated his opponent's distance, he wouldn't maim him, but he might land a hit.

It sped for him. Nearing, nearing, nearing.

He swung.

He missed.

Frederick stood side-on, reducing Staff to a knife. He waited and waited for the presence to become known.

Back of the room. He'd nearly overlooked it. It wasn't rushing but prowling, edging closer and closer.

Frederick whirled on his heel and launched the knife-

He couldn't make it stop. Couldn't bring it back. It sped through the air, glinting as Arabella caught it between her hands. She held it before her chest for several heartbeats.

Arabella clicked her tongue. "Didn't I just hear Gheorge telling you not to lose your weapon? A being as devious as I would make you suffer for it."

She vanished, alarm scattering Frederick's senses.

Think. Breathe. Focus. Channel-

A blade caressed his throat. "Good try, husband," she murmured at his back. "But you must pay attention to your training or else-" Her body tensed, hardening into stone. Something was wrong.

Then he felt it.

It was barely a nick, but a small drop welled between his neck and the blade.

She growled and removed the weapon, and Freddie faced her. "Are you all right?"

"I cut the skin, so I should be asking you that question."

He raised a finger, pulling it away to find a drop of blood glistening. "Just a scratch. Less than what I did to you, apparently."

A tear in her dress revealed bloody skin on her chest. He'd landed a hit!

"Already healed," she murmured. "You sure know how to throw a weapon."

"Gods, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's fine. It takes more than that to hurt me." Staff shrunk within the center of her palm, and Arabella took his hand and slid the ring back onto his finger. "I sent Gheorge away and thought that the two of us might take a walk. I have something I want to consult you about."

He'd known he sensed when Gheorge left, swapping in for another presence. Her presence. He was improving, indeed. But there was still a long way to go in his training. "I would like a walk very much."

They wandered through the castle in amiable silence, and he slowed his strides to synchronize with her easy gait, wondering what she could possibly need to consult him about.

Errand opened the entrance doors for their arrival, and they made their way outside, but Frederick turned back.

"What is it?" Arabella asked.

He walked alongside the castle and touched the dark stone. "The castle ... the castle is intact." Besides the usual rubble. "I thought it had been damaged in the assault."

"It had been," Arabella agreed, "but Errand is capable of fixing the castle. Errand chooses how it looks, which direction the hallways take, decorates."

"Decorates?" Frederick repeated.

She gave him a prim glance. "You didn't think I chose to decorate the place like that?"

A growl vibrated the stone, grumbling against Frederick's palm.

"Oh, do shut up," she said, scowling up at the castle. "You're lucky I tolerate you at all, you ghastly thing. I'd gladly live in a sewer if it meant I'd be free of you." It thundered in response, and she sighed. "Yes, yes. I suppose that is false. But some days, I do consider it."

"But where does Errand get the items?" Frederick asked.

She clasped her hands behind her back and started down the path, indicating that Frederick should do the same. "Well, some of the items are presents from other kingdoms-you know, as a gesture of peace. Others are war spoils. Some are brought back by members of my court. The rest was left here by the previous king with the castle, like the furnishings and such."

"Previous king?"

She gave a nonchalant wave. "Yes, a most unpleasant fellow. I was glad to be rid of him. But that was thousands of years ago."

"Thousands of years-just how old are you, Arabella?"

Seconds of silence slipped past as they continued to walk, and Frederick gleaned that they were heading to the back of the castle. He thought she wouldn't answer his question when she said, "What year is it?" He responded. "Then I am ... four thousand, six hundred and sixty-three years old."

"Four thousand ... nearly five millenniums."

"Yes." She watched him. "I am the oldest known vampyre in existence. Does that bother you?"

"Why should it?" Frederick answered honestly. "You don't look five millenniums old."

"Oh, but I feel it. I feel it more and more every day. The world is probably so different to what I remember, and yet I've been in a place that stayed exactly the same." She viewed the sky. "Well, that wasn't red when I got here. That happened over time."

Frederick looked up. "How did it happen?"

Another few strides put them in the path of a small structure in the distance. Frederick had seen it during Viscon's tour, and he recalled it to be the stables where the queen kept her mechanical horses.

"My unnatural power affects my surroundings," she said. "I don't have many outlets to express it, so my power manifests in strange ways."

"So the sky is a result of how great your power is?"

She shrugged. "Something like that. It marks the territories that are mine." Making her territories greater than Thescan and Hendlemark. "And it provides the environment needed for vampyres to survive. Gives them the choice of being awake in the day or night. And less sun means less thirst. But if I could make it go, I would. It warns the humans to stay away, at least."

Frederick considered her words. "And do humans always stay away?"

"Mostly."

He met her eyes. "But what happens to those who don't?"

She held his gaze, as if wanting him to see the sincerity in her answer. "Anything that crosses the border is known to me. So when something enters, I'm alerted, and either me or my men go and deal with it. Humans seeking refuge are welcome to stay here for however long they need to. Curious humans are sent back to their countries unharmed."

But something bothered Frederick. Something he wanted to ask for a long while now as he remembered what his father said: People disappear at the borders because she lures them for sport. The remains we find past the Middle Lands ...

"And what is it you want to ask, Freddie? I see those thoughts running wild in that mind of yours. You asked me to be honest with you, and I'm starting today. So ask while I'm still in the mood. I don't know when I'll feel this honest again."

Frederick scratched beneath his ear. "Our soldiers report of carnage on the borders. Humans mauled like animals. We assumed they were savaged by vampyres."

They reached the stable, and Arabella's shoulders tightened. "I told you that I sense when beings leave the borders. Beings-not only vampyres-live in this land, and all of them have an urge to hurt or consume humans."

"Like the changelings," Frederick supplied.

She nodded. "When that happens, the hunt begins. My men pursue without mercy because I can't go after them myself-obviously. But sometimes my men are too late, and humans meet their doom at the claws of some disgusting creature or vampyre gone mad. And vampyres do tend to go mad, Frederick."

She lifted her chin. "My laws are unyielding, which means that many vampyres suffer along with me in this land with scarce opportunities for blood or water. So some of them tend to snap, but ..." She closed her eyes. "That's why my borders must be iron-clad. One mistake might lead to the death of innocents, and if an innocent dies it's my fault alone."

Frederick searched her face, looking for dishonesty but finding none. "You're saying that you don't secure your borders to stop things from getting in? Your laws are to stop your subjects from getting out. From hurting humans."

"Yes. If you can believe it."

Admittedly, he could scarcely believe it. "And what happens to your subjects once they're captured?"

She raised her brow. "They're punished, of course."

"Is that why you have that jail? To punish the vampyres."

"It's not why I have that jail, but the jail does have its uses when those events happen. But not all of the humans killed in the Middle Lands are because of my subjects. Some of them are presents left by Tessande to goad me."

And Tessande was someone she couldn't kill. "Then what is the purpose of that jail? That woman-Tessande-mentioned it."

She smiled faintly. "The purpose of that jail ... is for another day. I think I've answered enough questions to sate your curiosity for the present. For now, I have matters I would like to discuss."

Arabella pulled the handles of the stable doors, revealing an unconventional interior. Metal workstations lined various walls with tools, pulleys, and gears scattered about the place. It reeked of oil and iron, and the mechanical horses stood in their four stalls.

"Hello, lovelies," Arabella called. "You've all met the prince, yes?"

The fact that they possessed the mannerisms of a horse still startled Frederick, each one of them leaning into Arabella's touch as she greeted them. "I think I shall let you roam today. But first I need the prince to take a good look at one of you."

She pulled a lever that opened all the stalls at once, and all of them left except one. "You are so clever. How did you know I needed you?" She gestured for Frederick to come closer, and he obliged. "This is Water, the most good-natured of the Four Dragons."

"The Four Dragons?"

"Yes, that's what I call them." He raised a brow, but she continued. "I've been fascinated with horses since I was human, but I never owned any. I was not from a wealthy family, but they've always fascinated me. So I was wondering if you could give me some insight. It's been so long since I actually saw a horse, so these were built solely on memory. Could you tell me what I can do to improve these?"

"May I?"

She waved to the horse. "Please do."

Frederick lowered to his haunches and examined the legs, noting the extended metal claw-shaped bone protruding out of its tarsus, similar to a dragon. "Immediately I notice these are quite straight. They move on rotational mechanisms where the leg meets the body, so you could improve that for a start for more accurate mobility. You know, like real horse joints."

"But what do the legs involve?"

Frederick searched the room, then crossed to the workstation with parchment and lead. "There are over two hundred bones in a horse's body, so to imitate true movement, you might be interested in designing those."

She neared him and blew a curl from her eye. "You wouldn't happen to know what those look like from memory, would you?"

"Sure, but I'm not the best at drawing or sketching."

She drew back. "You remember the structure of an entire horse?"

He blinked. "Well, of course I do. They were part of my role in Thescan." His happier role in Thescan. "I bred, trained, and rode horses for royal races and sports." He'd grown to influence the way horses were treated and raised, removing cruel practices to allow Thescanians to bond with their animals better. "I would travel with them to other countries. I've assisted in numerous foal births. And when in war, I led scores of equine fleets. My soldiers can use a bow and arrow on the back of them." And he felt the pain worse than any sword wound when one of those beasts perished in those senseless fights.

She leaned against the wall. "I didn't know they were such a big part of your life. You assisted their births?"

"Personally," he drawled, sketching the bare outline of the horse. "No matter what time of night or activity, if a horse in my stable was giving birth, I would leave what I was doing and go straight to them."

Amusement filled her face. "Even in the throes of passion?"

"Many a time," he said easily. "My soldiers always knew where to find me. The horses in my stable always came first."

She folded her arms and watched as he sketched. "I can't imagine a man leaving my bed for any reason."

"I can't imagine that either," he said, focused on capturing the curve of the spine to the flank, "but I've long tired of Thescan women."

"Why?"

He sketched a while until satisfied with the shape of the larger bones. "Why? Well. I don't know." It was just exhausting. The courting. The wooing. The investing.

The careful, restrictive sex.

It would be nice, for just once, to have a woman that matched him in appetite, but they were rare to find and never in his social standing. His father made it clear since Frederick was a child that no lower-class woman would be the princess of Aldren Heights, the future queen of Thescan. Not that anyone had ever tempted him enough to consider marriage in any of the classes. Even if a peasant woman fulfilled his every desire, which they closely did, they never wanted the same things as Frederick. His experience with women and seduction made him begin to question what he wanted altogether. "They're as prude and repressed as you accused them of being."

"That would be boring."

"It would, indeed."

The smaller bones were much harder to illustrate. He wondered if there was a book back in Thescan that may have assisted. "Identifying the bone structure is all well and fine, but what powers these horses of yours, Ara? Creating an anatomically correct horse might be fruitless if it doesn't work with your design." Minutes of awkward silence passed on, and Frederick rose from the drawing to view her. "Ara?"

"Dragons," she answered, her little fang worrying her bottom lip.

"Dragons?" Frederick repeated, and he waited for the explanation he was sure would follow.

"Yes, well, there are dragons all around the world, but not in the Star. I drew the last dragons in the land here to save them from being hunted. They stayed under my protection, but most of them died, even when this land had plenty of water." She gripped her throat. "So, I bound their souls to this land until I found a vessel for them."

"You bound their souls? How would you do that."

"With my power." She crossed the stable and opened a draw from a different workstation. She turned and raised a vial with blinding purple light, glimmering at different points like a jewel. "Each horse has one of these where I imagine their heart would be placed. These are the essence of the dragon they once were. They do not feel, do not think, and do not long in this state. Their essence remains until I can bind it to something."

Frederick raised the lead, viewing his illustration. Something wasn't right. The kneecaps illustrated at odd angles. "But how do you know they want to be bound to something as opposed to being free?"

"Remember those senses Gheorge's been talking about?" Frederick nodded. "When beings die, their presence, the way they feel, lingers."

"Like-" Frederick tilted his head. "Like a ghost?"

"Yes, like a ghost. Ghosts aren't real but the spirit is. All beings seem to pass on eventually, their presence extinguishing, but some stay around longer, looking for a place to stay-or haunt, as you humans call them. So the sense of these dragons lingered long after their death, allowing me to bind them in these little vials. They stay in a sort of stasis, and once I bind them to an object then they may choose to inhabit or reject them, and if they don't like their new host they fade away forever. Like all things."

"But ..."

"But what?"

He added another line and frowned at it. "Do you do that to humans, too?"

"No," she said softly. "Never people. Animals and humans possess a different sense of being. Unlike the animals, human souls would be aware that their soul has been bound to something."

He wasn't sure why, but the words provided relief, and he nodded at the vial. "So that thing is a dragon?" Though he still didn't quite believe it.

She raised it to her eye level. "No. Not this one. This is a griffin. And before you ask-yes, a griffin griffin. The lion with an eagle for an upper body. Massive, fearsome creatures that are mighty intelligent. They're nearly extinct, and I received this one as a peace offering from-" She stilled. "From Yessara, sister to Tessande."

He raised a brow. "So you and Yessara get along, then?"

"For the most part." She gripped her chin. "Sometimes." Her expression turned into a squint. "Well, maybe we don't get along. Not really. But she owes me. She tends to send me little presents in an attempt to atone for the past-as well as apologize for what her sister will do in the future. She'd better be sending me something extraordinary after my last encounter with Tessande reaches her."

Frederick almost pressed the subject but decided to save it for another time. "And what will you do with that?"

Her mouth tilted into a soft curve. "Something very special. But it's not time to talk about it yet." She opened the draw and returned the vial. "For now, I want you to tell me about horses and how they work."