The grandfather clock in Duke Maximilian's study chimed nine times, its ancient mechanisms echoing through the quiet evening. Maximilian looked up from his desk, suddenly aware that he'd been staring at the same page for nearly an hour. The leather-bound volume—"Ceremonial Occasions of the Noble Csses: Volume III (Marriage)"—was one of dozens stacked around him in increasingly precarious towers.

  "One month," he muttered, adjusting his unnecessary gsses. "How did an entire month pass already?"

  The realization had struck him earlier that evening when his butler had casually mentioned preparing for "the Duke and Lord Consort's one-month anniversary celebration." Maximilian had nearly dropped a priceless artifact, earning a disapproving look from his oldest cat, Archimedes, who watched from atop a shelf of pre-evolution astronomical instruments.

  Now, surrounded by research materials, Maximilian was no closer to understanding the appropriate protocol. The books disagreed wildly—some suggested eborate blood rituals, others recommended territorial expansions as gifts. One particurly ancient text recommended presenting one's consort with "the still-beating heart of a vanquished enemy," which Maximilian had immediately discarded as impractical (and messy).

  "Perhaps something simple? A book?" He gnced at Archimedes, who yawned in response. "No, too impersonal. Blood jewelry? Too formal. A cat?" At this, Archimedes's tail twitched disapprovingly.

  Maximilian pushed his chair back, nearly toppling a stack of reference materials. This would be so much easier if their marriage had remained the purely political arrangement it was supposed to be. But somewhere between the Vault Incident and their te-night kitchen raid, things had... changed. He found himself actually caring what Elias thought, noticing little details about his consort—the way his eyes lit up when discovering something new in the library, his genuine wonder when observing artifacts he'd never seen before, the melodic quality of his genuine ugh (so different from his practiced court chuckle).

  "This is why I avoided court functions for decades," Maximilian grumbled, pacing the study. "Social expectations are impossibly inconsistent."

  He picked up another book, flipping to a chapter on "Expressions of Genuine Regard Between Nobles." The section was disappointingly brief.

  A soft knock interrupted his research crisis. "Enter," he called, hastily covering the most obvious retionship texts with maps.

  His night steward, Bedford, stepped in with practiced efficiency. "Your Grace, I've brought the items you requested." He carried a tray with various small objects—old watches, circuit boards, and what appeared to be pieces of an ancient smartphone.

  "Excellent, thank you." Maximilian gestured to an empty corner of his desk. "Any word on whether Lord Elias has retired for the evening?"

  "Lord Elias mentioned reviewing some correspondence in the east wing study, Your Grace. He requested not to be disturbed."

  Maximilian nodded, trying to appear casual. "Very good. That will be all."

  As Bedford departed, Maximilian turned to the components on the tray. Perhaps a custom-made device drawing on pre-evolution technology? Something that combined his expertise with something meaningful to Elias? But what did Elias actually value? After a month together, Maximilian realized how little he truly knew about his consort's personal preferences.

  "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "I've documented the decay rates of pre-evolution pstics but can't determine an appropriate anniversary gift."

  Archimedes leapt down from his perch to inspect the components, batting at a small circuit board.

  "Yes, I know," Maximilian said to the cat. "Time is running out."

  In the east wing study, Elias sat at an ornate desk, the picture of aristocratic composure despite the turmoil beneath his carefully maintained expression. Before him y a letter bearing Archduke Orlov's seal, delivered by a messenger who had departed almost immediately after, clearly uncomfortable in Duke Maximilian's progressive territory.

  The letter's contents were blunt:

  Your continued failure to provide useful intelligence is noticed. Three reports with nothing of significance? Either you are incompetent or deliberately withholding information. Remember your position and purpose. Concrete results expected immediately. The consequences of failure need not be spelled out.

  Elias reread the letter before carefully setting it afme in a nearby candle. He watched it burn completely, ensuring not even ash remained. His fingers trembled slightly—the only outward sign of his distress.

  A month. He had been here a month, sending carefully crafted reports that contained just enough information to seem useful while revealing nothing that could actually harm Maximilian. He'd documented court visitors, territorial management practices, and carefully edited observations about Duke Maximilian's collection of "curious artifacts."

  The boratory he'd discovered two nights ago should have been his crowning intelligence achievement—filled with preserved technology far beyond what existed in Orlov's territory. But standing amid those strangely glowing screens and humming devices, Elias had found himself unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His education in Orlov's court had left him entirely unprepared for understanding digital technology. What he saw appeared to be arcane objects of unknown purpose—fascinating, but indecipherable.

  How could he report on something he didn't understand? And more troublingly, why did the thought of betraying Maximilian's trust now cause him such distress?

  "This is becoming dangerously complicated," he whispered to himself, moving to the window. Below, he could see the meticulously maintained gardens illuminated by carefully positioned lights—another example of how this territory seamlessly blended old and new in ways that would scandalize the traditionalists.

  A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts. "Enter," he called, composing his features into pleasant neutrality.

  The night housemaid, Cra, stepped in with a small bow. "Pardon the interruption, my lord. I've brought the items you requested." She carried a small wooden box and several rolls of parchment.

  "Thank you, Cra." Elias offered a warm smile that made the maid blush slightly. "Has His Grace retired to his study for the evening?"

  "Yes, my lord. The Duke mentioned he would be cataloging artifacts until dawn and requested not to be disturbed."

  "Perfect," Elias said, then caught himself. "I mean, thank you for the information. That will be all."

  As Cra departed, Elias opened the box, revealing a collection of small artistic tools—brushes, pigments, and delicate carving instruments. Beside them, he pced the parchment scrolls. After discovering Maximilian's fascination with ancient maps two weeks ago, Elias had been secretly working on creating an illuminated map of Maximilian's territory, combining his hidden artistic talents with the historical styles he'd observed in the duke's collection.

  It was meant to be a thoughtful gift—something that showed he'd been paying attention to Maximilian's interests. But now, with Orlov's demands looming over him, the gesture felt hollow. How could he present a token of appreciation while simultaneously betraying his husband's trust?

  "Husband," he whispered, testing the word. Not "target" or "assignment" as Orlov had instructed him to think. Somehow, over these weeks, Maximilian had become more than just his mission. The schorly vampire's enthusiasm when discovering new artifacts, his genuine concern for the resources under his care, the way he unconsciously adjusted his unnecessary gsses when thinking deeply—all these little details had accumuted into something Elias hadn't expected to find: respect, affection, perhaps even...

  He shook his head sharply. Such thoughts were dangerous.

  Elias gnced at his half-finished map, then at his writing desk where he should be composing his response to Orlov. The anniversary celebration would provide perfect cover for gathering more information—something significant enough to satisfy his original master.

  Yet instead of pnning his espionage, he found himself adding careful details to the map, recreating the boundaries of Maximilian's territory with meticulous attention.

  "What am I doing?" he murmured, but didn't stop working.

  Shortly before midnight, Maximilian crept through the darkened hallways of his own estate, feeling utterly ridiculous. A duke, sneaking about like a thief in his own home. He carried a small wooden box containing his hastily assembled anniversary gift—a modified antique optical device that dispyed historical map illustrations through a system of gss lenses, featuring miniature reproductions of Maximilian's most prized cartographic acquisitions.

  It had taken three hours of frustrating work, resulting in multiple pinched fingers and one nearly broken lens, but he was reasonably confident it would function as intended. Probably.

  "This is undignified," he whispered to himself, ducking into an alcove as a night servant passed with a tray of refreshments.

  Once the hallway was clear, Maximilian continued toward Elias's chambers, pnning to leave the gift somewhere his consort would find it in the evening. The entire exercise seemed unnecessary—they could simply exchange gifts like rational beings—but Bedford had insisted that "surprise" was an essential element of anniversary traditions.

  Approaching Elias's door, Maximilian heard footsteps from the connecting corridor and froze. With vampire speed, he ducked behind a decorative armor stand, feeling utterly foolish as he peered around it.

  Elias appeared, moving with unusual stealth, a package tucked under his arm wrapped in deep blue silk. He paused at Maximilian's door, casting a quick gnce around before slipping inside.

  Maximilian blinked in surprise. Why would Elias be entering his chambers at this hour? Then understanding dawned—his consort was apparently engaged in the same ridiculous tradition of surprise gift delivery.

  He waited until Elias emerged and disappeared down the hallway before continuing to his consort's room. Inside, he pced his box on the writing desk, positioning it carefully before retreating.

  Back in the hallway, Maximilian exhaled with relief, only to freeze again as he heard voices approaching—night staff discussing the next day's preparations.

  "—anniversary celebration preparations must be perfect," said his head housekeeper. "The Duke would never say anything, but you know how particur he is."

  "And what about Lord Elias? Any special requests from him?" asked a younger voice.

  "He's been asking about traditional celebration customs. Coming from Archduke Orlov's court, our ways must seem strange to him."

  Their voices faded as they passed down another corridor. Maximilian frowned thoughtfully. He hadn't considered how different their cultural expectations might be. Perhaps his gift would seem strange or inappropriate by Orlov's traditional standards?

  This thought carried him back to his own chambers, where he discovered Elias's gift pced neatly on his desk—the blue silk package he'd glimpsed earlier. For a moment, he simply stared at it, unaccountably nervous.

  Carefully, he untied the silk wrapping to reveal an exquisitely detailed map of his territory, rendered in a style reminiscent of pre-evolution illuminated manuscripts. The borders were decorated with miniature scenes of daily life in his domain—resources receiving education, night staff maintaining the gardens, even his cats lounging in the library. In the corner, in elegant script: For Maximilian, who sees value in preserving the past while creating a better future. —E

  Maximilian touched the parchment gently, stunned by the thought and care evident in every detail. This was no political gesture or obligatory tradition—this was something personal. Something real.

  He gnced at his own gift—the technological device he'd cobbled together—and suddenly felt it woefully inadequate. What had seemed clever now appeared cold and impersonal compared to the heartfelt creation Elias had made.

  "Bedford," he called, knowing his ever-present steward would be nearby. The man appeared immediately. "I need to revise my anniversary pns."

  In his chambers, Elias carefully opened Maximilian's gift box. Inside y an ornate optical device of brass and gss, clearly crafted with remarkable precision. A small note expined its function—a specialized viewing apparatus containing miniature reproductions of the rarest examples from Maximilian's map collection, including several that were too fragile to handle directly.

  With slightly trembling hands, Elias raised the device to his eye according to the instructions. Immediately, he gasped as a detailed map appeared, magnified through the clever arrangement of lenses—a breathtaking view of the world before the evolution, with cities and borders long vanished.

  "Extraordinary," he whispered, turning the small dial to reveal map after map, each more fascinating than the st. The final view wasn't a historical map at all, but a delicate miniature portrait of Elias himself, captured in the library with an expression of wonder as he examined an ancient ats. The tiny image was accompanied by microscopic text that Elias had to squint to read: For Elias, who looks at old things with new eyes. Perhaps together we can create a better map of the future. —M

  Elias sat heavily in his chair, the projection still illuminating the wall. In his mind, Orlov's letter burned anew, its demands now impossible to fulfill. How could he betray this trust? This unexpected connection?

  Tomorrow was their anniversary celebration—a perfect opportunity to gather the significant intelligence Orlov demanded. It was also, Elias realized, the moment he would have to decide where his true loyalties y.

  He looked again at the projected image, at the captured moment of genuine joy on his own face, and for the first time in his life, the path forward wasn't clear at all.