Caelum stood in the throne room’s darkest corner, a shadow given shape, watching mortals gnaw at one another with thin smiles. He supposed, being vampires, they would disagree with being called ‘mortals’. He made a note to always use it going forward.

  The throne room reeked of rot and ambition.

  Selene sat upon her cracked throne, shoulders rigid, lips pressed into a fine line of brittle composure. She wore dignity like armour that had seen too many battles, each piece cracked and ill-fitted. The crown woven through her pale hair was tarnished, its once sharp points dulled to weary nubs.

  She held court anyway. Even in defeat, queens did not surrender easily.

  The nobles stood in stiff semi-circles below, cd in silks dyed deeper than fresh blood. Red-eyed, silver-eyed, some young, most old. Their eyes gleamed with feigned reverence, but their mouths were soft with veiled contempt. Every word they spoke was a bde dulled by etiquette but no less aimed for her throat.

  "Your Majesty, the south border nguishes. Without reinforcement, trade colpses."

  "If the levy cannot be paid, perhaps lesser blood will suffice."

  "A queen should not lower herself to forbidden means."

  The barbs floated upward like smoke.

  Selene answered each with measured poise. She reminded them of their oaths, of Vestra’s traditions, of unity in adversity. Her voice never wavered, but Caelum could taste the exhaustion ced beneath every word.

  They did not respect her.

  Not truly. Not anymore.

  Caelum leaned faintly forward, red eyes gleaming through the gloom like embers feeding on ruin. He had dismissed the more overt hallmarks of his nature—his horns, cws, and other signs tucked neatly away beneath shadow and will. A simple bck coat, sharp and understated, and his eyes muted just enough. In a nd where red irises were a mark of simple lineage, no one looked too closely at the shade.

  If they did, perhaps they would see how his eyes did not dull with the room’s shifting light. How they pulsed softly, hungrily, drinking in the disdain pouring from these mortals like fine wine gone sour.

  He stood still, statuesque behind the throne. Selene had not told him to act. He respected formality when it suited him.

  But he listened. And he judged.

  They did not whisper with fear. They did not flinch when they looked up at their queen. They saw her starving frame, heard the thinness behind her commands, and they weighed her on scales already tilted toward betrayal.

  Selene’s hands tightened subtly on the throne’s arms, nails digging into worn silver. She felt it too, though she hid it well. Better than most, but not better than him.

  Caelum’s gaze roamed the gathering, marking each carefully. Silver eyes and fat tongues, dressed in compcency. They dared to treat her like carrion yet to fall.

  He smiled faintly, zy and cruel. He could fix this room in seconds. It would take very little. One sharp movement, one whispered word. The hunger inside him stirred, the predator uncurling, amused now not only by the queen’s pride—but by the delicate theatre of the doomed nobility before him.

  Not yet. But soon.

  The moon was beginning to sink into the horizon and the court started to bleed away like scabs peeled off before the flesh had healed. When the doors finally sealed behind the st of the silver-eyed vultures, the throne room sank into brittle quiet.

  Selene remained seated, back straight but bones hollowing beneath taut skin. She did not sigh. She did not crumble. But Caelum saw through the performance. Saw how the thin ropes of pride strained to keep her upright.

  He let silence settle for a beat longer than necessary, then stepped out from his comfortable gloom behind her throne, letting his presence wrap through the chamber. A whisper of restrained heat and indulgent menace.

  "Your flock is loyal," he observed so lightly the sarcasm might not have been obvious if it weren't for their open disdain at their queen. His fingers ghosted across the back of her chair, almost brushing her shoulder, but not quite.

  Selene did not look at him. "They serve as they always have," she said, voice thin as spun gss.

  He smiled faintly at the transparent lie. "No. They wait. They sniff for weakness. They watch you bleed and wonder how long until you fall." He let the words drip slowly, tasting the slight stiffening of her shoulders. "Hungry little worms in silk. All the same."

  Her knuckles whitened faintly where they gripped the armrest. Still, she did not face him. Not fully.

  "I know what they are." Cold, clipped. Tired.

  Caelum leaned closer, not crowding, but enough for his voice to settle directly at her nape. "And yet... you can barely survive."

  That hung in the air a moment too long. Selene’s throat worked, and when she finally answered, it was with faint bitterness instead of regal certainty. "I survive because I must."

  Her meaning was clear enough. She would cling to power even if she hollowed herself out to do so.

  Caelum smiled zily, stepping back. Bored now, and only vaguely amused. "Charming. Do let me know when you need me to start killing them."

  Selene, at st, twisted faintly towards him, pale hair shifting like a veil across hollow cheeks. Her eyes met his, colder now, distant.

  "You are dismissed, Caelum. For tonight, at least."

  Dismissed. Like a hound told to leave its master's feet. His smile sharpened. Not insulted. Merely entertained. She thought herself still above pying. He let her have the st word, retreating without compint, vanishing smoothly into the shadows near the vaulted columns. She did not watch him go. Too weary, too weighed down by rot and history.

  Caelum moved through the dark halls without particur aim, hands tucked behind his back, eyes half-lidded with disinterest. He had no commands. No orders. Nothing immediate to hold his attention.

  He hated boredom.

  His mind drifted, circling zily back to her words from the night before. Silver eyes. A consort. Trusted. Betrayed. Fled.

  Fled?

  Caelum chuckled softly in the emptiness, and the sound echoed far too cruelly through the quiet. "No," he murmured aloud. "They never flee. Not really."

  Creatures like that stayed near the corpse. Rats did not run from rot. They thrived in it.

  Without truly deciding, he let his senses bleed outward, a slow ripple of infernal awareness pouring through stone and bone alike. Vestra responded sluggishly, but it whispered its truths easily enough to him.

  Power signatures. Heartbeats. A thousand sleeping mortals and undead alike, yered in predictable patterns. And there—yes, faint and silver-woven—something bright and soft and terribly self-important, lurking lower in the castle where schemers believed themselves untouchable.

  Still here. Trading whispers in dark halls. Close enough to touch.

  Caelum’s lips parted around a sharper smile, all zy cruelty and indulgent hunger.

  "Well," he murmured softly, already changing course, already melting into a deeper shadow, "if no one commands me... I may as well have fun."

  The trail led him downward. Through forgotten servant corridors and faded halls where dust clung like old grudges. Caelum moved without hurry. He glided where others would creep, smoke-shadowed and unbothered, each step a ripple of indulgent menace.

  The scent grew sharper the deeper he went. Silver, bright and arrogant, ced with bitter musk. He recognised the fvour immediately. Vanity and hunger. Mortals nguished in desperation; only traitors smelled this smug.

  He followed it to a side chamber tucked behind a cracked mural depicting kings of old. Guards stood outside, two pale creatures too engrossed in dice and low gossip to notice as the shadows pressed them quietly aside. Caelum did not bother killing them. Yet.

  Inside, ughter chimed, thin and cloying.

  He slipped in silently, leaning against the inner wall as though he'd always belonged there.

  A round chamber lit by enchanted crystal, soft red and gold bleeding into the polished stone. Lounging at the heart of it, draped across a velvet chaise like a prince in exile, was the silver-eyed consort.

  He had the look of someone far too enamoured with himself. Blond hair artfully tousled, silk robe half-tied, throat bare and littered with faint love bites that did not belong to Selene. Rings glittered on every finger, a gss of dark liquor dangling carelessly from his hand as though nothing in the world could touch him.

  A courtesan’s smile curved his lips as he spoke, voice rich with arrogance and indulgent cruelty.

  "I give it a month," the consort drawled zily, swirling his drink as he addressed the two nobles hunched nearby. One was sharp-eyed, red irises gleaming with hungry calcution. The other—lesser stock, Caelum noted—nodded too eagerly. "Maybe two, if her pride keeps her upright. But it won't matter. The council will strip her by winter. And when that happens..." He smirked, eyes hooded with satisfaction. "She'll crawl back. She always adored my p. She'll remember how warm it was soon enough."

  The red-eyed noble chuckled weakly, though the sound held no humour. He shifted uncomfortably under the consort's gaze, but said nothing as the silver-eyed man continued.

  "She’s pathetic now. Starving. Relying on foreigners and magic? Really, how desperate can she get?" He sighed dramatically, as if the entire situation weighed on his delicate shoulders. "But I suppose queens were always meant to kneel eventually. Some just take longer to realise."

  Caelum's lips parted slowly into a sharp, zy grin. He remained where he was, unnoticed, drinking in the consort's performance like watching a jester dance over his own grave. This moment always was the most fun—knowing death was around the corner, but the prey had yet to realise it.

  The consort gestured dismissively at the red-eyed noble, lip curling. "Your kind barely held onto titles before I elevated them. You owe me. Don’t forget that. When I return to her side, you’ll want my favour."

  The noble dipped his head hastily, eyes low. Caelum noted the exchange with faint disgust. The silver-eyed consort—what was his name? It hardly mattered—sipped his drink and stretched luxuriously, unaware of the thin thread pulling tighter around his throat.

  This was what Selene had trusted.

  This was who she had fed from and kept close.

  And this, Caelum thought, watching with a growing sense of savage glee, was what now passed for ambition in Vestra.

  "How tedious," Caelum murmured softly into the quiet, letting the words slither into the room like the hissing of a bde unsheathed.

  The effect was immediate. The consort froze, halfway through another indulgent sip. The red-eyed noble stiffened, eyes going wide. Heads turned slowly toward the shadowed corner where Caelum now stepped fully into the light, zy and elegant, as though he’d been part of the decor all along.

  The consort blinked, confusion fshing across his face, followed swiftly by poorly masked offence.

  "And who," he asked, words brittle with indignation, "are you supposed to be?"

  Caelum smiled pleasantly. For a moment, no more dangerous than silk slipping free of skin.

  "A passing shadow," he said, stepping forward, eyes gleaming now—no effort made to soften them. "But you may call me De Monde."

  Recognition did not come fast enough. Nor did fear.

  The consort straightened, annoyance flickering. "Well, De Monde, this is a private meeting. I suggest—"

  "You suggest nothing," Caelum interrupted, his voice dropping low and velvety soft, words cutting through the air with a weight that silenced the room.

  He let his power bleed into the chamber then, subtle and suffocating. The nobles recoiled, the red-eyed one paling as invisible chains tightened around his throat. The consort only began to understand, too te, that something ancient and awful now occupied the same space.

  Caelum’s smile sharpened to a thing of knives.

  "I listened," he continued, stepping closer, boots whispering against crimson carpets. "You have nothing interesting to say. She will crawl? She will kneel? You think a queen bows to the trash that abandoned her when hunger gnawed deepest?"

  His head tilted, mock pity curling through his words. "No, little silver. You are not a king. Not a consort. Not even a proper traitor."

  He stopped barely a foot away now, looking down at the consort, who had begun to pale, the weight of understanding finally pressing against his throat like a bde kissing flesh.

  Caelum smiled wider. "You're just my entertainment for the night."

  Before the consort could protest, Caelum gestured sharply. The room twisted. Shadow enveloped them both, pulling the consort from the chamber in a blink. The terrified nobles were left frozen in pce, statues in a py whose lead had vanished.

  Darkness folded and unfolded. Cold wind hit them next.

  The consort stumbled, heels scraping against bck stone. They stood atop the castle now, upon its weathered, jagged roof, beneath a sky choked with heavy clouds and darkness. The moon had set a while ago, and what was in its pce was a bck void only dying stars speckled. The winds howled low, whispering secrets only Caelum could hear. Gargoyle spires loomed like silent sentinels, and below, Vestra stretched pale and sleeping.

  "Where—" the consort gasped, looking around wildly. "Where have you taken me?"

  "Somewhere more fitting," Caelum murmured, voice soft as silk and twice as suffocating. He moved closer, the night curling to welcome him, eyes glowing faintly crimson as though becoming a crueller version of the moon itself. "I find this... intimate."

  The consort stumbled back a step, but there was nowhere to run. The edge of the rooftop yawned behind him, eager and patient. For a breath, Caelum let him believe he could flee. With a tilt of his head and a zy flick of his hand, the bonds faded—just enough. The consort saw his chance and ran. Or tried to. His boots scraped against the slick stone as he bolted for the nearest spire, panic overtaking arrogance.

  Caelum gave him a heartbeat's head start before following, steps unhurried, indulgent. He stalked forward like a shadow given form, his voice carrying easily through the freezing night.

  "Run, little silver," he drawled, almost encouraging. "Run, as you did before. When she starved. When the vultures closed in. You fled so easily then, didn't you?"

  The consort's breath came sharp and ragged as he darted between ancient stone fixtures, each step a futile attempt to escape the inevitable.

  "You abandoned her," Caelum continued, voice turning colder as he moved ever closer. "Left her hollow. Left her hungry. But look at you now... scrambling, pathetic."

  With a final zy step, Caelum appeared directly in front of the consort—no sound, no warning—cutting off his escape like a closing snare. The consort skidded, terror wide in his silver eyes as he backed straight into the edge of the roof. Nothing but empty sky beyond.

  "You dare threaten—" the consort gasped, desperation fraying.

  Caelum lifted one finger. Not a word. Not a command. Just a gesture, delicate and precise.

  The air grew heavy again as he locked the consort in pce. Still able to speak, but held fast. Caelum paced slowly now, inspecting him as though deciding where to carve first.

  "Let's not spoil the mood with unnecessary noise."

  He reached out, flexing his fingers thoughtfully. The bck gloves whispered as they shifted away, dissolving like ash. Beneath, his hands were not simply hands anymore. Cws. Long, curved, wickedly fine. Not crude bdes—but surgical instruments honed for more intimate arts.

  The consort froze as Caelum dragged one cw lightly through the air, humming as he inspected it like a jeweller examining the edge of a diamond.

  "Silver eyes," Caelum murmured, circling slowly now, zy steps whispering against the ancient stone. "Silver words. Silver tongue. Yet here you stand, trading secrets for scraps like a beggar with delusions of royalty."

  "I—" The consort tried again, voice pitching up, but Caelum silenced him with a small wave of his cw.

  "Enough. You're boring me already."

  He struck without ceremony. Not a grand swing or violent flourish. Just a flick—casual and elegant—across the consort’s chest. Cloth parted. Skin split a heartbeat ter, blooming open with surgical precision.

  Blood welled, bright and slow, as the consort gasped, yelled out, and clutched at himself in disbelief.

  "Do you know what I dislike most about your type?" Caelum asked conversationally, stepping closer, cws glinting faintly red now. He pressed one fingertip against the consort’s cheek, drawing it down delicately. Flesh parted easily, a clean line curving towards the jaw. The consort whimpered, voice breaking.

  "You run. You sell. You gossip. And yet, you think the throne still remembers your name." Caelum’s cws danced, small cuts tracing patterns zily across the consort’s colrbone now. "You fled when she starved, didn’t you? Left her hollow and weak, so you could pretend you never cared."

  The consort’s legs buckled, but Caelum caught him effortlessly, tilting his chin up with the edge of a cw beneath his jaw. “Please…”

  "Ah. But now you beg. Curious, isn’t it?" Caelum leaned in slightly, voice softening to something intimate and awful. "Now you know how she starved."

  The consort sobbed, the thin thread of his composure unraveling completely. Pleas choked through blood-flecked lips, but Caelum only smiled patiently, as though waiting for him to finish soiling himself. After the initial glee of the hunt and destruction, this now felt overdone.

  "This is tedious," Caelum mused after another long, indulgent pause. He flexed his fingers, cws extending like a cat stretching after py. "You’ve spilled enough."

  Caelum tugged him forward easily, lifting him like a doll, and brought the trembling consort to the very edge of the rooftop. He dangled him there casually, crimson eyes gleaming, letting the man's feet kick uselessly over the vast drop below.

  "Look at that," Caelum mused, voice deceptively light as moonlight cut sharp across his fangs. "Long way down, isn’t it? It’s a sudden stop at the end, but you have to love the view."

  Before fear could fully bloom, Caelum shifted his grip and drove his cws directly through the consort's chest, effortlessly tearing through ribs as though they were parchment. The consort choked, blood bubbling at his lips as Caelum's hand closed cruelly around his heart.

  “A shame you probably won’t live long enough to enjoy it.”

  With a fluid, merciless motion, Caelum tugged. The heart came free with a wet sound, faintly twitching as he turned it over in his palm. Without pause, he released the corpse, watching as it dropped silently into the yawning dark below. The silver eyes remained wide, as though still caught mid-beg. He studied the heart in his hand briefly, unimpressed, before bringing it to his lips and biting delicately, fangs piercing the muscle as though sampling fruit past its prime.

  "Disappointing," he said mildly, letting the ruined heart fall like refuse.

  Caelum straightened, smoothing his ruined cuffs with idle grace as his cws faded back into hands once more. He turned briefly to gaze out across Vestra's pale, slumbering sprawl, then toward the castle below where whispers no doubt awaited.

  He did not need to look back at the falling corpse. Why would he? It had already served its purpose.

  Entertainment.

  And perhaps, he thought as he vanished into shadow and back toward the Queen, a rather satisfying warm-up.