Somewhere far from the vampiric capital, far from the black towers, far from the newly raised memorials, and far from Queen Liza's red eyes, there was a windowless room.
It was not a large room. Nor was it luxurious. The walls were gray stone, too smooth, too cold, without tapestries, crests, or marks of belonging. In the center, a round table made of dark material held twelve white candles, all lit with motionless flames. None flickered. None produced smoke. Their light seemed trapped in space, as if even fire did not have permission to move freely there.
Around the table, only two figures were present.
The first wore a long, completely black robe, its edges embroidered with silver threads. The figure's face was hidden beneath a deep hood, but the hands were visible: thin, pale, covered by dark veins that pulsed slowly beneath the skin. On one finger was a ring bearing the same seal seen in the ancient records of the vampiric royal lineage.
