Werewolf bites were extremely fatal to vampires. Their fangs carried a venom that travelled swiftly through the victim's body, shooting straight to the mind and heart. Once injected, the venom caused vivid hallucinations, distorting reality while simultaneously slowing the vampire's heart rhythm. If left untreated, the heart would eventually come to a complete stop.
A vampire's strength increased with age, growing alongside their experience and bloodline. The first generation of vampires were blessed—or cursed—with unique abilities, powers that were passed down through their descendants. The Blackwell family was one such lineage.
Each member of the Blackwell bloodline possessed an ability of their own, and King Marcus was no exception. His gift was hallucikinesis—the power to create hallucinations within another's mind. It was a rare and dangerous ability, one that required immense control.
Now, that same power worked against him.
King Marcus lay drenched in sweat, his body trembling against the sheets. His brows were tightly clenched, his lips moving as strained words slipped past them. His breathing was shallow and uneven, each breath a struggle.
Having sharp senses of hearing, both the queen and the crown prince caught his words clearly.
"Haelia… c-come back to me," he breathed weakly, his voice cracked with longing.
His mind was filled with images of a woman's warm smile and soft laughter—visions born from venom-fuelled hallucinations and memories that never truly faded.
Something shifted in the room.
One pair of eyes burned with irritation, sharp and resentful.
The other softened, just slightly—only a fleeting flicker—an image of a woman glinting behind his eyes before disappearing.
Haelia was Leonard's birth mother.
She had passed away twelve years after giving birth to him. A dark-skinned woman with brownish-red hair and ocean-blue eyes, her presence had always been gentle. Her voice carried tenderness, and her smile had the warmth of sunlight breaking through clouds.
She had been the light in both men's worlds.
When she died, every hint of light within them shattered into pieces that could never be repaired.
Leonard, once a bright child with an infectious smile, changed. The warmth in him faded, replaced by hostility. His sparkling eyes turned hollow, his laughter vanished, and cruelty slowly became his closest companion. Grumpiness settled into his bones, shaping him into the man the kingdom now feared and respected.
The court had wasted no time after her death.
King Marcus was urged to remarry, and Maye soon became his queen. No matter what she did—no matter how perfectly she played her role—she knew she could never replace the space Haelia had carved into their hearts.
Leonard never attempted to grow close to her.
And Maye, despite her efforts, eventually stopped trying.
Less than three weeks after the wedding, Maye conceived. Nine months later, she gave birth to her first son, Henry. Three years after that, she conceived again and had Lannae. Half a year later came Naiya.
Maye tried everything within her power to make Henry the king's favorite. She whispered into Marcus's ears, subtly urging him to send Leonard to war—hoping the battlefield would rid her of him and secure the throne for her son.
Leonard was aware of her intentions.
It never bothered him.
Instead, he trained relentlessly, pushing himself beyond his limits until he became the finest swordsman in the entire kingdom. His bond with his father only tightened, much to Maye's frustration.
Henry, on the other hand, viewed Leonard as a rival. Their relationship was strained, poisoned by Maye's influence. Henry had been molded to see the crown prince as an enemy, a threat to everything he was meant to inherit.
Leonard never cared.
He defeated Henry effortlessly in every aspect—skill, wit, presence.
Lannae was different.
She had inherited her kindness from their father. She never treated Leonard poorly and always showed him respect. Leonard returned it wholeheartedly, and over the years, they grew close, forming a bond that neither politics nor bloodlines could break.
Naiya, however, walked her own path. She resisted her mother's influence yet never aligned herself with Leonard either. Her mind was sharp, independent, and unreadable.
Despite all the years Maye had spent beside King Marcus, she believed she had finally replaced Haelia's place in his heart.
Hearing his voice whisper Haelia's name—even on his sickbed—felt like a blade twisting in her chest.
Why?
Why couldn't he forget that woman? That wench?
Leonard didn't linger.
He had seen enough. Heard enough.
Without another word, he turned and pushed the door open, leaving his father and stepmother behind. His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he exited the room, his mind already set.
Someone was trying to kill the king.
And Leonard intended to find out who.
Not far from the royal castle, a carriage came to a halt in the busy market of Thrustborn.
Five maids stepped down onto the cobblestone street, immediately surrounded by life and noise. Men and women bustled past them, voices overlapping as merchants advertised their goods. Customers bargained loudly, newspaper boys cried out headlines at the top of their lungs, and the vibrant scent of fried snacks filled the air.
Having been there before, the maids quickly split into two groups.
Dydra, Oryen, and another maid—one who appeared close to Dydra's age—were tasked with buying fruits and vegetables. The remaining two went off to purchase animal-based foods and spices.
The other maid stayed close to Dydra as they walked.
"Hello," she said softly. "I'm Megan. What's your name?"
Dydra blinked, taken aback.
No one had ever taken the initiative to introduce themselves to her before. At the Thelmond mansion, maids treated her like a walking disease—pointing, whispering, avoiding her gaze. Even in the market, people stared, questioned her features, but never spoke to her kindly.
A small smile formed on her lips.
"I'm Dydra," she replied. "Nice to meet you."
Megan frowned slightly.
"D-didre?" she tried, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Why couldn't she pronounce it properly? That was rude. Her fingers scratched the back of her neck shyly.
Dydra didn't mind. She was used to it.
"It's D with a Y, then another D, and RA," she explained calmly.
Megan gasped loudly.
"You can read?!" she exclaimed, jealousy flickering briefly in her brown eyes.
It was only then that Dydra realized something she had never considered—most maids couldn't read. They came from poor backgrounds, denied education from birth.
Her grandmother had taught her.
Shop owners had always reacted the same way. One had even warned her never to let the elites know she could read—it would put her at a disadvantage.
Oryen, walking a step ahead, heard the exchange and shot Dydra a sharp look.
Lie.
Dydra understood instantly.
"I was only taught to spell my name," she blurted quickly. "By an elite girl… my mother worked under her family."
The jealousy vanished from Megan's eyes, replaced by a bright smile.
"Oh! So, Dydra," she said carefully. "I got it!"
Dydra smiled back, releasing a quiet breath of relief.