"I can manage, my lord," she said with a small, careful smile. Leonard did not reply. He simply turned away and left the chamber, closing the door softly behind him. The quiet click echoed longer than expected in the stillness of the room.
With his shirt still unbuttoned, Leonard strode through the corridors of the royal castle. The night was thinning, and the younger maids were leaving their posts one by one, their hushed footsteps fading as they exited the inner halls. The corridors grew scant, occupied only by a few older servants whose years of service had dulled their curiosity. They barely spared him a glance beyond lowering their heads in respect as he passed. None of them commented on his disheveled appearance, nor did they dare to.
Leonard headed toward the eastern wing of the castle, a stretch of stone hallways that had long fallen into disuse. Dust clung stubbornly to the corners, and the air there felt colder, heavier, as though the castle itself had abandoned that side. He stopped before a plain wall bearing a single iron torch holder. Sliding his hands out of his trouser pockets, he grasped it firmly and pulled. A low rumble vibrated through the stones, deep and mechanical. The floor trembled beneath his boots, and within seconds, the stone slabs parted, revealing a descending staircase carved into darkness.
He did not hesitate. This was not his first time. With long, unhurried strides, Leonard descended the staircase, the torchlight above shrinking until it vanished entirely. The stairs led to a hidden study tucked beneath the castle, a place forgotten by all but him. A massive bookshelf rested against one wall, its shelves filled with carefully organized volumes. A sturdy table and chair sat nearby, parchment stacked neatly atop the polished surface beside a bottle of wine and a single, spotless wineglass.
Opposite them was a narrow balcony opening toward the distant ocean, the salty air drifting in through iron rails and serving as the room's only ventilation. Leonard casually shrugged off his shirt and tossed it onto the lone couch resting against the wall. He pushed open a door leading to a washroom, where steam curled lazily from the surface of a filled tub. He removed his trousers and boots before stepping into the warm water, letting it envelop him.
A young maid emerged from the shadows as though she had always been there. Her presence was subtle, almost unnatural. Her eyes were dull and empty, devoid of life, and long black hair veiled half her pale face. Her skin was white as snow, lending her an eerie, ghostlike appearance that unsettled anyone unfamiliar with her. Her voice did little to soften it.
"Welcome, my prince," she greeted, her tone husky and low.
She held a sponge in her palm, dipped it into the water, and brought it to his body, scrubbing gently. Leonard did not react. This was her purpose. Aside from the two of them, no one knew this place existed, nor did anyone know of her presence here.
He had discovered it on the day his mother was buried.
The memory surfaced unbidden as he closed his eyes. The sky had been gray that day, heavy with clouds that refused to weep. He had been consumed by grief, by rage, blaming his father for his mother's slow, lonely death. The king had been too busy ruling, too busy maintaining appearances, to notice her fading. Leonard had wanted to escape everything—the suffocating stares, the hollow condolences, the pity that tasted more like anticipation. He had seen it clearly then. Many of the women mourning beside him were already measuring themselves for the crown, hoping the king would notice them now that the queen's place was empty.
He had slipped away from the burial ceremony and wandered east, knowing no one would think to look for him there. While hiding from those sent to retrieve him, he had leaned against the torch holder, exhausted and numb. His weight had bent the mechanism, and the staircase had revealed itself. He had followed it down, greeted by dust, rot, and neglect. Over the years, he had transformed the space into something livable, something private. It became his refuge. His lair of thoughts.
Leonard tightened his jaw as another image intruded upon his mind, forcing his eyes open. Red hair. Bare back. The girl. Why was she there, lingering in his thoughts when she had no place being there at all? He was due at the royal court soon, to discuss matters that would determine the kingdom's future, yet his mind clung stubbornly to her presence. Had she done something to him? The idea irritated him. That was impossible. He forced the thought aside.
The king would not live past the next winter. That much was clear. The court would soon debate succession, though the answer was obvious. Still, formalities had to be observed. Two sons had been born to the king, and even inevitability required discussion.
After some time, the maid stopped scrubbing. Leonard rose from the tub, water streaming down his skin. She handed him a dry towel without lifting her eyes. He wrapped it around his lower body and stepped onto the wooden floor, then returned to the study. He approached the bookshelf and pulled out a blue volume. A section of the shelf shifted inward before sliding aside entirely, revealing a concealed wardrobe behind it.
Inside were neatly arranged shirts and trousers. He selected a set and dressed efficiently, pulling on his boots afterward. His long, dark curls were gathered into a neat bun at the nape of his neck. Taking a seat, he signaled the maid closer. She obeyed instantly, movements stiff and unnatural, extending her wrist toward him without hesitation. She knew what he wanted.
Leonard's fangs emerged as he leaned forward and bit into her wrist. His eyes closed as warm blood filled his mouth, sliding down his throat. He fed silently, controlled, detached. When he pulled away, she did not flinch. He stood and left the room without another glance. It was time for the court meeting.
Elsewhere in the castle, Dydra slipped into the prince's clothes and quietly exited the chamber. Being new to the castle, she had no sense of direction. She wandered through the halls, her eyes wide with wonder at the ornate designs. Paintings of past kings and battles lined the walls, and elegant vases occupied every corner. She peeked out of windows as she passed, marveling at the height and scale of everything around her.
Relief washed over her when she noticed the absence of servants. If anyone saw her wandering in expensive men's clothing with confusion written all over her face, the rumors would be merciless. The clothes swallowed her frame. She constantly tugged at the trousers to keep them from slipping and pulled the collar up, trying unsuccessfully to make it sit properly against her collarbone.
Unaware of her path, she headed straight toward the eastern wing. Leonard, lost in thought, was coming from the same direction. Neither noticed the other in time. They collided, and Dydra staggered back, losing her balance. She landed hard on the stone floor with a startled cry, pain flaring as she hit.