South.
The black carriage rolled to a slow stop before the looming spires of the castle. Its gates groaned open like the maw of some slumbering beast, inviting the cold, damp wind that swept over the courtyard. The clouds above churned like thick ink, threatening rain.
One of the doors creaked open and a man stepped down. His boots met the stone with an impatient click. He stood tall, wrapped in layers of finely woven black and deep crimson, the silver embroidery on his coat glinting despite the dull sky. Eyes the color of spilled blood flicked upward to the clouds.
"Tch."
Samael ran a hand through his perfectly styled jet-black hair, raking it back until it stood in an artful dishevelment with a frustrated sigh. "Can we never arrive without the sky mourning?" he muttered.
Behind him, another figure descended the carriage steps, more slowly, more rigidly.
Azrael.
His skin had the appearance of polished ash... pale, but with a lifeless hue to it. His lips bore a purplish tinge, barely noticeable to humans but painfully clear to any vampire who looked too long. His sharp features remained unreadable, save for the tightness around his eyes. He moved with the elegance expected of his station, yet there was a stiffness in his limbs, like a blade dulled by poison.
"Remind me again," Samael said casually, folding his arms. "Why would you 'kiss' your charming new wife after discovering her lipstick was laced with 'Nightbane'?"
Azrael didn't answer immediately, merely lifted his eyes to the towering façade of the Academy castle, one of many scattered across the premises. Each castle served its own purpose: some trained youngbloods in combat, others refined vampire diplomacy, and this one… well, this was the one where secrets were stitched into the stone.
Samael pressed further, voice tinged with dry amusement. "Was it chivalry? Masochism? Or simply a death wish?"
Azrael's eyes flickered sideways. "It was worth watching her face when I didn't fall."
"Fall?" Samael snorted. "You look like death already. You should be bleeding from your eyes by now."
Azrael smirked faintly. "I'm bleeding on the inside."
Samael raised his gaze to the castle "Melodrama suits you almost as well as attempted murder suits your bride."
The incident had spread quickly among the higher courts: Azrael, a direct Pureblood descendant, had been wed to a human noblewoman from a Southern family allied with the vampire crown. The marriage had been entirely political... a temporary truce offering status and protection in exchange for loyalty and quiet compliance. The union was not expected to be consummated, let alone fertile. The king had made that clear: humans and vampires could mingle only in blood and power, never in legacy.
So it came as quite the scandal when Azrael's new bride tried to kill him on the altar.
Samael's voice dropped lower, growing more serious. "Nightbane, Azrael. That flower was supposed to be extinct. The king had every last shrub burned. You know that."
Nightbane.
A rare flower once native to the deepest parts of the Eastern wilds... before the East vanished. When brewed into oils or pastes, it could sap a vampire's strength to that of an average man, severing the healing factor that made them nearly immortal. The effects didn't strike like lightning but crept like disease, slow and subtle. A weakened vampire could be stabbed, starved… even killed.
The terrifying part?
It was just as lethal to humans...if not more.
The dosage needed to affect a vampire would melt a human's organs. His bride must've worn it on her lips long enough to nearly collapse after the kiss. And Azrael... well, Azrael had simply kissed her deeper.
Azrael spoke up. "The Academy has better alchemists than the capital."
---
Azrael and Samael ascended the stone steps slowly. The former leaned slightly. His breathing was controlled, but Samael could sense the weakness dripping from his companion like sap from a sick tree.
The entrance opened with a groan. Inside, the castle was chillingly silent. The hallway was long and arched, flanked by statues whose eyes followed them with sculpted disdain. Their footsteps echoed through the corridor....Samael's steady and unfazed, Azrael's slow and strained.
They stopped before a large, polished wooden door, its surface carved with glyphs and ancient vampire script. Samael raised his fist to knock, but the door creaked open before his knuckles made contact.
The scent of crushed violets and spell-burned parchment drifted out.
A woman stood beside the tall arched window, straight black hair flowing like ink down her back. Her figure was delicate but deceptively so, power coiled around her like a silk shawl. Her gaze was sharp, her dark eyes catching the fading daylight.
"You came," she said coolly, pushing off the windowsill with barely a motion. Her voice was smooth, every word laced with amusement. "I didn't think you'd bother coming all this way for an antidote, Samael."
Samael stepped inside without answering. Azrael followed.
With a flick of her fingers, the heavy door slammed shut behind them.
Her eyes landed on Azrael. "My goodness," she said with a breathy laugh, "Azrael, you look awful."
Azrael grunted, eyes hollow. "Pleasure as always… Selene."
Selene, the head mage of The academy, young in appearance, ancient in knowledge, arched a brow. "I would've sent something for the ceremony if I'd known your bride had such… lethal intentions."
Samael cast a bored look toward one of the potion-filled shelves. "She tried to kill him with Nightbane. Ring a bell?"
Selene's lips twitched upward. "Charming girl. Where in the Abyss did she find a Nightbane? I thought your King burned the last of them."
"So did I," Samael muttered.
Selene didn't look surprised. Instead, her tone turned syrupy with mock sympathy. "Hopefully my antidote will suffice as a gift." "But mind you, I only made one. There won't be enough for your beautiful bride."
"That'll be fine," Samael replied.
Selene took a step closer to Samael, her presence suddenly far more intimate. She reached out to adjust the perfect lapel of his cloak, her nails brushing his chest. "But you didn't come all the way here just for the antidote."
He didn't step back. "I underestimated your insight."
Her smile deepened. "Flattery from the charming Lord Samael. What is the world coming to?"
"I came for more than Azrael's misfortune," he said. "I want to know about the King… and the Prince."
Selene's expression shifted, just slightly, but enough for Samael to catch. "What about them?"
"Everything," he answered.
She moved behind him, fingers grazing the edge of a dusty shelf as she whispered, "The prince is dying… everyone knows that."
"And yet no one talks about the why," Samael replied.
"Because they're scared," she said. "They should be. There are things moving beneath the palace… beneath the kingdom. A cult, they say. Drenched in blood magic and secrecy. They toy with what should not be touched. Shades."
Samael's brow furrowed. "Shades?"
Selene nodded. "They've returned. They shouldn't even exist anymore, but something is feeding them. Giving them form."
"Shadow creatures," Azrael rasped from his chair. "They were used in the old wars as assassins. Possessors."
"And killers," Selene added. "Only the strongest wards can keep them out. If one slips through… it's over."
Samael narrowed his eyes. "Who's toying with them?"
Her gaze drifted toward the high window. Thunder cracked outside.
"There are Lords," she whispered, "powerful ones. Ones who want to tip the balance of the kingdom. I don't know all their names… but they've bled through the cracks of the court. Into the palace. The King may be blind to it...or perhaps, he's chosen to be."
Samael smiled. " You always know more than you say."
She turned back to him with a smile, fingers once again tugging at the folds of his cloak. "And I've told you all I know… for now."
Samael stared at her. "Then we're already in deeper than we thought."
Selene blinked slowly, her lashes like twin veils. "You always were good at digging graves."
Selene stepped closer, her breath warm against the chilled air. Her face hovered just inches from Samael's, the curve of her lips poised in suggestion, her dark eyes flickering with mischief, or maybe challenge. Her fingers toyed with the fabric at his chest, lingering like a question left unanswered.
She leaned in further, almost expectantly.
Samael didn't flinch. His eyes remained still, unreadable. Then, with the faintest tilt of his head, he murmured dryly, "There's a grey hair."
Selene froze.
He could almost hear the gears grinding behind her unblinking eyes. Slowly, too slowly, she stepped back, expression neutral. Her fingers flew to her sleek black hair, brushing it anxiously as she spun on her heel and glided toward the ornate mirror hanging beside the bookshelf.
"No," she whispered, inspecting herself with surgical precision.
Samael's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Right near the temple."
She hissed something under her breath in an ancient tongue, and the faint glimmer of a ward flickered across her skin, dissolving into her reflection. Whatever illusion she'd worn had slipped for a moment, and that alone was enough to shake her.
Aging... Selene's only true fear. In a world where vampires froze in time and wielded eternity, she was mortal. Exceptionally powerful, yes, but still bound by decay.
She turned back around with a stiff smile, regaining her composure. "I'd almost let myself believe you came just for me," she said, voice sharp and sweet like candied poison.
Samael raised a brow. "I'm not in the habit of chasing death."
She chuckled, plucking a thin silver chain from around her neck. From it dangled a tiny glass vial, filled with a smoky silver liquid. "Pity. I like dangerous habits."
Azrael muttered, "Let's hope your antidote works."
Selene smirked. "If it doesn't, I'll claim your corpse for research. It's not every day I get to dissect a Lord."
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the vial toward Azrael. He caught it midair, uncorked it without hesitation, and downed its contents in one motion.
The change was almost immediate.
Azrael sagged against the wall, eyes fluttering closed for a second. Then his breath evened. Color began to seep back into his pallid face, his lips losing the violet tint. The tension in his limbs loosened, and the faint tremor in his fingers stilled.
Samael approached him wordlessly, and from the folds of his cloak, he withdrew a thin ceremonial dagger. Its edge gleamed briefly in the firelight before he grasped Azrael's wrist and dragged the blade across it.
Azrael winced but didn't pull away.
A line of dark blood beaded along the cut... then closed swiftly, the skin knitting together with vampiric speed.
Samael gave a small nod. "It worked."
Samael turned toward her one last time. "I'm grateful for your time and your help."
Selene offered a mock-curtsy. "You're always welcome to come waste more of both."
"I'm sure I will," he said smoothly.
Without another word, Samael turned, his cloak sweeping behind him like trailing smoke. Azrael followed a moment later, steadier now, no longer dragging his feet.
The great door creaked open again at Selene's command, the torches dimming as they passed. She remained standing in the same place, one hand toying with her silver chain where the vial had once rested. Her dark eyes followed them silently.