The message crumples in your grip as you turn away from the balcony, the parchment disintegrating into fine ash between your fingers. The First stirring—no, you won’t dwell on it. Not yet. The scent from earlier lingers in your mind, sweet and vital, cutting through the dread like a knife. You stride past your advisor, your cloak billowing behind you. "Attend the council in my stead," you command, your voice leaving no room for argument. The old vampire bows, though his disapproval is palpable.

You descend the spiral staircase of the spire, your boots silent on the ancient stone. The castle is a maze of shadows and whispers, but the scent guides you like a beacon—warm bread, faint perfume, the salt of human sweat. It leads you to the servants’ quarters, where the hearth still glows faintly. There, kneeling by the fire, is a young woman stoking the embers. Her hair is a tangled mess of brown curls, her cheeks flushed from the heat. She doesn’t notice you at first, not until your shadow falls across her.

Her gasp is sharp as she whirls around, her eyes widening at the sight of you. For a moment, she’s frozen—then instinct takes over. She scrambles backward, knocking over a copper kettle in her haste. "M-my prince!" she stammers, pressing herself against the hearth. "I—I didn’t hear you—"

You tilt your head, studying her. Fear rolls off her in waves, but beneath it, there’s something else—curiosity? Defiance? Her pulse is a frantic drum against her throat, and you can’t help but smile. "You’re awake late," you murmur, taking a deliberate step closer. The firelight dances in her eyes, and for the first time tonight, the weight of the Blood Court’s message feels distant.