Prince Rory's lush brown hair fell in a beautifully scattered mess across his brow as he made his way toward the eastern wing, responding to the summons of his older brother. He was dressed in royal black, a mantle of deep red velvet trailing elegantly from his shoulder.
As he passed, the palace occupants bowed before him. Some did so out of genuine respect, but most were driven by fear—yet the prince merely offered a sweet, effortless smile to everyone he encountered.
Suddenly, a snatch of conversation caught his attention. Being a pureblood vampire had blessed him with exceptionally sharp hearing. Taking a few more steps forward, he spotted the back of a woman facing Officer Edwic Partson.
"My lady, it is standard procedure," Edwic was saying. "Mr. Saleen must be registered on the account that he arrived here with you."
Marianne, looking rather embattled by the demand, froze as the rhythmic click of approaching boots echoed down the corridor. Resisting the fierce urge to turn around, she waited for the officer to greet whoever was approaching, internally praying that her brother was currently too engrossed in the news to notice her absence.
"Mr. Edwic…" she began.
She was abruptly cut off as the officer snapped to attention, dropping the conversation entirely. Edwic offered a deep, sweeping bow. "Long live the Prince," he intoned.
The greeting caused both Marianne and Saleen to turn around at once.
Rory's gaze fell upon the woman and her companion—a creature who looked almost too delicate and naive to be called a man. He noticed the immediate tension that gripped the woman before she bowed, subtly nudging her companion to do the same.
"Long live the Prince," they murmured in unison.
Rory looked back at the officer, a single eyebrow arched in amusement.
"My lord, these are the companions of Mr. Ivan Westwood," the officer explained, while Rory continued to observe the woman, his keen ears picking up the wild, frantic drumming of her heartbeat.
"The lady seems frightened, Edwic. Is that how we treat our guests?" Rory asked, his tone playfully light as he tilted his head.
Marianne looked up, meeting the gaze of a man with stark red eyes. The smile spreading across his face made her skin shiver instantly.
"Long live the Prince," a calm, deep voice intervened, breaking the suffocating atmosphere.
Everyone turned to see a silver-haired man standing nearby. Ivan had stepped forward to break the tension. He offered no self-introduction, well aware that the King and the Prince of Zarafeth already knew exactly who he was. His eyes swept briefly toward Marianne, who let out a quiet sigh of relief as Officer Edwic stepped slightly aside.
"Ivan Westwood. Welcome to Zarafeth. I trust our kingdom is treating you well?" Rory said, a sly smile gracing his lips as he looked at the witcher. Then, his eyes drifted back to the woman. "Though the lady looks rather terrified for a companion chosen for migration."
A sudden heat crept up Marianne's neck at the prince's comment. It was deeply embarrassing that her lack of composure had betrayed her so easily.
"All thanks to the revenue department, which gave Miss Marianne quite a shock," Ivan replied smoothly, completely devoid of fear as he met the prince's gaze, his face thoughtful.
"If that is the case, then I believe the lady owes us a treat by way of an apology," Rory murmured, his dark, intense eyes shifting back to the pale woman, whose face did little to hide her growing unease.
"My lord, I do not think that is necessary. I have long since forgiven the officials," she said quickly, her eyes darting to Ivan, who looked back as if instantly sensing her gaze.
"Lord Rory, I believe the lady requires some time to settle in, considering we have only just landed in the kingdom," Ivan interjected gently.
Rory nodded, the same unreadable smile playing on his lips as he continued to watch the new migrants.
Following their brief encounter with the Prince, and with the King still entirely consumed by matters of state, Ivan's audience with the monarch had to be deferred. Once the grueling bureaucratic formalities were finally concluded, Marianne, Saleen, and Ivan were escorted to the mansion allotted to them—a grand residence situated only a short distance from the courthouse.
The three of them settled into the carriage, silence enveloping them as the carriage rocked with a rhythmic, swaying motion, accompanied by the steady *clip-clop* of the horses' hooves against the cobblestones.
Back within the sprawling palace, as the sun began its slow descent below the horizon, a quiet settled over the royal study. Rory leaned casually against the stone wall, swirling a cup of crimson blood tea. Across the room sat Liam, the scratch of his quill rhythmically marking the parchment before him.
"The migrants are rather interesting," Rory murmured, clicking his tongue as the image of the woman he had encountered flashed through his mind. "Not to mention, the witcher looks incredibly cunning."
Liam looked up from his work, his gaze fixing on his younger brother, who was staring down into his tea as though it held the answers to the universe.
"Finally found something to amuse you, have you?" Liam remarked, his expression remaining as stoic and unreadable as ever.
"Do you think they would dare spy on us?" Rory asked, turning his eyes to his brother, who appeared entirely unbothered by the potential threat. "I have already assigned Theodore to watch the man, and a maid to keep an eye on the rest of the household."
"That should be more than enough to keep them in check," Liam replied nonchalantly, before dipping his quill once more and returning to his work.