Lysandra clicked the latch on her final travel trunk with a satisfying snap. She had finished packing her belongings and took a moment to look around her room, making sure she had not forgotten anything important. Her bow rested securely across her back, and her arrows were fastened neatly at her side. She adjusted her outfit slightly, smoothing out the fabric of her black trousers before stepping toward the door.
Just as she was about to leave, Queen Elowen entered the room.
The Queen carried herself with elegance as always, her presence calm but give commanding vibes. She walked toward Lysandra with measured steps, her eyes briefly scanning her daughter's appearance.
"You are ready," she said softly.
"Yes, Mother," Lysandra replied, standing a little straighter.
Queen Elowen stepped closer and adjusted a strand of Lysandra's hair, her touch gentle.
"Be careful out there," she added. "The slave camps are not like the palace. Do not let your guard down."
"I won't," Lysandra assured her. The Queen gave a small nod, clearly satisfied.
"Make wise choices when selecting the servants," she continued. "Not all obedience is loyalty."
"I understand, mother. I will not let you down." Lysandra replied.
She then reached out, clasping Lysandra's hands, and wished her and Adrian a safe and successful journey to the slave camps. She then hugged Lysandra tightly with a hint of sadness in her eyes. It was a formal blessing, but the warmth in her voice was real.
Queen Elowen gave her one last look before turning and leaving the room.
The King did not come. He was in a meeting with one of the lords and had not bothered to see her off. Lysandra's expression did not change, but deep down, she felt the familiar sting of his absence.
----------------------
Moments later, Lysandra made her way out of the royal castle.
The royal, carriage which is a masterpiece of black lacquer and gold trim, stood waiting, polished and imposing, with guards already stationed around it. Adrian was already there, standing beside the carriage. It seemed like he had been waiting for some time
Without exchanging unnecessary words, Lysandra entered the carriage, and Adrian followed shortly after.
Behind them, the guards and the head servant climbed into a more practical and lesser carriage, while large five empty carriages were prepared to transport the selected slaves back to the castle.
As dusk settled over the land, the convoy began its journey. The sound of hooves striking the ground echoed steadily as the carriages moved through the fading light.
As the castle walls faded into the dusk, Lysandra settled into the plush velvet cushions of the carriage. Killian was checking his maps, looking stoic and focused. The royal carriage was filled with silence.
Lysandra sat across from Adrian, her posture composed, her expression calm, but her mind was anything but quiet. Instead, her thoughts drifted toward one particular person- Killian.
Her lips pressed together slightly as she thought about him leaving without telling her and, then promising to come wish her luck and see her off.
Hmmph!! Pathetic. she said to herself.
A slow, mischievous smile began to form on her face.
So, you think you can just leave like that? she thought.
Alright, brother… let us see how you handle what comes next.
Her mind immediately began to create plans. First, she decided she would ignore him completely when he returned.
Yes, that would be a good start.
She imagined him walking into the room, expecting her usual warm and clingy greeting, only to be met with silence. She almost laughed at the thought.
No… that is too simple. He is like a stone and wouldn't care.
Her smile widened. Oh my, I will do what he hates. Why didn't I think that?
I will oppose any command he gives the servants till I'm satisfied. That's perfect.
Killian values authority, so messing up with it will anger him which will be the perfect payback for her. She imagined him sending a servant on an errand then she would give the servant a day off. Killian will surely flare up which will satisfy her.
She tapped her finger lightly against her arm as another idea formed in her head. I will replace his blood wines, gawd his reaction will be satisfying.
Killian took his blood-wine very seriously because it helps him think and relieve stress. She leaned back, giggling to herself as she imagined replacing his vintage reserve with a blend of beet juice and very spicy peppers. The look on his face—the transition from "regal vampire lord" to "fire-breathing dragon"—would be worth any lecture their father might give her.
Her shoulders shook slightly as she tried to hold in her laughter. She then looked at Adrian, who was still staring at his scrolls. He had no idea of what was going on in head.
By the time Killian returned, she would make sure he regretted not telling her before he leaves and giving her false hopes of seeing him.
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At the Slave Camps
The air was thick with the smell of dry earth and unwashed bodies as thousands of slaves gathered in the central courtyard. The atmosphere was filled with whispers and curiosity.
The slaves had been gathered in the courtyard, standing in uneven lines as they murmured among themselves. The recent changes in the camp had not gone unnoticed. The sudden lack of random beatings. They had been given more food. Their duty, though was still the same but to them, it felt lighter.
Something was happening but no one knew what.
The whispering continued until the head slave master entered the courtyard. The Head Slave Master marched onto the raised stone podium. He was a tall, gaunt man who took great pride in his small amount of power. He didn't need to shout.
His presence alone caused the noise to quiet slightly, but not completely.
With an irritated expression, he snapped his fingers loudly, The sharp sound echoed across the courtyard. The buzzing whispers of the slaves died down instantly.
He snapped his fingers again, and two personal slaves hurried forward, carrying a massive, embroidered cushion chair. They placed it carefully on the podium. He sat down slowly, looking over the gathered slaves with cold authority.
"Tomorrow," he began, his voice cold and echoing, across the courtyard, "the royals will be here."
A wave of whispers spread instantly. A collective gasp rippled through the courtyard followed by wave of whispers. "The royals?"
"They are coming here?" someone whispered.
"Why?"
"Silence!" the Slave Master barked his voice booming off the courtyard. The courtyard immediately fell completely quiet.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp.
"The royal vampires are pureblood," he continued, his eyes scanning the crowd with a sneer. "They are not like us. They are ruthless, and they will kill for even the smallest mistake. So, you all should be on your absolute best behavior."
Fear flickered across many faces.
He leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. "They are here to pick some of you to work as servants in the Lunaretha and the royal castle."
That statement caused a different reaction. It brought hope and excitement to the slaves.
"They will pick from all creatures," he continued. "Humans, witches, shadeborn… anyone."
The slaves stood frozen, absorbing his words.
"When you see them," he added, his voice lowering dangerously, "bow your heads. Do not dare look into their eyes. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not move unless told. If you fail to show respect, you won't just lose the opportunity to work in the Lunaretha; you'll lose your head"
He paused before finishing as the weight of the words settled in the minds of the slaves. "So, good luck and pray they pick you."
He then stood up and said, "You are dismissed. Go back to your dorms and duties"
The slaves began to disperse, but the moment they moved away, the whispers returned—this time louder, filled with excitement and hopeful energy. The slaves were pumped, their hearts racing with the possibility of leaving the slave camps.
"Is it true?"
"They are really coming?"
"The royal castle…"
"The Lunaretha...."
"Is the news really real?" one young slave asked, clutching his friend's arm. "The Lunaretha? The actual royal castle?"
"They are going to pick us!" another cried. "I've heard the tales. That place is heaven. I heard the servants are treated like actual people. They have comfortable rooms with real beds and bathrooms—not like this place."
"I heard the food is real," a woman added, her eyes misty and teary. "Good food, thrice a day. Meat. Bread. Not this watered-down gruel. By the Oracle, let them choose me. This place is a living hell.
"I wish they pick me," one said eagerly with tears in her eyes.
The hopes of leaving the slave camps spread like wildfire. To them, a life of service to a "ruthless" pureblood was still heaven compared to this hell.
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Hazel's POV
We had just returned from the courtyard after the announcement, and the entire dorm was filled with excited whispers. The announcement had electrified the dorm. Usually, we are always silent, trying to save our energy for the morning duty, but tonight, no one could sleep.
Everyone was talking at once. Some were laughing, others were already making plans, and a few were already imagining what their lives would be like in the royal castle.
I sat quietly in my corner, listening.
From their conversations, I learned more about The Lunaretha and the royal castle than I had ever known before. The rumors about The Lunaretha grew more extravagant by the minute.
They said the walls were made of solid diamond; They said it was a place of beauty. A place where servants lived better lives.
I even heard one girl claimed that if you avoided the vampires and didn't annoy them, you would eventually be granted your freedom and allowed to marry. It sounded like a fairy tale to me.
I sat at my corner listening to them. I felt the excitement too, like butterflies in my belly.
For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine it. A life where I was not constantly afraid; where I could eat properly and sleep without pain. I swallowed. I also wanted that life. I truly did. But then, reality settled in.
I've had bad luck following me since the day I was born. Nothing good ever stayed with me for long. It's like a shadow that never leaves. In my world, if something seems too good to be true, it's usually a trap. So even if they were choosing slaves..... I knew I would not be chosen.
I wanted to hope, but I knew it wasn't for me. I looked over at Mandy. She was sitting quietly, her face pale.
I wished with everything I had that the royals would pick her. If anyone deserved to escape this place and the horrors she faced daily, it was her. Please, I prayed silently to the Oracle, even if I stay in this hell hole, let Mandy see the inside of that castle.
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In another part of the Lunaretha - Darius estate
Darius stood in a dimly lit room by a large map on a table, the candlelight flickering against his sharp features. Two of his most trusted spies stood before him, travel-worn and dusty.
They had just returned from the West, investigating the silent killer—the plague.
"What do the reports say?" Darius asked, his voice cold.
One of the spies stepped forward. "It says that only the people who drink from the public water sources have contracted the disease, My Lord," one of the spies replied, bowing low.
Darius's eyes narrowed. He then leaned in, his eyes tracking the river lines on the map. "So it is not random," he said. "Someone is poisoning the public sources of water deliberately ."
"Yes, sir," the spy confirmed.
Darius nodded slowly, his expression darkened slightly. "And what does your research say about the cure? Tell me we have progress." he demanded
"We are still working on it, sir," the spy admitted, bowing his head.
Darius turned to him, his eyes flashing with a hint of red and his jaw tightened. "You all need to work faster! I have no time to waste. I need to get the cure for the plague before that pathetic Killian does."
"Sir," The second spy finally spoke clearing his throat. "We have word that Killian is already heading West."
Darius let out a harsh, dry scoff , "Of course he is. That attention-seeking fool," he muttered. " Always trying to appear noble. Acting all mighty to save the day."
He folded his arms. "Do we know what he is doing there?" he asked, his lip curling in a sneer. "Is he actually making progress for the cure?"
"No, sir," the spy replied. " Your cousin and his men are incredibly secretive. His movements are difficult to track. His information is heavily guarded. We don't know yet if he has found a lead on the cure."
Darius was silent for a moment. Then, a slow, wicked smirk spread across Darius's face. "Okay, we need to find it first. But in the meantime... let's give my dear cousin something else to occupy his mind.
The spies exchanged brief glances.
"Send a group of common vampires to ambush his carriage on the road." Darius ordered.
The spies blinked in confusion. "Sir... a common vampire can't beat a royal pureblood like him and his alpha team" one of them uttered hesitantly.
"Yes, I know that. He will kill them. That is expected." Darius snapped, waving his hand as if the lives of the common vampires were nothing more than dust. "But he needs a distraction since he's being so 'serious.' He'll be forced to stop, to fight, to clean up the mess. It will slow him down. I want him frustrated and exhausted."
His smirk deepened. "But even a moment of distraction is enough." he muttered to himself.
Then, he leaned over the table "Also, send our best trackers to the West. I want every move Killian makes monitored."
The spies nodded.
"If he gets close to a cure, I want to know immediately so we can duplicate his work—or better yet, steal it and present it ourselves."
The spies bowed. "Yes, sir."
As they left the room to carry out Darius' orders, Darius remained where he stood, watching the candle flame die out, his expression thoughtful, already picturing Killian's failure.
"This time," he muttered to himself, "the throne will be ours again."