Pyrra kept going, poking Drake's forehead gently.
"Did you bully anyone?" she asked seriously.
Drake gasped even louder, holding a hand over his chest dramatically.
"Momma! I'm a good dragon! I only wrestled Luna a little bit... and Boo deserved it 'cause he put glitter in my water!"
Pyrra tried to keep her face straight but failed completely, laughing as she hugged him tighter.
Blaze shifted slightly in his seat, glancing toward the large clock on the far wall like he was mentally calculating how much longer this 'debriefing' would go on.
Pyrra leaned closer, whispering like they were sharing a big royal secret.
"And... did you set anything on fire today?"
Drake bit his lip, thinking hard.
"...Only a little! Only the art paper corner! But it was an accident!"
Pyrra nodded wisely, ruffling his hair.
"That's right, accidents happen. But next time, try not to set the whole classroom on fire, hmm?"
Blaze cleared his throat quietly, giving them both a long, heavy look—the kind that usually sent warrior dragons into straight lines.
Pyrra glanced at her mate, then looked at Drake.
She winked.
"Uh-oh, Daddy's using the 'disappointed but patient' face," she whispered.
Drake's eyes widened, and he straightened up like a soldier.
"I will not set fires! I will not throw food! I will not tackle Boo without permission!"
Blaze leaned back with a small sigh, rubbing his forehead.
Living with one tiny dragon was chaotic enough.
Living with two…one small and giggling, and one full-grown and just as mischievous was a challenge even a Dragon Lord couldn't always win.
But as he watched his mate kiss their son's forehead again, and Drake laughing like the happiest little dragon cub in the world, Blaze's serious eyes softened once more.
***
The tall, dark gates of the ancient castle opened with a deep creak, the shadows inside stretching long over the cold marble floors. The towering black walls, lit by only a few flickering chandeliers, gave the castle a heavy, timeless feeling as if the very stones had seen centuries pass by.
Through the massive entrance, walked a very small but very graceful figure.
"Father I am home," Vlad Jr. said quietly, his voice calm and sweet, but filled with a strange kind of politeness no child his age should have.
His pretty red eyes were clear and peaceful, shining faintly under the dim light, his little steps silent as he moved like a miniature noble through the wide halls. Several maids, dressed in neat black and white uniforms, immediately bowed when they saw him.
"Welcome home, Young Master," they greeted together.
Vlad Jr. gave a small, polite nod in return like a tiny adult already trained to rule.
At the center of the long hall, standing under the grand chandelier with heavy velvet curtains behind him, was Count Vladmir.
Tall and powerful, Count Vladmir had hair as dark as midnight, falling around his face in soft waves that still looked sharp enough to command attention. His red eyes, deeper and older than his son's, stared forward coldly, holding the wisdom and dangers of hundreds of years inside them. His outfit…a deep black suit trimmed with silver fit him perfectly, outlining his strong, muscular figure without a single wrinkle. The way he stood, silent and commanding, made the huge hall feel even colder.
His face was calm.
His expression unreadable.
Almost like a beautiful, deadly painting.
And yet, the moment he spoke, even though his voice was cold, there was a tiny warmth hidden in the words.
"Welcome home, son."
Vlad Jr. nodded once again with quiet elegance, walking toward him without fear.
It was no wonder everyone called him Vlad Jr. Not just because he was the heir but because he truly looked like a small mirror of his father…the same sharp beauty, the same proud blood, the same cold dignity wrapped around a soft, hidden heart.
And honestly, it was too cute.
Even the maids, who were supposed to be serious, often had to cover their mouths to hide their smiles when Vlad Jr. passed by, acting like a perfect little vampire lord.
After the quiet greeting, Count Vladmir turned gracefully and walked toward the grand sitting room. Without needing to be told, Vlad Jr. followed him, his little shoes making soft tapping sounds as he crossed the hall.
The grand sitting room was as elegant as the rest of the castle..tall ceilings, dark velvet curtains, silver chandeliers casting soft glows on the deep red carpets. Everything was quiet, formal, and slightly cold. But for Vlad Jr., it was home.
Vladmir sat down on one of the high-backed chairs carved from blackwood, his posture perfect. He crossed one leg neatly over the other, placing a hand over the armrest. His crimson eyes lowered, calmly studying his son.
Vlad Jr., with all the dignity his small body could carry, climbed onto the seat across from him and sat properly—back straight, hands resting neatly on his knees.
They sat in silence for a moment.
A noble tradition.
Then, Count Vladmir spoke in his slow, smooth voice.
"How was your day at the academy, son?"
Vlad Jr. lifted his chin slightly, answering politely.
"It was satisfactory, Father. We have a new instructor now."
Vladmir raised one brow very slightly. "A new instructor?"
"Yes, Father," Vlad Jr. confirmed, his small voice calm. "Miss Clara has been replaced. It seems the principal was displeased with her efforts. The new teacher is... acceptable."
Vladmir gave a slow nod, folding his fingers together under his chin.
"Acceptable," he repeated thoughtfully, as if weighing the word.
Vlad Jr. continued in his proper, composed way.
"She allowed us to choose our art subjects freely. There were no forced treehouses or ducks today."
Count Vladmir's lips twitched.
Just a little.
Almost like a ghost of a smile.
Vlad Jr., noticing, allowed himself to relax a tiny bit too.
"Also," he said seriously, "Luna went missing during playtime."
Vladmir leaned forward slightly, his interest sharpening.
"Were you involved in the recovery?"
Vlad Jr. nodded proudly, his cheeks turning the faintest pink.
"I assisted. However, Drake found her first, much to my regret."
Count Vladmir's red eyes warmed a little, though his face stayed calm.
"You did well to assist your classmates, son. True nobility lies in duty, not just victory."
Vlad Jr.'s small chest puffed up a little with pride. "Thank you, Father. I shall do better tomorrow."
Another long silence passed between them.
But it wasn't cold. It was comfortable.
Soft.
A language made of politeness and silent love.
After a few more moments, a maid came in carrying a silver tray with a warm blood-pudding dessert and a small goblet of blood-cherry juice…something made just for little vampire lords after a long day.
Count Vladmir watched as Vlad Jr. quietly received the tray with both hands, bowed slightly, and began to eat with careful, tiny bites.
No wild talking. No complaints.
Just calm, proper, tiny movements.
But in the warm golden-red light of the sitting room, with the soft clinking of silver spoons and the faint curl of smiles hidden in their eyes—