"You ladies have taken this fight too seriously," Jeremiah said, his deep voice cutting through the charged air as he stepped between them. With a firm but controlled motion, he caught Historia's wrist mid-swipe and raised it, turning her hand so the light glinted off the sharp silver of her claws.
"Just one slash of this… and you're dead," he said to Vivian, his grey eyes widening slightly as he studied the claws in astonishment.
Vivian froze, her breath catching. She hadn't noticed it earlier, too consumed by her own transformation. Of course, she knew a werewolf's bite or claw was lethal to a vampire—even a scratch could kill unless the werewolf willingly gave their venom to heal the wound. But silver claws? That was something she had only heard of in old whispers, never seen with her own eyes.
Historia's chest tightened as the weight of the moment sank in. She could have killed the princess if Jeremiah hadn't intervened. Shame and relief warred inside her as she quickly bowed her head.
"I'm so sorry, Princess," she said earnestly, her voice low with genuine remorse.
Vivian hesitated, glancing at the glinting silver once more before nodding. "...It's all right," she said finally, though her tone carried a faint edge of unease.
With that, the tension eased. Training was over. One by one, everyone dispersed, heading back to their respective chambers.
High above, unseen by all, a lone crow perched on the black stone wall let out a quiet caw before spreading its wings and flying away. Its eyes glimmered unnaturally—Nicklaus had been watching the entire time.
Back in their room, Historia and Kelly wasted no time bathing, washing away the dust and sweat of the spar. By the time they stepped out in fresh clothes, a tray of warm, fragrant food had been delivered.
Historia sat on the edge of the bed, finally allowing herself to exhale. For the first time that day, she felt relief—a quiet moment of comfort amid the storm she had walked into.
After the meal, Kelly drifted off almost instantly, her soft breathing filling the quiet room. Historia watched her cousin sleep with a faint smile—a sleeping beauty without a care in the world, completely unaware of the danger surrounding them.
Historia lay down as well, pulling the blanket over herself, but sleep refused to come. Her thoughts kept circling back to Nicklaus Drayven.
His cold, unreadable face on the throne…
That scarred eyelid and the way his single blue eye seemed to pierce her soul…
The effortless power in his presence and the memory of his icy rejection earlier that day.
Historia rolled onto her side with a frustrated sigh. Why does thinking about him make my chest feel so heavy?
Glancing at Kelly one last time, she slipped silently from the room.
The corridors of the vampire palace were a world of quiet grandeur. Flickering sconces cast golden light across polished black stone, the flames making the shadows dance. Silver chandeliers above reflected her movements in faint glimmers, and the deep red carpets muffled her bare footsteps.
She wandered slowly, her fingers brushing over cold marble banisters and etched pillars carved with bat wings and wolves, each detail a silent reminder that she was in the heart of vampire territory.
But she wasn't only wandering to admire the palace. She wanted the library. If she was going to spend eighty days here, she might as well learn about the creatures she had just tied her fate to.
She turned a quiet corner—and stopped.
Leaning casually against the wall, arms folded across his chest, was Jeremiah. His tall frame and sharp features were striking under the dim torchlight, his grey eyes glinting like tempered steel as they locked with hers.
For a moment, it almost felt like he'd been waiting for her.
"You don't sleep much, do you?" he said smoothly, his deep voice breaking the stillness of the hall.
Jeremiah's sharp grey eyes lingered on her for a moment before he asked, his voice calm and measured,
"Where are you going, little wolf?"
"To the library," Historia answered without hesitation, clasping her hands behind her back as if to appear casual under his assessing gaze.
Jeremiah studied her for a heartbeat, then gave a short nod.
"...I'll take you."
The response surprised her, but she didn't argue.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He didn't answer, only turned and began walking with long, steady strides.
The palace corridors glowed under the afternoon sun, which streamed through tall, arched windows. Sunlight reflected against polished black marble floors and red carpets as they passed, throwing their shadows long behind them. Historia found herself glancing around with admiration—the gilded sconces, the paintings of ancient vampire royalty, the subtle sense that the palace itself was watching her.
They climbed the spiraling staircase to the upper floors, each step echoing faintly. Historia noticed that Jeremiah didn't speak a word, his presence calm but commanding. There was no awkwardness in the silence—he simply seemed like a man who rarely wasted words.
Finally, they reached the fourth floor. Jeremiah pushed open two large black double doors to reveal the library, and Historia paused in awe.
It was enormous and bathed in soft daylight. Shafts of sun slipped through high windows, illuminating towering shelves of dark mahogany and casting warm light across velvet chairs and polished reading tables. Dust motes danced lazily in the air, and the scent of aged parchment and leather surrounded her.
"This is…" Historia whispered, her emerald eyes wide. "…beautiful."
Jeremiah's grey eyes softened faintly, as though he found her reaction amusing.
"Most wolves prefer the training ground to books," he said, his tone smooth and faintly teasing.
"I prefer both," she replied with a small smirk, running her fingers along the spines of nearby volumes. "Knowledge is also a weapon."
Jeremiah leaned against a nearby pillar, folding his arms.
"Spoken like someone who plans to survive here," he said quietly. He didn't leave—his sharp gaze followed her movements as if curious about what she would seek first.
Historia trailed her fingers along the spines of the books, reading the faded golden titles.
"Bloodlines of the Eternal Night," "Treaties of the Old Kingdom," "Legends of the North"…
The smell of aged parchment and polished mahogany wrapped around her, soothing in a strange way.
She could feel Jeremiah's grey eyes on her from across the room. It wasn't a hostile gaze—more curious and analytical, like he was trying to understand her.
"You seem… too comfortable for someone surrounded by predators," he said finally, his voice low and even.
Historia smirked faintly, still scanning the shelves.
"I grew up among predators. Wolves are no different… except we don't hide behind castles."
Jeremiah gave a soft huff of amusement, the sound barely escaping his lips.
"Confident. Or reckless. I haven't decided which yet."
"I'll take confident," she said, plucking a dark leather book from the shelf and flipping through its pages. "Besides, if I was reckless, I would've already done something to offend the vampire king… oh wait—" She glanced at him with a playful glint. "I did that already."
Jeremiah's lips curved in the faintest shadow of a smirk as he finally pushed off the pillar and walked closer to her, his boots silent on the polished marble.
His presence felt heavier up close, a subtle reminder that he was still a predator despite his calm nature. The faint sunlight from the tall windows caught the edges of his sharp jaw and the dark strands of his hair, making his grey eyes look like cold silver.
"Most wolves who come here," he said, stopping a few feet away, "either beg… or tremble. You do neither."
Historia closed the book in her hands and met his gaze, refusing to flinch.
"Begging won't save my people. Trembling won't either."
For a heartbeat, the library was silent except for the distant creak of wood as the building settled. Jeremiah studied her as though trying to peel back the layers of her resolve.
Then, his voice dropped slightly, lower, smoother.
"You're different. I can see why the king hasn't thrown you out yet."
Jeremiah's smirk lingered for only a heartbeat before his expression shifted into something unreadable. He stepped closer, his strides slow and deliberate.
Historia instinctively took a step back, her fingers tightening around the book she held.
Another step from him. Another step back from her.
The mahogany shelves loomed behind her, and with one last retreating step, her back met the book rack. The faint scent of old parchment and cedarwood surrounded her as Jeremiah closed the space between them, his tall frame casting a shadow over her.
His grey eyes locked with hers, steady and sharp, their intensity making her chest tighten.
"Careful," she said, her voice low but firm, warning laced in every syllable. "Stay away from me."
Jeremiah didn't immediately obey. Instead, he leaned in just enough for his presence to feel suffocating yet controlled. Slowly, with a gloved hand, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of her silver hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin.
Historia's wolf instincts flared, and her claws twitched in warning—but Jeremiah only smiled faintly.
"Relax," he murmured. "If I wanted to hurt you… I would've done it already."
He held her gaze for another lingering moment before stepping back, the tension easing with the distance. Then he offered a faint, almost playful smile.
"My apologies," he said smoothly, inclining his head slightly in a gesture that was half-respect, half-tease.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his coat swaying with his movements. The soft echo of his footsteps faded into the vastness of the library, leaving Historia pressed against the bookshelf, heart racing despite herself.