Duke Denzel awoke to throbbing pain behind his eyes, his head lolling forward. Coarse rope bit into his wrists and ankles, binding him to a hard wooden chair. A rough sack covered his face, reeking of mildew and old blood. Panic surged as memory returned—dinner with his family, a sudden wave of dizziness, then nothing.
"Who is there?" he roared, voice muffled. "Do you know who I am? I am Duke Denzel! You dare kidnap a noble under the king's protection?"
Heavy footsteps approached. The sack was yanked from his head, revealing a dimly lit cellar. Torchlight flickered across stone walls damp with moisture. Four hooded figures emerged from the shadows. One—elegant even in concealment—sat gracefully on a chair placed opposite him.
"Duke Denzel," the woman said coolly, her voice familiar yet chilling. "We know exactly where your daughters are sleeping tonight. Cooperate, and no harm will come to them."
His blood ran cold. "What do you want from me?"
A second hooded figure—Tobias—leaned forward. "Everything you know about Hazel. Her true parents. Any… special abilities she possesses."
The duke's jaw tightened. "There is nothing special about her. She is an orphan. I took her in as an infant. I know nothing of her parents."
Morwen tilted her head. She raised a gloved hand. One of the hooded men stepped forward.
"Go," she commanded calmly. "Kill his children. Start with the eldest."
"No—wait!" Denzel strained against the ropes, veins bulging in his neck. "Please… I'll talk."
The man paused. Morwen lowered her hand.
"She is not ordinary," Denzel confessed, voice breaking. "Her mother, Anna, was my servant. She died giving birth. Her sister fled with the newborn. Six months later, the child was left on my doorstep with a letter. It begged me to protect her—that she was special, that her blood was 'the key.'"
He swallowed hard, shame flooding him as old memories resurfaced. "I… loved Anna. But she loved a stable boy. My wife, in jealousy, had him killed and cast Anna out. When the child arrived, I took her in—for Anna's sake. I raised Hazel as my own."
He hesitated, then continued. "Strange things happened as she grew. She would sleepwalk deep into the woods at night. Children who bullied her… convulsed in agony when she touched them in anger. I feared for her life. I took her to an old witch who bound whatever power slept inside her, sealing it away so no one would ever discover what she truly is."
The cellar fell silent. Denzel bowed his head, feeling the weight of betrayal. He had guarded this secret for nearly two decades, and now he had spilled it to monsters.
Morwen rose. "Knock him out. Return him to his manor unharmed. If we kill him now, Primus will suspect foul play."
A sharp blow to the back of his head sent the duke back into darkness.
Outside the cellar, beneath a moonless sky, Morwen, Tobias, and the hooded disciples gathered.
"One of Hazel's maids reports she will leave the palace tomorrow to select wedding shoes in the capital," Tobias said eagerly. "It is confirmed—she carries the slayer bloodline. We can repeat what we did to Ruelle. Perform the ritual, bend her mind to our will."
Agreement rippled through the group.
"Yes," Morwen said, lifting a trembling human servant to her lips. She drank deeply, crimson rivulets spilling down her chin. The man collapsed, lifeless. She wiped her mouth with disgust. "Weak humans. Send our strongest wizards for the ambush. She may be guarded by Lazarus—he is no ordinary vampire."
They dispersed into the night, plans set.
Far across the city, in the underbelly of the black market, Vera glided through narrow, foul-smelling alleys, her maid trailing nervously. They stopped before a decrepit door. A hulking man with a black hood and a jagged eye patch emerged.
Vera dangled a heavy pouch of gold before him. "You know what to do. She leaves the palace tomorrow."
The man grunted, snatching the pouch. Vera turned on her heel and vanished into the shadows.
──
Later that evening, in the warm glow of Lucian's chambers, Hazel sat curled on the massive couch, a soft blanket around her shoulders. Lucian—Primus to the world—lounged beside her, unusually relaxed in a loose black shirt.
Curiosity sparked in her green eyes. "How… how did you survive centuries trapped in that coffin? Did you dream? Did you feel time passing?"
He stared into the fire, expression distant. "I did not know what was happening around me. It was endless darkness… except for one thing." His voice softened. "I kept seeing a pair of emerald eyes. Ginger hair catching sunlight. A laugh I could almost hear. Over and over, for centuries."
Hazel's heart ached for him. "Whoever bound you there was heartless," she whispered fiercely. "To condemn you to such loneliness…"
He turned to her, crimson eyes gentle. "Perhaps it was meant to lead me here. To you."
Warmth spread through her chest. Exhaustion from the day's emotions tugged at her eyelids. Without realizing, she drifted to sleep, head resting against his shoulder.
Lucian watched her for a long moment, brushing a stray lock from her face. Then, carefully, he lifted her and carried her to the bed, tucking her beneath the covers. He pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead before stepping away.
In his adjoining study, shadows coalesced. Lazarus materialized, bowing deeply.
"What have you found?" Lucian asked, voice low and lethal.
"You were right about Vera, my lord," Lazarus replied. "She has been meeting with assassins in the black market. Payment made tonight—for a job tomorrow."
Lucian's eyes darkened to obsidian. Fangs lengthened. "Take me there. I will end them myself."
Black smoke erupted around them both. When it cleared, the room was empty.
Outside the palace walls, unseen threats gathered like storm clouds.