Monise hadn't meant to intrude. Again.
But the glass had already shattered, the tension in the room sliced clean by the whip of Seraphine's words.
"How quaint," the pureblood murmured, arms elegantly crossed, silk rustling like quiet contempt. "The servant has learned to walk into rooms without knocking. Should we applaud your progress or gag you for your insolence?"
Monise's eyes snapped toward her, startled—not because of the insult, but because she hadn't even seen her standing by the window. Wrapped in maroon velvet, the tall vampire glistened like something royal and poisonous.
She bowed her head instantly. "Forgive me, milady. I didn't know anyone was here."
Seraphine's lips curved, but there was no warmth. Only a curl of disdain. "Is that how you keep surviving? Pretending to be ignorant?"
Monise didn't answer. Her silence was not submission, though. It was preservation.
Behind her, the door opened with a soft click, and the presence that filled the room shifted the air.
Cassien.
His steps were slow, deliberate. Every movement of his tall frame reeked of quiet dominance. Unlike his sister, his expression didn't show disgust or superiority. Instead, he simply looked amused, maybe faintly tired, as if juggling secrets heavier than this petty moment.
"Sister," he said smoothly, voice a low, velvet-coated threat. "Toys break when you keep twisting them."
Seraphine didn't flinch. She raised one perfectly arched brow. "You call her a toy now? I thought she was your little mystery. Your new research project. Or was she simply another stray you decided to tame?"
Cassien turned his gaze toward Monise, unreadable. "She's not tame. Not yet."
There was a long pause. Monise could feel the weight of both siblings watching her, like opposing blades pressed just against her skin. One slicing from cruelty. The other from curiosity.
He walked past her, gloves removed as he reached for a book on the mantle—but Monise saw his fingers brush something carved into the wood beneath. A glyph? A seal? Her eyes flicked away before he noticed.
Seraphine sniffed. "You treat her like an equal in front of the staff. They're starting to talk."
"Let them talk."
"The council won't be pleased."
Cassien smiled, but his eyes didn't. "The council already has their leash on me. That doesn't mean I can't train one of my own."
Seraphine laughed, sharp and bitter. "Oh, you poor thing. Still pretending you're in control."
Monise moved to slip out of the room quietly. But before she reached the door, Seraphine's voice iced the air.
"Watch your step, little lamb. My brother has a habit of letting his experiments burn."
---
Monise didn't go straight back to her quarters. Her feet wandered.
The mansion had wings she still hadn't seen. Corridors that curved into shadows. Some doors were always locked. Some seemed to vanish and reappear, depending on how the moonlight hit them.
She paused outside the east wing's private library—a place forbidden to servants, though she'd seen Cassien disappear into it often. A sliver of light leaked from the doorway. Curiosity tugged.
She pushed.
The door groaned.
The room was vast, draped in silence. Books stretched to the ceilings. An open scroll floated midair, glowing faintly. Vials shimmered on metal racks. Diagrams of beasts she'd never seen were inked into parchment, pinned to cork boards. Runes burned into stone tablets. It wasn't a library. It was a research chamber.
She tiptoed in.
Something caught her eye—a diagram of a human body overlaid with sigils, and beneath it, a note: "Subject shows signs of null resistance. Possible dormant trait."
Before she could read more, the air shifted again.
"I admire your lack of self-preservation."
Cassien stood in the doorway now, arms crossed, his coat half undone and dark strands of hair falling into his eyes.
Monise froze. "I didn't mean to—"
"You never mean to," he interrupted calmly, stepping inside. "But you always do."
He walked past her to the desk, picked up the scroll, and muttered something. The glowing lines disappeared.
She swallowed. "What is this place?"
"A study. A lab. A prison. Depends on the day."
He looked at her again, eyes sharp. "Why are you really here, Monise?"
Her lips parted, but she didn't know the answer. Maybe to understand. Maybe to find proof that she wasn't losing her mind. Maybe just to be near the only person in this godforsaken house who didn't treat her like dirt or prey.
Cassien studied her for a long moment.
Then he said, almost gently, "There's something strange about you. Not just your bad timing. Or your stubborn mouth."
She felt her breath catch.
He turned away before she could reply. "Stay out of my chambers unless you're invited. And tell the staff I found you cleaning up a broken flask. We wouldn't want Seraphine accusing you of theft. Again."
---
Later that night, whispers drifted through the servant halls:
"He once cursed a noble for insulting his bloodline. The man hasn't spoken in years."
"They say he can summon shadows from mirrors."
"He doesn't take a mistress. But he lets no one close. Except the girl."
Monise sat on her cot, staring at the ceiling, arms wrapped around herself.
Was she falling into a web?
Or had she already been caught, and just now realized the strands pulling at her?
The Coldest Shade of Crimson
The manor, with its towering spires and ageless stone, bore the weight of centuries. House Vortigern, to which Lord Alaric belonged, was one of the oldest pureblood vampire families—descendants of the First Brood. Rumor had it they were born from the blood of a dying star and the last breath of a god. The family crest, a crimson sun eclipsed by a black raven, hung proudly over every fireplace and etched itself into the minds of all who entered the estate.
Alaric Vortigern, heir and current council investigator, was unlike the rest of his kin. While they wallowed in tradition and supremacy, he was focused, reserved, and impossible to decipher. He held a particular seat at the High Table of the Vampire Council—an elite role meant to research, regulate, and execute matters concerning supernatural anomalies.
His sister, Lady Celestine, however, was a textbook Vortigern—cold, calculating, and disdainful of anything not pureblooded. Her sharp tongue and sharper instincts earned her a reputation that made most of the staff fear even her shadow.
This morning, she stood before her mirror, brushing out her hair with deliberate strokes, her expression unreadable. A knock sounded at her door.
"Lady Celestine," said a young servant, avoiding eye contact. "The Eldrani family has invited Lord Alaric to tea this afternoon. They've requested a show of presence from House Vortigern."
Celestine smirked. The Eldranis were showy, nouveau-riche purebloods who thrived on drama, diamonds, and power plays. They adored pageantry, and their afternoon teas were more political theater than social gatherings.
"I suppose my dear brother will need a chaperone," she mused, venom dancing behind her smile. "Bring Monise. I want her... presented."
Monise had barely finished dusting the velvet drapes of the west wing when the summons came. Still flustered from the scolding she'd received earlier that morning for spilling ink on a century-old rug, she tried not to tremble under Celestine's gaze.
"You'll accompany us to the Eldrani estate. Do not speak unless addressed, and do not draw attention," Celestine said with the warmth of a frozen blade.
"Yes, my Lady," Monise replied quietly.
By mid-afternoon, the Vortigern entourage arrived at the Eldrani manor—an ostentatious marvel of architecture, glimmering in rare stones, chandeliers made from moon-forged crystals, and fountains of blood-wine. Nobles milled about in elaborate garments, and music played by invisible hands floated through the air.
Monise, clad in a muted maid's dress, followed behind Celestine and Alaric, her head bowed. But as they passed through the gathering, whispers followed them like a trail of perfume.
"Is that the human girl?"
"I heard she fell from the third floor and survived—without a scratch."
"No way Lord Alaric caught her. He doesn't touch humans."
Celestine noticed the stares and smiled cruelly.
Inside the tea garden, tables were lined with rose-dusted cakes and blood-infused teas. At the head sat Lady Mirella Eldrani, swathed in gold-embroidered violet, her fingers heavy with rings and her teeth glinting as she laughed too loudly.
"Alaric!" she sang. "How divine you look, even in your melancholy. And this—" she eyed Monise. "What a curious thing you've brought."
"She's staff," Celestine interjected dryly.
But Monise, too distracted by a flitting shadow in the trees—a creature? A child? A hallucination?—didn't notice the uneven step. Her foot caught the leg of a marble tray table. In an instant, the contents—crimson tea, sugared bones, and delicate éclairs—tumbled onto the lap of Lady Mirella Eldrani.
Gasps erupted.
Mirella froze. Then slowly, her eyes glowed a deadly rose.
"You dare?" she said.
Monise dropped to her knees, trying to clean the mess with trembling hands. "I'm so sorry—"
"You clumsy filth!" one of the noble daughters snapped.
Before things escalated, a commanding voice sliced through the air.
"That's enough."
Alaric's tone was calm, but the power in it was unmistakable. He stepped forward, eyes unreadable. "She's inexperienced, not insolent."
"Perhaps," Mirella said, dabbing her stained dress with magical silk. "But remember, Alaric, your family is known for its purity. Stray too far, and your blood might forget itself."
Monise looked up at him, shame burning her cheeks. He didn't look back. Not yet.
---
Later that evening, as they returned to the estate, Monise was silent. Her heart ached, her hands still sticky with blood tea.
Celestine spoke as they walked the hallway.
"You've embarrassed this House in front of the Eldranis."
"I didn't mean to—"
"No, of course you didn't. Humans never mean to. That's the problem."
Monise lowered her gaze.
Alaric, however, paused before entering his study. "The council has no time for theatrics. But I have eyes everywhere, Celestine. Don't play games you can't win."
Celestine stiffened but said nothing.
And as Monise stood frozen in the hallway, her eyes met Alaric's briefly—just long enough to wonder what he truly saw in her.
Then he turned and disappeared into the dark.