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As we approach the gates, the guards stiffen momentarily. They don’t bow or speak. They simply part, stepping aside with mechanical precision to let the king pass, and the gates swing open with a groan of metal.

I step through behind Kylian, and the sound of the gates closing behind me is quieter than I expect. A soft, definitive click. The courtyard beyond the gates is vast and empty, paved with the same dark cobblestone as the streets below. Torches line the perimeter, and the firelight dances across the surface of a long reflecting pool set into the ground. Its still water mirrors the towers above in perfect, dark symmetry. It would be stunning under other circumstances, but tonight, all I can see when I look at the water is Arlo’s blood dripping onto the wet stone. All I can hear is the crack of a guard’s fist against his jaw.

Kylian pauses at the far end of the courtyard, his gaze sweeping the castle’s facade with satisfaction. I stand there watching him survey his kingdom while my heart breaks quietly.

When we step inside, the warmth I expect never comes; the air is cool and still. The entrance hall stretches high above us, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows that the torchlight doesn’t reach, and the floor beneath my feet is polished stone so dark it looks wet.

Kylian moves ahead, his boots echoing as he walks with the ease of a man navigating his home. “The main hall,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the cavernous space off to the side of us. “Council meetings, formal events, anything that requires an audience.”

I nod because it seems like the expected response, but I don’t really see it. I see the shape of it. The massive stone pillars lining either side. The iron chandeliers overhead. A long table at the far end with chairs carved from wood so dark it’s nearly black. But my mind won’t hold on to any of it because it keeps sliding back to the pier, to heartbroken hazel eyes staring up at me from a blood-streaked face.

We turn down a corridor lined with oil paintings that stretch from floor to ceiling; their colors are muted by age but still visible in the flickering light. Scenes of battles, vampires in armor standing over fallen enemies, ships cutting through stormy sea beneath skies split by lightning.

One depicts what looks like a formal dinner with rows of figures seated at a table, but there are no plates filled with food, only servants pouring crimson liquid into wine glasses.

Another shows a figure standing alone atop a cliff, arms raised toward a moon so large it dominates the entire painting. The longer I take them in, the more I see these are from a world forgotten, a world before the flood.

“The history of Sangremere,” Kylian says, pausing beside one. “Every king since the first.”

“If vampires are immortal, how did they die? Was it the curse?”

Kylian chuckles. “No, the vampires you see here were dead long before the purge, besides my father, of course. Vampires have immortal life spans, but that doesn’t mean we are invincible. We can and do die if mortally wounded, we are just harder to kill, and our life spans seem to have no natural end.”

I stare at the painted faces of the long-dead vampire monarchs, thoughts swirling about whether Arlo is conscious right now. Whether the guards have bothered to tend to his wounds or if he’s just been thrown into a cell and left to bleed.

“They’re nice,” I say, and the flatness of my voice makes Kylian glance at me, his brow creasing slightly before he continues walking.

The corridors twist and climb, staircases appearing at odd intervals where you would least expect them. Eagan trails behind us, silent as a shadow.

A library comes into view, walls adorned with shelves so tall that ladders are secured to rails on the walls. I want to go inside, but he hurries along, preventing a good look at the room. We pass a sitting room with deep chairs and a fireplace large enough to stand in. We pass doors that remain closed, rooms Kylian doesn’t name, and each one makes the castle feel more daunting. I will definitely get lost with how vast this place is.

Finally, he stops before a door near the end of another corridor. The torches here are spaced farther apart, so the light is softer, more golden. He pushes the door open and steps aside, gesturing for me to enter.

The space is far larger than anything I’ve ever slept in, even larger than the main house on Mr. Crawly’s farm. A four-poster bed dominates the center, its dark wood frame draped in heavy velvet hangings the color of deep red wine. A window stretches across one wall, overlooking the sea. There’s a wardrobe, dressers with mirrors, and a fireplace where a small fire crackles and pops, breathing warmth into the room that the rest of the castle lacks.

It’s beautiful, but it’s also a prison. Soft sheets and a warm fire don’t change that, just as the clean clothes on my body don’t change who I am.

Feeling lost and out of place, I stand in the room’s center, arms at my sides. I’m not a guest, not quite a prisoner, and no longer a servant. I’m something without a name, floating between categories, and the uncertainty of it makes me feel more trapped because I know I don’t belong in this room.

“Have you heard from King Xavian?” I ask, turning to face Kylian where he leans against the doorframe. “About Sable?”

His expression doesn’t shift, and the distance between us feels like an ocean.

“He will contact me if he finds anything,” he says.

“That’s it?” I say, the bite in my voice creeping in despite my exhaustion. “We just have to wait?”

“Were you expecting a different answer from earlier?” His gaze holds mine. “When there is news, you will have it.”

I want to push harder but the tiredness is bone-deep. Fighting with him right now would be like arguing with a brick wall.

“So I’m staying here?” I ask, looking around the room.

“Yes, this is our room.” He pushes off the frame. “Come, I will show you the other wings,” he says, holding his hand out to me.

“I’d like to stay here,” I say. “I’m tired.” I just want to crawl into bed and forget today for a few hours. Maybe wake up in an alternate reality where everything doesn’t feel so wrong.

Something passes through his eyes, quick enough that I almost miss it. Disappointment, perhaps, or frustration. Something that he buries before it can fully surface for me to dissect. He straightens from the doorframe and looks to Eagan, who has positioned himself near the hallway wall like a piece of furniture that breathes.