The book detailed vampires' vulnerabilities too—sunlight, holy relics, and certain herbs—but it also hinted at untapped powers they could awaken if pushed to their limits.
Salviana paused at this part, her fingers grazing the parchment as her mind wandered.
Alaric had always seemed invincible to her, his pale skin flawless, his hands strong yet gentle. She had never seen a scar on him, even though he was a seasoned warrior.
Could he be hiding more about his true nature?
Or was he simply as perfect as he appeared?
He also didn't know his kinda physically, she couldn't imagine how lonely he'd be feeling.
Her curiosity burned brighter with every page, and though her eyelids grew heavy, she couldn't bring herself to stop reading.
The flickering candlelight danced over the words, pulling her deeper into the world of vampyric mysteries.
For now, this would have to suffice in answering her questions. But when Alaric returned, she would be ready—with knowledge and questions of her own.
~~~{──────────
LAST NIGHT.
Kings Bedroom Chambers, Wyfkeep Castle.
Wyfellon, Wyfn-Garde.
~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
The moon hung high in the night sky as the two concubines, Audrey and Lucille, made their way down the dimly lit hallway toward the king's chambers.
Their footsteps were soft, barely audible against the stone floor, as they clutched their thin, revealing robes tightly around their figures. The silk clung to their youthful curves, leaving little to the imagination.
Audrey, the younger of the two, wore a sly smile as she glanced at Lucille. "He'll be waiting," she whispered, her voice light with anticipation.
Lucille, slightly older but no less striking, chuckled softly. "As he always does," she replied, her tone rich and sultry.
Reaching the heavy double doors, the guards stationed outside bowed their heads and stepped aside without a word.
The concubines pushed open the doors, stepping into the king's lavish bedchamber.
Gideon lay sprawled across the enormous bed, his large frame draped in a loose kimono that barely concealed his aging but still commanding presence.
A toothy grin spread across his face as his dark eyes roamed over them.
"My lovelies," he greeted, his voice gravelly yet filled with eagerness. "How are you tonight?"
Audrey stepped forward first, her fingers lightly tracing the neckline of her robe. "Hungry for you, Gideon," she purred, her gaze lingering on his smirk.
"Good," he replied, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Because I'm starving."
Lucille joined her friend, both women now standing at the edge of the bed.
Gideon's gaze lingered on their bodies as they began to untie the belts of their robes, letting the silk fall away inch by tantalizing inch.
The king shifted slightly, his kimono parting to reveal the breadth of his chest as he leaned back, utterly relaxed. "Come here," he ordered, his voice thick with desire.
Audrey and Lucille climbed onto the bed with practiced ease, their movements slow and deliberate.
They reached for him, their hands sliding over his chest and shoulders as they pressed soft kisses along his neck and jaw.
Gideon groaned in satisfaction, his hands finding their way to their waists, pulling them closer.
The three moved in a sensual rhythm, their roles well-rehearsed yet never lacking in passion.
The concubines took turns lavishing their affections on him, their soft laughter and whispers mingling with his deep groans of pleasure.
Together or apart, they had mastered the art of keeping him satisfied, and tonight was no different.
For Gideon, this was comfort—far removed from the cold power struggles that defined his marriage.
His queen, Sansa, may have held the crown, but these women held his attention. They were eager, obedient, and most importantly, without pride or pretense.
He preferred their warmth and loyalty, a stark contrast to the distance he felt with his wife.
Audrey and Lucille were not only his concubines but companions who came as a pair, their bond as strong as their devotion to him.
They teased and played with one another as much as they did with him, their laughter filling the room as they indulged in one another's company.
Hours later, when the night's passions had been spent, the three lay tangled together in blissful exhaustion.
The king's contented snores echoed softly through the room, and the concubines rested at his side, their heads nestled against his chest and shoulders.
In this moment, there was no kingdom to rule, no court to navigate—just the comfort of their shared intimacy.
The night was theirs, as it always was, until the light of dawn called them back to the facade of duty and decorum.
Even if the Queen bleed.
~~~{──────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
The moon was a sliver in the sky, casting faint silver light over the cobblestone streets.
Shadows stretched long and deep, wrapping the alleys in a shroud of secrecy.
A cloaked figure slipped through the darkness, her movements careful yet hurried.
Her hood was pulled low, concealing her face, but her posture betrayed tension—a mixture of determination and fear.
She paused at the edge of an abandoned square, her eyes darting to ensure she was alone.
The faint creak of a door in the distance made her flinch, but she swallowed her nerves and pressed forward, her footsteps muffled by the hem of her cloak brushing the ground.
From the shadows of a crumbling stone wall, a man emerged. He stood tall and composed, his bearing unmistakably noble, though his attire was foreign.
The finely embroidered doublet and polished boots spoke of wealth, but the cut of his coat and the peculiar sigil on his lapel marked him as an outsider—He was not a man of Wyfn-Garde.
The girl approached cautiously, her heart hammering in her chest.
She stopped a few paces away, gripping her cloak tightly as she cast a wary glance around them.
"You're late," the man said, his voice smooth and laced with amusement.
"I had to make sure I wasn't followed," she whispered sharply, her voice barely audible over the gentle night breeze.
The man chuckled, taking a step closer. "And? Have you brought what I asked for?"
She nodded and reached into the folds of her cloak, producing a small, tightly wrapped parcel. Her hands trembled as she handed it over, her eyes darting around once more.
The man took the package, unwrapping it just enough to glimpse its contents. Whatever he saw made his lips curve into a pleased smile. "Good girl," he murmured, tucking the parcel into his coat.
"I've done my part," she said quickly, her voice trembling with both anger and desperation. "Now it's your turn. You promised me revenge. I want them to suffer."
"And they will," the man assured her, his tone oozing confidence. "The royal family, and especially her. You've ensured the first step is in motion."
The girl's lips pressed into a thin line as she lowered her gaze. "I just want them to feel what they made me feel. That third prince… and her. They ruined me."
The man tilted his head, his dark eyes glinting with intrigue. "And they will. Be patient. Vengeance is a slow art, but when it unfolds, it's exquisite."
She said nothing more, only gave him a final, fleeting glance before turning and retreating into the shadows.
Her cloak billowed behind her as she hurried away, her footsteps quick and frantic, as though she wanted to escape not just the man but her own lingering doubt.
The man lingered a moment longer, adjusting his coat as he watched her disappear. A sly smirk curled his lips as he turned and walked away, his pace leisurely.
The night swallowed him whole, leaving the square empty once more, save for the whispers of a plan set into motion.
And in her heart, the girl knew the wheels of revenge had begun to turn.