There were no guards at the gates of the royal castle in Nightbrook when he strode through them. None on the towers. Not even the usual torchbearers pacing the upper walkways, he took note.
Rohan walked into the grounds with the same lazy stride he used when strolling down a familiar street. His boots tapped carelessly against the stone floor, hands tucked deep into his trouser pockets. A cigar sat between his lips, its smoke curling past his face like a ghost dragging its fingers along his skin.
To many, what he was doing would be seen as nothing short of suicide—but Rohan was confident in his strength. He hadn't done anything physically draining and had saved his energy for this evening, where he planned to end everything and finally live the peaceful life his wife longed for. A life without fear. Without running. Without worrying about finding a home.
Just as his Isa wanted a safe haven, he wanted it too, but he could only secure that by getting rid of the vampire king.
