The Constantine mansion had been the home of the vampire royalty, the Constantines, for centuries.
Matters of the vampire court were discussed within its throne room, and the secret of the vampire race was stored within its walls.
Rasmus sat on the edge of the black granite balcony, legs dangling lazily into the cool night air, a half-drained glass of blood held lazily in one hand.
The Constantine mansion glowed beneath him, a fortress of glass and dark steel that gave the house a gothic appearance.
The appearance of a place that held many secrets—literally.
Knock! Knock! He didn't hear the servant until after the second knock.
"Your Highness," came the soft, trembling voice from behind the obsidian double doors. "They request your presence in the study."
Rasmus sighed through his nose and closed his eyes, letting the breeze lift the edge of his coat.
"They," he repeated.
He knew what that word meant.
It referred to one of his very own enemies.
His parents.
"Tell them I'm dead. Or better still... tell them I ran off to marry a human. That should do the trick," Rasmus said, his mood turning sour.
There was a pause. Then the door slowly creaked open to reveal the young vampire standing there, pale as milk and shivering with fear, his eyes glued to the floor beneath him.
"The... Queen, she... she insisted." He refused to meet Rasmus's eye. "She said if you don't come, she'll come for you herself," he managed to say without stuttering.
Rasmus could not help but release a chuckle. He turned around slowly, a grin tugging at his lips. "Oh, will she? How lovely of her."
"My lord, she looked... displeased."
Displeased? That manipulative bitch—she is never displeased. She is just plotting, looking for her next victim, he thought.
Rasmus stood with a hiss. "Lead the way, bearer of bad news."
The halls of the Constantine mansion stretched forward, the walk long, narrow, and shadowy.
Smooth black floors reflected the chandeliers above. The portraits of long-dead vampire kings lined the wall, their stoic, pale faces flashing through his eyes.
Rasmus walked with the unhurried arrogance of royalty—someone used to power but weary of it.
The servant scurried forward,
Two steps ahead, silent and afraid to even breathe wrongly.
Reaching the study door: tall slabs of fine wood with the royal crest in the center.
He pushed it open and walked in, totally disregarding courtesy.
King Gerrard, the current ruler and head of the vampire court, sat in the high-backed chair near the hearth, shoulders hunched like a man made of twigs.
He looked old, though vampires didn't age. His fingers gripped the armrests, knuckles white.
Queen Celine stood by the long table, dressed in silver and black, her gown sharp-shouldered and regal.
Her hair was pulled into a cruel twist, and her eyes—
Her vicious, ember-red eyes—were fixed on Rasmus like a scalpel.
Rasmus coolly ignored her gaze and focused on his father.
"Nice to see you, Father. You look old as always," Rasmus said, scorn evident in his tone.
King Gerrard sighed. "Yeah, your old man is getting old. Handling a whole race of bloodsuckers isn't as easy as you see it."
'Old, my foot. The only bloodsucker you have to handle is the one crawling under your skin, eating you from the inside—that bitch' , Rasmus thought, shifting his gaze to the queen, his eyes filled with disgust.
"You're late," Queen Celine said.
"I came," Rasmus replied, flopping into the nearest chair. "That's progress, isn't it?"
The Queen didn't smile. "Your insolence grows boring, child."
"I live to entertain. And... I'm not your child."
King Gerrard cleared his throat. "Rasmus... we've called you here for something important."
"Hmmn... Must be serious if you're speaking for once, Father."
The Queen's tone sliced clean through. "This is not a discussion. You are to be married to Clara of the Thornblood coven."
Silence fell.
Rasmus blinked, then laughed—a low, incredulous sound. "You're joking."
"We are not," Gerrard said, voice thin.
"I don't know her. I don't want her. And you think I'll just—what—play house with a stranger because you two arranged a power grab?"
Celine stepped forward, heels clicking like clockwork. "You'll do it because I said so. The world as we know it is changing, son, and this alliance will go a long way in securing the future of the vampires in this ever-changing world."
Rasmus stood, jaw tight.
"I am not your pawn. Neither am I your son. My mother died centuries ago, so don't go looking at me with that tender look in your eyes when we both know you don't give a fuck about whether I live or die."
"You are our prince," Gerrard said, almost pleading. "This is for the future of the vampires."
Rasmus's eyes burned. "No, it's not. Are you so blind, Father? Has she further corrupted your mind? She doesn't have the interest of the vampires at heart. Everything she does, she does for her personal gain. See, Father... see."
The Queen moved faster than a blink. Her hand was at his throat, claws pressing like needles against his skin. She didn't raise her voice. She never had to.
"You are nothing without this throne. Without me. Remember that before your temper writes checks your blood can't pay."
He didn't flinch. "I'm never getting married forcefully. Especially not to a witch. I despise their kind the most... after you."
She released him. He staggered back, adjusting his collar. When he raised his head to look at her.
His eyes.
They were the color of blood.
"You will. Or have you forgotten I have your sister?" Celine whispered, smiling with the grace of someone who just had the last laugh.
A chill went through his spine.
Shivering and shaking, his teeth elongated into fangs, and his nails became claws.
"You don't marry Clara, and your little sister dies. I'm sure you don't want the life snuffed out of that fragile, poor creature."
She stared Rasmus directly in the face, that same mocking smile on her face.
Rasmus tore his gaze from hers, without saying a word. His silence—its surrender.
"When?" he asked in a bitter voice.
"In two months," the Queen said. "You will smile. You will kneel. You will bind."
Rasmus didn't respond. He turned and left, cold fury consuming his being.