The vampire court was never a place. It was a gathering—a nest of egos and shadows—called together only when the empire's balance tilted.
Tonight, the meeting was held in the imperial grounds, beneath silver-lit arches that reeked of blood and power.
Dorian Valdemar strode in with his brother, Lucian Valdemar, beside him. Whatever calm veneer the two carried in public was absent here. Their shared silence was edged and their expressions carved from stone, as if they were already weary of the council before it began.
The elder presiding over reports rose from his seat, his voice carrying across the marble hall.
"Another border village was found in ruins. Six human corpses, bloodless. Two vampires fell into corruption before dawn—they were destroyed by their own kin. Witnesses swear they saw cloaked figures among the wreckage. Witches."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
One elder scoffed. "Witches? Mere hedge-bloods who cling to bones and smoke. They lack the courage to step foot in our lands, much less slaughter entire villages."
"Perhaps not courage," another countered, worry etching his lined face. "But boldness. And boldness only comes with backing. Too many sightings, too close together. Something is stirring them."
A third, with sharp eyes, leaned forward. "Or perhaps certain lords are too quick to cry witch when it is their own incompetence that breeds disaster."
The hall chilled, accusations hanging heavy in the air.
Dorian, seated with his arms crossed, finally spoke. His tone was calm, but it silenced the court more effectively than any gavel.
"Witches are not bold. They are vermin. Vermin do not crawl into fire unless someone shields them from the flame. What you see is not courage—it is protection. They are being fed blood, given knowledge, perhaps even taught how to twist corruption itself into a weapon."
Lucian's lips curved in a cold half-smile. "And corruption does not spread like rot by chance. If they have found a way to force it into us, then what we face is not rebellion." His eyes scanned the room, crimson and unblinking. "It is infection."
The dismissive elder barked a laugh. "Impossible. Corruption is born within! A flaw of indulgence, of overreaching our gifts. No witch alive could create it."
Dorian's gaze cut through him like glass. He leaned forward, voice lower, sharper.
"Then explain this. A guardsman, turned only three years ago, locked for a single night in their company—he burned through his veins faster than I have in two centuries. He was ash by dawn. Tell me, elder, is that natural?"
The chamber fell silent. No one met his eye.
At last, the presiding elder cleared his throat. "Whether born from arrogance or witchcraft, the corruption spreads. The vampire court will not gamble with uncertainty. The Valdemar brothers are commanded to investigate the border towns. Trace these witches. End this threat."
When the tension over witches finally settled, the presiding elder adjusted his robes and turned his gaze toward Dorian.
"Duke Valdemar, the court finds itself short-handed as Councilman Quinlan fell to corruption scarcely a month ago. A tragedy…but it leaves us with a vacant seat. One that could be filled by a man of your stature."
A murmur of agreement followed.
"Valdemar's ability would be invaluable—"
"He has centuries of wisdom—"
Dorian's jaw tightened, and he shook his head before the flattery could gather weight.
"No. My ability is not a gift to parade, it is a curse to manage. Use it too often, and I will join Quinlan sooner than any of you would like. Do not mistake restraint for humility, Elder."
Lucian smirked faintly at his brother's bluntness, but several councilmen frowned as if their baited trap had been dodged.
The presiding elder sighed, letting the matter drop. "Then at least, you will lend your aid to the investigation."
Another elder with restless hands and a twitching eye, leaned forward. "Speaking of investigations, where is Duke Roarke of Ardyn? He has missed the last gathering and now this one. No word, no messenger, no courtesy."
The chamber buzzed again. "Not the first absence, is it?"
"Nor the second…"
A silver-bearded councilman cleared his throat. "His assistant claims the Duke is occupied with matters in his province. 'Pressing issues,' was the phrase used." His tone suggested the words were far from convincing.
Another leaned in with narrowed eyes. "I have seen him myself—in three different orphanages over ten days' span. Hardly 'pressing issues.' Perhaps he searches for an heir?"
The implication hung heavy. Adoption was not unusual, but Roarke's absence from court while sniffing around orphanages struck a discordant note.
And then came the voice Dorian expected—the snide councilman who always lingered too long on Valdemar business.
"Curious, is it not? For Roarke to haunt orphanages while the Valdemar house…adopts." The man's thin smile cut like a knife. "One wonders at the use of such a decision, when your son already stands as heir."
Dorian's crimson eyes lifted, unamused. His tone was clipped, final.
"My son needs no competition. The child is his companion, nothing more. They will inherit nothing, nor will they be forced into the court's affairs. That is my word, and my house's decree."
A hush fell. Dorian leaned back, slid a cigarette between his lips, and struck a match with casual defiance. The faint smoke curled upward, mocking the sanctity of the chamber.
"If there is nothing else," he said, "I will take my leave."
The brothers strode out of the imperial hall together, their boots echoing against marble until the noise of the council faded behind them.
Lucian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark red hair. "What a nest of wrinkled bats," he muttered. "They circle each other, gnawing on scraps, while the real threat moves outside their reach."
Dorian's silence stretched like a blade.
Then Lucian's tone softened, almost thoughtful. "My wife has seen things, you know. A patient last week—a lowborn vampire—came to her with corruption flaring through his veins. Nothing unusual in that. But she swears there were marks on him. Symbols that didn't belong on flesh."
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "Marks?"
"She wanted you to see them yourself. A healer's eye is sharp, but she says your…perspective would make sense of it." Lucian gave a crooked grin, then flicked his cloak behind his shoulder. "Come by tonight if you don't choke on your smoke first."
Before Dorian could answer, Lucian vanished into the crisp night air, leaving behind only the echo of his amusement.
For a long moment, Dorian remained, his cigarette burning low between his fingers, his mind turning over Roarke, witches, corruption, and now these…marks.
"Lord Valdemar" a cheerful voice interrupted.
A young councilman approached, too fresh-faced and too friendly for this viper's nest. He held out a wrapped candy like an offering. "Sweet? You look like you could use one."
Dorian regarded him through the haze of smoke. "No."
The man laughed lightly. "Ah, then perhaps for your daughter?"
Dorian's hand stilled. "I don't recall mentioning a daughter."
The councilman waved dismissively. "My niece ran into her at the market. Quite the…spirited encounter." He dipped his head. "My apologies, by the way. Children can be cruel."
Dorian flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. His voice was steel. "Apologize to her instead." Then, with a ripple of power, he was gone.
The councilman's pleasant smile thinned the moment the air stilled. From his pocket, he drew a small, dark orb. Whispering into it, his voice shifted to a reverent hush.
"Lord Roarke, It's confirmed. The girl you're searching for…is with Dorian Valdemar"