Meanwhile, at the Baltimore estate, the dining room was brightly lit, though the meal itself had long been finished. The pureblooded vampire family sat around the grand table, trapped in a tense silence that spoke of an argument far from over.
Lady Vivian sat with her back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture defiant despite the disappointment etched on every face turned toward her. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she struggled to keep unshed tears from falling.
"You will return first thing tomorrow morning," Lord Baltimore ordered sternly. His crimson eyes glared at his daughter—the pureblooded vampire who appeared no older than forty, though he had lived far beyond that.
"I would rather have my fangs ripped out, my skin cut with silver, and my body burned," Vivian said with stubborn intensity, "than return to that castle where my position is worth less than that of a mere human."
Lady Baltimore stiffened, worry flashing across her face. Her hand instinctively reached for her husband's in silent plea, but Lord Baltimore was already seething, fury blazing at his daughter's defiance.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Vivian!" he roared. "You lost—to a mere human. A mere human who should tremble at the sight of you! And instead, here you are—hiding like a coward." His voice shook with rage. "A pureblooded vampire, destined to be queen."
"Father—he doesn't love me!" Vivian cried, desperation breaking through her composure. Tears finally spilled down her cheeks. "He doesn't!"
Lord Baltimore froze, as though he had just heard the most ridiculous thing imaginable. Slowly, he turned to his wife, who was already on her feet, worry written plainly on her face. Then his gaze shifted to his son, Franklin, who stood rigid, as though struggling to remain present.
"You left," Lord Baltimore said calmly, dangerously so, "because he does not love you?"
He laughed—loud and hollow—before falling silent once more.
"You will leave tomorrow morning," he said coldly. "I will see to it myself before attending court. I did not raise a coward." He scoffed. "Love?" His eyes burned. "What you should concern yourself with is the throne. Do you think those who sit upon it care for love?"
He huffed sharply and turned away, his footsteps echoing as he left the room.
Vivian collapsed forward, her strength giving out as sobs overtook her. Lady Baltimore rushed to her side, gathering her into her arms and whispering comforts she herself did not fully believe.
Franklin watched from where he stood, his expression conflicted. Sympathy tugged at him—he wanted to console his sister, truly—but he remained still.
To do so would make him a hypocrite.
Ever since the king—once a close friend, almost a brother—had withdrawn his favor, Franklin had lived on edge.
A wedge had been driven between them, one he did not understand and dared not question. If this continued, the Baltimore name itself could be at risk.
And so, for the sake of their title, for the sake of power, a sister had to be sacrificed.
If only he knew he would sacrifice more than he budgeted for
Back in the palace, inside a dark room dimly lit by flickering torches, Damien stood before a cage cell. A cigarette hung loosely between his fingers as he exhaled smoke through parted lips, a sad smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
His eyes rested on the tortured prisoner seated on the cold stone floor. The vampire was barely clothed, his garments reduced to rags. Long dark hair fell over half his bruised, bloodied face—a face identical to the one Damien wore outside these walls.
"It's been months, brother," Damien finally said softly. "And no one has noticed."
The prisoner did not respond.
"Not even your beloved Joline," Damien continued casually, as if speaking of the weather.
At the sound of her name, the vampire slowly lifted his head. Something like a smile—weak, broken—tugged at his lips.
Damien crouched down, studying him closely, as though searching for something. Watching his brother break was a sight he would never tire of.
"Funny how the tables turned," Damien murmured. "I didn't even have to play you. And yet, no one—no one—knows you were replaced by an imposter."
A cold, mocking laugh echoed through the cell.
"You are not as important as you thought," he went on, his voice lowering. "You're just like me after all. Mother lied to you."
He rose to his feet slowly. "I will clear the court. Clean up the mess you left behind. And as for your beloved…" His smile sharpened. "It's time to dispose of her."
Damien took one last drag of his cigarette.
"Don't worry, brother. I'll take very good care of this kingdom." His eyes gleamed darkly. "I may even turn it into a gateway to the underworld. Such a pity you won't live to see it."
He dropped the cigarette to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot before turning and walking away.
Behind the cell bars, the imprisoned vampire finally opened his eyes.
Bloody tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping slowly from his chin onto the cold stone below.