Rain hammers against the stone. The royal barber follows a servant through the marble corridors of Durell Palace.

The gilded doors, heavy with relief carvings, swing inward.

"The Prince requested a trim. This way." Servants set out basins of warm water.

Dion Lancaster sits before a tall mirror. The barber wipes his hands and opens a leather kit. "Same as usual, Highness? Just a trim?"

Dion's ruby eyes lift in the glass. "Yes."

He is over three hundred years old, but the mirror shows a boy in his prime. His hair is straight silk, inheriting the texture of the Queen rather than the curls of Brian Lancaster.

The Vampire Queen favors her youngest. He has her face.

The room is a tomb of silence, broken only by the rhythmic snip-snip of steel.

The doors groan. Felix steps into the light.

The barber moves to retreat, but Dion flickers a hand. Stay.

Felix anchors himself behind the chair. "Departure tonight, Highness?"

Dion's lip curls into a rare, sharp smirk. "Yes."

He looks satisfied. It's a rare sight in these halls.

"Departure is delayed," Felix rasps. Dion's eyes narrow in the reflection. "Why?"

"The Queen. She wants you in the Lyndell Palace... now."

Dion's expression flattens into a cold line. "Understood."

Moonlight bleeds through the stained glass of the Moon Temple. The air tastes like dust and the end of the world.

Bellaceline Lancaster loves the silence here. She stands in the center of the hall, her white gown shimmering as she bathes in the light.

Dion paces down the long row of empty seats. "Good morning, Mother."

"Sit," she says. Her gaze tracks the new line of his hair. "Shorter than usual. It shows off your eyes."

Dion offers a thin, empty smile. He stays silent.

She didn't call him here for a haircut. The maternal warmth died centuries ago, replaced by the weight of the throne.

Dion is a counterweight. A leash used to pull back Brian, whose power grows at the border.

Three hundred years... the world has changed. The humans have changed.

"The Sweeping Vampire units," Bellaceline says, her voice a soft blade. "The first batch is ready. I want one sent to the Murdoch estate."

Dion's fingers twitch. He spent a century investing in human tech, building these bio-machines to bridge the gap. Peace through commerce.

His mind drifts to the dusk. To the smell of rain in Mura Island.

If the rogue vampires hadn't been unleashed, she would have lived. Ruby Kingsley would still be breathing.

Bellaceline's eyes sharpen as Dion's gaze loses focus. A vampire haunted by a ghost is a weak king.

"What are you thinking about, Dion?"

"Nothing," he rasps. "The units are for small human homes. The Murdochs don't need a cleaning tool."

Bellaceline's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "The nobles just need to see a monster in the Murdoch halls. They don't need to understand it."

She reaches out, her hand cold as stone against his. "Ever since the journalists found those silver bullets... the court is screaming. Brian is circling the scent of fear."

"They need to believe we have a beast that can swallow silver. Otherwise..." she pauses, "there will be a riot."

Dion's jaw locks. She isn't saving the kingdom. She's starving Brian of an opportunity.

"It's a lie," Dion says. "It's a vacuum with fangs. It won't stop a bullet."

"It buys time. We'll build a real monster while they stare at the toy."

Dion leans forward. "You want a war."

Bellaceline's face remains a masterpiece of marble. "It's for Châtelet. For you. One day, the throne is yours."

Dion suppresses a sneer. She's held that chair for a millennium. She isn't giving it up to a son she treats like a chess piece.

"I have matters to attend to," Dion says, standing abruptly.

Bellaceline lets his hand drop. She doesn't stop him.

He reaches the archway when her voice cuts through the dark. "I know you've been visiting the Grand Mage. Every year for three centuries."

Dion freezes. His pulse thunders in his ears.

"Looking for the human," Bellaceline says, her tone light. "Ruby Kingsley."

She reaches for a chair, the silk of her dress hissing against the floor. "The Grand Mage talked. He mentioned a soul. Reborn."

"Year twenty-five," she whispers.

Dion's knuckles turn white. His breathing hitches. "What do you want?"

"The vacuum vampire base," the Queen smiles. "Hand over the keys, and we'll consider letting you keep your... weakness."

Dion stares at the moon through the glass. The leverage is absolute.

He's caught. Again.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Felix stalks behind Dion Lancaster as they cut through the palace gardens. Centuries of training have turned Dion's face into marble, but Felix can still read the tension in his stride. It's the instinct of a servant who's been under the yoke too long...

"Highness, we'll hit Mura Island by ten," Felix mutters. "Should I call for the car?"

Dion's pace doesn't falter. Felix jogs to keep up. "Highness—"

"Cancel it," Dion snaps.

Felix stops dead. "Highness?" The schedule was cleared. The hair was trimmed. The silk tunic was waiting in the wardrobe...

"My mother has her scent," Dion says, his voice a flat line.

Felix's shoulders drop. The Queen.

Felix pulls a human smartphone from his pocket. No signal in the spires, but the cached logs remain. He thrusts the screen toward Dion. "Catherine says Jacob Vraj is circling Number 88, Dawn Road again."

Dion snatches the phone, his thumb swiping through the logs. "Why is that bastard back there?" His voice rasps with a sudden, jagged heat...

"He might have caught your scent from the last visit."

Dion's jaw locks. Vraj is a predator. He needs to stay in the shadows.

"Tell Catherine to block the door. They don't meet." Dion pauses, his fingers tightening on the phone until the glass groans. "The car. Now."

Felix blinks. "Understood." He stares at the Prince's back. Fickle doesn't even cover it...

"And Felix," Dion says over his shoulder. "Disguise yourself. If my mother calls for Sachester, you're the one sitting in the chair."

"Yes, Highness." Felix keeps his head low, his back teeth grinding until his jaw aches.

Three centuries of playing the Prince for the Murdoch girl. One slip and his head hits the basket... His knuckles turn white as he grips his cuffs.

He stalks down the hall, his eyes narrowing as a thought takes shape. "Highness, a vampire on the doorstep? You'll give the girl a heart attack."

Dion stops. He looks back at Felix, his brow hitching. "You think she'll run?"

Dawn Cappe is a fresh soul. Human women don't react well to nocturnal predators in the driveway.

Felix nods. "I have a plan. You get close, no screaming. You even get a room in the house."

A room. In Number 88, Dawn Road. The house he bought for her and Vraj...

Does she remember the silk? The blood? The Duke? Dion looks at his empty palms.

"Why help me?" The question from the sunset kitchen echoes in his head. No answer.

His pulse thunders. The drive to find her is a jagged blade in his chest, sharper than the hunger for her blood. He needs the reason.

"How?"

Felix's grin is a sharp, jagged line. "We have Catherine sell a vacuum vampire to Dawn Cappe."

Dion's eyebrow hitches. A bio-machine. Under her roof. It's clean. Simple...

"Fine."

He turns, the name Dawn Cappe tasting like cold iron and sugar on his tongue. The Grand Mage whispered about ghosts of memories.

He'll ask her. Why won't she leave his head?

She was a master of arithmetic. Maybe she can solve this equation. He'll listen this time...

If she's a blank slate, he'll find the answer in the dirt. A Lancaster never leaves a page unturned.