Endless shelves of ebony wood soared upward, dissolving into the gloom of the vaulted ceiling. In the narrow stained-glass windows, the light of a winter day stood frozen, falling in faint pillars onto the parquet floor, crisscrossed with the scars of heavy furniture. This was the Library of Styria. Two men, who had passed through the hells of fate, were searching here for something useful. Something that would help the new King learn the fundamentals of ruling the Kingdom of Styria.

Hector stood on the upper tier of a rolling ladder, one hand holding onto a carved oak post, the other brushing a silver strand of hair from his forehead. His pale, icy eyes skimmed over spines faded with time. He leaned forward, and his shadow, distorted by the flame of a lamp below, danced across frescoes depicting vampire hunts.

Hector: "'Rituals of the Lunar Blood Harvest,' 'Anarchy in the People as a Method of Dominion'... Charming," his voice, dry and quiet, sliced through the silence, laced with sarcasm. "I wonder if Carmilla read this before bed. To sleep sweeter with thoughts of total domination." He stretched out a hand in a black glove and with a slight tug pulled out a thick tome in scuffed leather. "Ah. 'Decrees on the Lands and Taxes of the Margraviate of Styria, 1347.' I think this is for you, Isaac. Although, this wisdom reeks of mice and arrogance."

He tossed the book down. It did not fall. It was caught mid-air by a strong hand clad in a blue sleeve. Isaac stood motionless by a massive table already piled with selected scrolls and codices. His tall, straight figure in a blue robe radiated an inhuman focus. He opened the book, and his fingers, accustomed to wielding an animating dagger, turned several pages with faded Gothic script with unexpected gentleness.

Isaac: "Arrogance is when laws are written for one species over another. Wisdom is when they are written for order. Any order," he said, his voice low and measured, as if weighing each word on invisible scales. "Mildew can be cleaned, but rot in a system cannot. Here... there is a sound kernel. The principle of collective responsibility for tax payment within a community. This can be adapted. So that responsibility is shared."

He set the book aside in the "promising" pile, regarding it with a slight smile.

Isaac: "It is hard to imagine going from slave to king. But this is my reality. Give me a treatise on the fundamentals of rule and I can lay the foundation for my kingdom. Give me time, and I will raise walls of justice and respect, give me-" His philosophical speech was interrupted by a book hitting his dark head. Isaac frowned and, catching the volume, turned to Hector, who was nervously scratching the back of his neck.

Hector: "Sorry! I thought you were literally asking for a treatise. I thought you'd catch it."

Isaac rolled his eyes and shook his head, reading the book's title. 'Chronicle of the Buffoon. Blood and Reign.'

Isaac: "Did you decide to keep this one for yourself? I thought you were staying a forgemaster."

Hector: " 'Ha-ha'. Very funny. Actually, I'm quite sure people like court fools write more truth than any chronicler in a king's court. Though I'd be the exception. I promise, my book will contain only truth." Hector leaned against the shelf, gazing out the large stained-glass window overlooking the castle balconies.

Isaac turned the book over in his hand and still set it on the table as something worthy of attention.

Isaac: "In that case, your book will be burned. Likely with you in it." The man followed his companion's gaze. It was pleasant to see daylight after several years of the darkness of the vampire palace. However beautiful the flora under the night skies might be, no bloody citadel could replace the beauty of sunlight.