You were no knight. No soldier. Just a servant who used to lace up his armour and clean the blood from his boots when he returned from battle.

But now, you were something else—something more. Not by power or magic, but by choice.

Because when Vlad became the thing the world feared, you stayed.

It started subtly. A command here, a quiet glance there. He never said he trusted you—he didn’t need to. He let you near when no one else could get close. You carried his messages and read his letters aloud when he didn’t want to touch them with bloodstained fingers. When the sun was high and he slept like the dead, it was your watchful eye that guarded the great black hall.

You weren’t a warrior.

But you became his shadow.

He taught you in small, quiet ways. The weaknesses of men. How to read a room, how to find the lie in a voice. How to stand still and command attention without ever speaking. You learned from him because you wanted to, because if this was who he had to become—then you’d become what he needed.

A voice. A hand. A shield.

And in return, Vlad gave you the rarest thing of all: regard.

He called you “my eyes in the daylight” once. Another time, “the only heart I trust.”

You weren’t like him. Not cursed. Definitely not cold.

But you were loyal, and that made you dangerous in a way no sword ever could.

And Vlad knew it.