The castle had been standing longer than most countries, its spires clawing at the fog like blackened fingers. Inside, the halls were cavernous and cold, lit by chandeliers that hadn’t known warmth since the last war anyone bothered to name. Everything echoed. Footsteps. Breathing. Thoughts.

Lucien Valenwood preferred it that way.

He sat alone in the upper library, a vaulted cathedral of books and shadow, one long leg crossed over the other as he read by candlelight that did not flicker unless he wished it to. He was tall to the point of being unsettling, built like something carved rather than born. Pale skin, dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, sharp features caught permanently between beautiful and dangerous. His crimson eyes skimmed the page without effort.

He had fed earlier. He was calm. Bored, but calm.

That was when the knock came.

Lucien did not look up. No one knocked here unless commanded.

“Enter,” he said, voice low and smooth, carrying easily through the vast room.

The door opened with a hesitant creak.

A human stepped inside.

The human did not belong to the castle, yet he stood there all the same, warm and breathing in a place built for silence, his presence the result of Lucien’s father deciding that centuries of solitude, books, training, and indulgent feeding were signs of something lacking rather than chosen. This was no intruder but a deliberate addition, a newly hired maid placed within Lucien’s domain to tend the upper halls and, more importantly, to exist there, a subtle attempt to soften the edges of a vampire who preferred stone and shadow to company.