The servants' quarters of the Duke's Manor were as warm and welcoming. Narrow stone hallways twisted like veins beneath the manor, lit only by the dull glow of oil lamps. The air was thick with the scent of old stone, and the subtle bite of blood—a scent Eva was trying very hard to ignore.
Beds were lined up with military precision. Iron-framed, hard as sin, each mattress thin enough to question whether it had any stuffing at all. Eva eyed hers with a frown. Mira flopped onto the one beside it and let out a long, dramatic groan.
"Well," she muttered, "at least it's not crawling with rats. Yet."
Eva offered a dry smile. "Give it time."
Lira stood near the door, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. She hadn't spoken much since they arrived. She hadn't needed to. Her glare alone was enough to keep other servants at a respectable distance.
The rest of the staff bustled around them—strangers from different households, all summoned for tonight's grand banquet. Most were human, but a few weren't. Eva had spotted them immediately, pale skin, eyes rimmed with soft red glow, their movements too smooth, too quiet. Vampire servants. Elegant and deadly.
The sharp bark of a steward's voice cut through the room. "All hands to the kitchens. Assignments begin now."
The maids sprang into motion. Eva followed, Mira at her side. The corridors leading to the kitchen were a maze of stone and shadow, each step deeper into the manor like a descent into the underworld.
---
The kitchen was chaotic.
Dozens of servants bustled around, balancing trays, polishing cutlery, and carefully arranging goblets of bloodwine. The scent of roasted meats mingled with something darker—coppery and thick.
"Quiet down!" barked the steward, a thin man with hollow cheeks and a mouth set permanently into a sneer. He held a scroll, eyes scanning the names. "Assignments are as follows. If I catch anyone out of place, I'll have your heads—literally. We've got nobles from all houses tonight. You are not just serving food—you're serving legacy, tradition, and order. Remember that."
He began reading names. Eva half-listened until she heard hers.
"Eva. Mira. High table. Bloodwine service."
Mira's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. Eva felt her stomach twist.
They were handed polished silver trays, delicate crystal decanters already filled with dark red liquid that shimmered slightly under the lamplight. It looked nothing like wine.
As they waited for the signal to enter the banquet hall, Eva caught sight of another servant—a vampire with icy eyes and a mouth curled into a cruel smile.
"Human pets," the vampire muttered as he passed her, not bothering to whisper. "Can't believe they let you near the high table."
Eva stiffened, but Mira gently elbowed her side.
"Let it go. It's not worth it."
Eva clenched her jaw and adjusted her tray. "Not tonight," she muttered.
---
The grand doors opened with a groan that sounded far too much like a growl. Servants poured into the banquet hall, forming a perfect line around the edges of the room.
The hall was vast, cold, and dripping in grandeur. Black marble floors gleamed beneath their feet, reflecting the flicker of hundreds of candles suspended in the air like frozen stars. The long banquet table stretched endlessly, each place setting a work of art in silver and crimson. Above, a massive chandelier loomed like a skeletal crown, casting fractured shadows across the walls.
The nobles began to enter in small groups, their footsteps muffled by the thick silence of ceremony. House banners trailed behind them.
Mira leaned toward Eva as they stood against the far wall. "I swear, if one of these people orders me to polish their shoes mid-dinner, I'm kicking the table over."
Eva's mouth twitched into a smirk. "Then we'd both be executed. Let's not die in matching uniforms."
They were soon directed into motion—circulating, refilling goblets, keeping to the edge . Eva served a group of noblewomen draped in wine-colored gowns and jewels sharp enough to draw blood.
One of them barely looked up as Eva filled her glass.
"You there," the woman said, voice like smoke and ice. "Don't spill. It's hard to get blood out of silk."
Another added with a cruel smile, "And harder to get it out of skin, isn't it?"
They all laughed.
Eva's hand tightened around the decanter, but she said nothing. She moved on.
---
The doors opened once more—this time, without announcement. A heavy silence fell over the hall.
Duke Rafe.
He moved with the kind of grace that didn't belong in the world of men—slow, deliberate, controlled. His presence seemed to fill every inch of the room even though he said nothing.
His coat was black velvet, buttons like obsidian. Pale skin, dark hair slicked back, and eyes—those eyes—cold and unreadable as they swept the hall. A portrait of aristocratic restraint. And underneath it, something feral. Waiting.
Every noble rose. Who dared not to?
He gave the faintest nod and took his seat at the center of the high table. The air around him grew heavier somehow.
Eva was summoned forward. Her tray shook slightly as she approached.
--
She was aware of everything at once.The glitter of candlelight on the crystal goblet.The weight of the Duke's gaze as it flicked barely toward her.
The memory.
That man. Rafe's fangs. The lifeless eyes. The smell of blood.Her hand trembled.
She tilted the decanter.The bloodwine flowed, smooth and rich and then spilled, bright and damning, across the Duke's sleeve.
Silence.
The goblet clinked softly against the table. Eva's breath caught in her throat.
Mira froze beside her.Every eye turned.
The Duke looked down at his sleeve. A single drop traced the line of his wrist. He did not speak.He did not move.
But his eyes met Eva's.
Cold.
Around the room, nobles began to murmur—sharp, cutting gasps like blades in the dark.Eva stood frozen, the decanter still in her hand, bloodwine pooling at her feet.
The steward's voice rang out like a blade:
"Guards. Seize the servant."