The Fallen Angel Armor’s dra core enabled Kilian to use Demolecularization and Stasis five times per day. Each use couldn’t last over five seconds, and he could also shapeshift into the appearance of whoever he wanted. Kilian obtained the armor at 15, and as he grew, a multitude of experiments and genetic enhancement enabled him to draw more power from it.

But though the sky-blue dra core embedded in his chest seemed to be the armor’s source, as time flew by, Kilian was starting to wonder if Klaus didn’t cheat him. Did the core enable him to summon the armor, or did it just facilitate the process? He wondered.

As soon as Kilian returned to his chambers, the dynamic hologram vanished, making the bodyguards sense a tiny disruption in the room’s heat flow. In tandem, they rushed into the bedroom, but seeing their Junior Duke sitting cross-legged with a stern, authoritative gaze, they wondered if he’d not been waiting for them.

“Junior Duke, does—” A bodyguard began, but with a hand wave, Kilian cut him.

“You have a new assignment. Tomorrow morning, I want you to pursue three people and stand ready for my orders. This is for the benefit of Kars and His Grace. Do not fail them,” Kilian said, and as soon as the words “benefit of Kars and His Grace” echoed, the 12 bowed in agreement, then withdrew to their rooms.

With a smirk, Kilian fell asleep.

On the following day, Nargozi maids knocked on Kilian’s door to warn him of the impending banquet. As with all other Children of the Night, moonlight kept bloodkins awake and on maximum alert, while the sunlight somewhat dulled their senses. For that reason, they tended to trivial matters such as sleep and mandatory parties during the day, and worked at night. Then again, with Nargoz’s overcast sky, the sunlight never had much sway, anyway.

Undisturbed, Kilian let them in. But instead of the expected maids, three bloodkin handmaidens appeared at his doorstep. With black, skin-tight maxi dresses cut at the left leg and exposing their flawless curves, they instantly gripped the male eye. As expected, Oliver researched Kilian’s life and deeds in Kars, then provided baits to test his findings.

Suppressing a sneer, Kilian flashed the ladies a gentle smile, and ogled them long enough to show rising interest, but short enough that his stare didn’t appear forced or excessive.

“Your Lordship, Her Highness sent us to get you appropriately dressed for the occasion. We can’t have the Blood Court feel that Kars looks down on its customs—now can we?” They rhetorically asked, using their status as Kathrin’s handmaidens to cover the fact that they did Oliver’s bidding.

“Well then, do your thing,” Kilian replied in a sultry tone, and stretched out his arms toward the three. After curtsying to show off their cleavage, they ambled toward him, untied his belt, and took down his ducal robe to help him into Nargoz’s traditional black and red robe.

With low magic potential, unless they broke the blood-drinking restrictions, those three could at best rise to Core Emissaries. Nargoz had no shortage of those, therefore Oliver promised them to have Kilian take them back as his official mistresses.

As the Arcadian saying went, better be the emperor’s mistress than an imperial dukes’ primary wife. And although Kilian couldn’t claim imperial status, calling him a future overlord was no exaggeration—the three leaped on the opportunity.

Little did they know that Kilian saw through and inwardly laughed at their petty thoughts. Perhaps if they knew how Anke dealt with the noblewomen unfortunate enough to fall into his bed, they wouldn’t be so enthusiastic.

Now dressed in a black robe mixing a dark ecclesiastic flair with bright-red flame patterns, and laden by the epaulettes of a high noble, Kilian stood ready for the banquet.

Taking several steps back, the three handmaiden observed the result of their work, and prompted by a sudden impulse, said in tandem: “Your Lordship is sure to steal all the ladies’ hearts.”

They spoke their mind, for indeed, look-wise, Kilian overshadowed even his father. While in a society full of genetic enhancement, good looks were nothing special, Kilian’s sapphire eyes always possessed a fiendish allure, that despite his average height, forced onlookers to look up to him.

He was the complete opposite of Klaus’ amiable aura—but those handmaidens loved every bit of it.

“Have I stolen yours, then?” Kilian asked, and not knowing how to reply, the three lowered their heads and blushed in shame. But even as he smiled at them, Kilian had to curb a sigh. Most people believed themselves unique. Just like those three ladies that deep down thought that unlike the others, they could ingrain themselves in his heart, and make him yearn for them only. Yet, most followed established patterns, and whoever learned those patterns could see through the hearts of men and women alike.

Klaus was a master at that game. And though he didn’t wish to acknowledge it, Kilian learned a lot from him. Kilian didn’t look down on those ladies for wanting to use their assets to seize a better future for themselves. Arcadia was a world for men. The women able to claim a bright future through skills alone, all were exceptionally gifted. The rest could either thrive through petty wiles, or submit to whatever fate had in store for them.

But just like he didn’t look down on them, he wouldn’t give them a free pass, either. Outliving their poor choices was their job, not his. Just like he never stopped Anke from butchering those ladies that aimed to bewitch him, he wouldn’t go out of his way to protect those three, either. For if on one thing he had a clear conscience, it was that he never deceived any woman.

…

Bubbly from their expected achievements, the three handmaidens led Kilian through a dimly lit corridor. As the castle mostly housed bloodkins, who all were equipped with night vision, it didn’t rely much on light. But while this setting might have bothered others, with his enhanced retinas, Kilian didn’t care.

A dark-gray door with the werebat-shaped skull of a chiropteran marked the corridor’s end. The leading handmaiden pushed against it, making the door open with grating, unsettling creaks.

“After you, Your Lordship,” the three said, and alongside them, Kilian walked into the banquet hall where hellcat-shaped scarlet flames flew across the hall, dancing underneath the grand, blood-flower chandeliers that projected ominous light on the dancing nobles below.

“Junior Duke, we’ve been awaiting your arrival,” Kathrin, Oliver’s wife and future queen, met him at the entrance with one of those smiles that provoked waves of sin.