Your Royal Highness.
Jak had said it so nonchalantly as though it meant nothing, as though they were in the company of an ordinary punter. Yet, Dean knew the gravity of such an address. After all, you'd be hard pressed to spend any time in the cities or towns of Gethmane and not hear people talking about the beloved Crown Prince.
Reiven Dixaellus Faolin.
The Winter Raven, the Winter Prince, the Black Wolf of Vankus — it depended who was telling the tale. The one who had been out on the front lines with his soldiers during the Dark War and had fallen in battle, dying to defend the Crown and his country.
Or at least, he would have died, had the plague not swept over Gethmane just as his soul was about to leave his body, the breath dissipating in his lungs as his heart took its last beat. Aye, Dean had heard about him. Radical, scandalous to some of the nobility and yet, the soldiers of Gethmane and the ordinary folk loved him. Dean had even heard hushed whispers asking why he hadn't overthrown his older brother yet; after all, he had more than enough support to stage a successful coup.
Dean already knew his name before coming to Gethmane, however. He was a veritable demon in Galisthroan history. He'd initially tried to mend diplomatic ties with Galisthros. When the soldiers set boots on Gethmanic soil, however, the Winter Raven had unfurled his black wings and sharpened his talons. Galisthros called him a deceiver, claimed his attempts at brokering peace were hollow, that he wanted Galisthros to put boots on the ground so Gethmane had the perfect excuse to unleash their bio-weapons.
Even now, Galisthroan households would curse his name in hushed voices.
As Dean stared at the handsome young man in absolute disbelief, he couldn't quite process that this was the phantom who had slaughtered so many Galisthroan battalions. This was the one they still feared. And yet, he seemed so...small and unassuming. Almost fragile. It had been so easy to deceive himself into thinking Reiven had a medical condition in the nightclub.
Still, everything clicked into place: Reiven's accent, his articulate and precise speech, how he held his head high when he walked gracefully and with purpose.
Only moments ago, Dean had been scoffing at the very idea of the monarchy existing; now he was in awe of the famous vampire prince. It wasn't so much the 'royal' part that he found fascinating though; it was that decorated military history.
Completely ignoring Dean's reaction, or perhaps not noticing it at all, the prince quickened his pace, taking the lead.
"Come, both of you. If I am to face my idiot brother's wrath, you can join and provide moral support. Gods knows I'll need all the strength I can get in order to deal with his foolish rebuttals."
Vankus Castle was beautiful even if it bore the scars of the Dark War both in its memorial plaques and the haunted eyes of the servants who lived through the conflict. Here, they travelled past the stairwells where the castle's servants dwelt, past the public library, recreation areas and Dean's favourite haunt: the gymnasium. The huge hall was equipped with a heated swimming pool, poles, aerial hoops and a whole array of various sporting and monitoring equipment. It was practically his second home; there wasn't much else to do in Vankus anyway. Sure, he could have gone and browsed the archaic tomes in the library but the way people stared at him always made him feel like a fish out of water so he avoided it entirely. Thankfully, the castle's other residents barely ever ventured into the gymnasium area.
Dean recognised the eastern courtyard. He'd been here before on morning walks but he'd never crossed through to the other side towards the central towers of the castle, where the nobles and scientists resided.
It was an unspoken rule that harvesters did not cross this courtyard. He'd never understood why; he'd never asked and Jak had never bothered to explain the reason to him, if there was any reason other than snobbery and elitism.
Reiven raised an arm to cover his eyes as they crossed the courtyard. Jak was, as always, unbothered by the sun's rays. Dean had always found that unusual; half-bloods were unharmed by the sun's piercing rays but Jak was a full-blooded vampire. Though, knowing Jak, he was probably putting up a tough front.
The warm air, sweet with nectar and fresh with life, was a blessing compared to the stale, bittersweet stench of death in the Blood Works. Dean gulped the air down like a greedy lion devouring prey, as they made their way through the cobblestone pathways lined with a rainbow of flowers on either side. The gentle spray of the stone fountains trickled throughout the gardens, blending beautifully with the bright melodies of birdsong and the gentle buzzing of honeybees. It was such a bizarre and stark contrast to the area hidden away by the stone walls and buried deep beneath the city.
Various nobles dotted the courtyard in their hightail coats and puffy silk dresses, fanning themselves and exchanging pleasantries under the shaded canopies - to them, this was a late stroll before bedtime. After all, vampires were nocturnal creatures who slept the daylight hours away and rose at night to live their lives much the same as any human would during the daytime.
As the aristocrats noticed the prince, they fell silent, bowing deeply as he passed. He acknowledged each of them individually with warm greetings and smiles. Dean found it utterly surreal, to see these velvet and silk clad elites paying respects to a young man clad in tight jeans and a plaid shirt.
Reiven was nothing like he had ever imagined a monarch to be. Of course, his mannerisms and speech were appropriate but his dress and what Dean had seen of his general attitude so far, felt so out of place, so far removed from this world of pomp and fine tastes.
What a bizarre and fascinating guy, Dean thought, almost as though this new information had bewitched him. Sure, he really liked the shy ones but he'd always had a thing for strong, powerful men and Rei had suddenly become a lot more than just a handsome face.
The trio continued in silence through torch-lit corridors and grand hallways draped in ancient paintings and frayed tapestries. Dean couldn't help but stare at each one as he passed. He had no idea who any of these people were but eventually they approached some paintings of Reiven himself.
It finally began to sink in for the blond: Reiven Faolin really was the Black Wolf of Vankus; the one Galisthroans still feared and the one Gethmanians adored. Various paintings showed him, albeit a bulkier, more muscular version of him, clad in battle armour or beautiful red robes, holding grand swords or gold sceptres, a grand crown upon his head in each interpretation. A few paintings showed him holding a child - a young girl who was always clad in the same floral dress. Dean pondered whether this was another sibling or perhaps even a daughter? Vampires were infertile, of course, but who knew what Reiven's life had been like before the population were turned into bloodsuckers. After all, that face was incredibly attractive - Dean couldn't imagine Reiven struggling to find romance.
Reiven suddenly took a sharp left-turn. There was a marble staircase branching off from the main corridor but instantly Dean began to feel slightly ill: the tiny steps twisted and turned and the enclosing walls were narrow and claustrophobic. He'd never been a fan of tight spaces, especially not ones that spiralled like this.
"You will never have traversed these halls before, no?" Reiven's soft voice met Dean's ear as the monarch stopped before the stairs. The blond shook his head as Reiven turned his head towards him.
"No sir. I'm just a harvester, after all." The words came out like a mouse and Dean felt himself cringing a little from how timid he sounded suddenly. Where had his earlier bravado when attempting to court Reiven gone?
"Dean, was it?" The prince asked. As Dean nodded in confirmation, Reiven began to laugh. That laugh was like poison - so soft and sweet but there was a dark undertone to it which Dean couldn't quite place his finger on. "Please do not ever call me sir again or I shall have you beheaded."
Dean opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Furrowing his brow, his eyes darted all around the tight stairway, anywhere other than the beautifully dreadful monarch in front of him.
Another sanguine laugh oozed into the cold corridor. "You do realise I am jesting, yes?" As Dean raised his jade eyes to meet Reiven's crimson gaze, the prince smiled at him, reassuringly. It was a genuine smile. "And what is this, "just a harvester" talk? Without you, this kingdom would starve. Cease such nonsensical talk."
Before Dean could reply, he felt a thud on his shoulder as Jak patted him.
"Relax," his dark voice commanded, "you're as tense as a fresh corpse. His Royal Highness isn't what you think he is." Leaning in a little closer to his ear, Jak's voice lowered to a barely audible whisper. "Just be respectful around him. No more cursing."
"You do realise I can hear you, yes? Ah, such confidence earlier — it was almost intriguing. Wherever did it go?" Reiven began to shake his head, his sentence merging into a gentle laugh. "Well, allow me to continue putting you at ease. Everything on your side of the gardens is new," he turned away from Dean and began to ascend the staircase. Jak and Dean followed suite. "T'was all built around...four hundred years ago or so, I believe."
Dean scoffed internally. New?
Reiven continued. "Everything on this side is part of the original Vankus Castle, built seventeen hundred years ago. It stands strong today as a result of tireless renovations and constant care." As Reiven raised a pale hand to gently stroke the stonework, he beamed with pride. "I would have no other place as my home."
"And yet you keep running off to escape it," Jak interjected, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. Reiven replied only with a chuckle as they continued up the narrow staircase.
"This place is stunning," Dean told the pair. "Why would you waste time in Coldwoods nightclub when you have a place like this?" Another laugh in response. Reiven didn't give a proper response until the trio reached the top of the stairs.
"It may be stunning, true, but it is dreadfully lonely. We avoid the public for our own safety - there are still those who blame us for the transformation."
Dean wasn't sure if he believed it - after all, the people in the city, at the ver least, adored Reiven. He'd never really ventured outside of the city gates though.
"Ah, I understand, Your...Your Majesty," the words came out awkwardly but Dean had no idea how to properly address the prince. It was no surprise when Jak corrected him.
"Your Majesty is reserved for King Axel only," he quietly informed the blond. "Reiven and his brother are Your Royal Highness."
"Or..." Reiven turned on his heel to face both, crossing his arms across his chest and raising a slender hand to wave away Jak's information, "we can just skip the formalities entirely. Do not think of me as the crown prince or any other ghost story you may have heard about me. Think of me as just another vampire. It makes things much easier for both of us, believe me."
Dean couldn't help but focus his full attention on the smaller, dark haired man under the dim orange glow of the torches. He was lit from behind, the flames casting an ethereal glow over his shoulders and hair, shadows falling softly across his porcelain face but those red eyes were blazing like stellar crystals of bloody light despite the darkness the trio were cloaked in.
Again, Dean found himself intrigued by those pinpoint pupils - it was so obvious now, in the shaded stairway landing, that Reiven's eyes were unnatural, ethereal, moreso than other full-blooded vampires Dean had previously met. He pondered if this was part of their royal bloodline or maybe they were the first to be transformed? Whatever the reason, the young prince's eyes were unsettling but enchanting in a dangerous sort of way, almost like a witch casting a spell to lure unsuspecting children to their deaths.
With another smile, fangs peeking out from his rose lips, Reiven turned again, continuing their journey through the old halls. They met a large oak door, locked with some kind of strange contraption — cogwheels and chains ensured it stayed firmly locked until Reiven reached his hands up to the back of his neck, unclipping a necklace that been hidden by the plaid shirt. Dean noticed a ring glinting and glimmering under the flickering torchlight - it looked heavy and intricately engraved with a signet nestled among the glittering jewels that dotted the band. He watched curiously as Reiven took the necklace in his hand and pressed the ring's signet into a small circle in one of the cogwheels.
As the prince took a step back, a loud bang thundered out from the door, followed by another bang, then suddenly, the chains began to move as the cogwheels rumbled into life, echoing throughout the castle. The door began to lift up from the floor - to Dean's surprise, it wasn't a normal door. It was more like a portcullis in the guise of a door.
As the huge oak facade raised high above their heads, it stopped moving with another loud bang. The fake door was revealed to be incredibly thick - maybe six or seven feet wide. Dean wasn't surprised it took all those chains and cogs to hoist the massive lump of wood up. He was too busy gawking at the structure to even notice the white marble corridor that it unveiled.
Reiven cast his sanguine eyes towards the Abermijahn as Dean felt Jak's elbow in his ribs.
"Best get moving, Dean," the prince smiled. "You have thirty seconds before the door crushes you like a rat in my trap."
As Dean dashed through the door immediately and Jak snorted with laughter at his sudden panic, the two remaining vampires moved into the new area. True enough, a few quick moments after they were all in the new area, a horrendous thud rumbled through the castle as the door dropped like a guillotine to the stone floor.
Dean cast his gaze back at the facade and couldn't help but wonder if any servants had ever been...
Above them, the stones now formed a large, high curving archways but Dean noticed that the stones were intricately carved and hollow, almost like spiderwebs made of rock, branching up high above their heads and leading the eye down towards the end of the corridor. A set of glass doors awaited them, adorned with yellowing ferns and vines hanging down the pretty but fragile doorway. Splitting off from the main hallway were several other sets of intricate glass doors, each one laden with gold and frosted, colourful glass forming illustrations of scenes Dean had no time to awe at.
"Welcome to the great chambers, my dear friends," Reiven spread his arms out to either side, his palms pointing up to the stone ceiling as he turned on his heel to face his two companions. In one swift but graceful movement, he bowed down to them both, before standing up straight again. "You now stand in the living space of the monarchy. Few souls ever get to see these halls, let alone traverse them."
