The King’s keep was alive with activity, the air buzzing with the chaotic energy of war preparations. Vampires and Shadowbound creatures moved in synchronized chaos, their dark forms darting through the corridors as generals barked orders.
Adrian slipped through the throng, his face carefully composed, his crimson eyes scanning every corner for signs of danger. The weight of his deception hung heavy on his shoulders, but he couldn’t afford even the slightest crack in his façade.
The throne room loomed ahead, its grand doors carved with intricate depictions of vampiric conquests. Adrian pushed them open, stepping into the cold, shadowed chamber.
The King sat on his imposing black throne, the room’s oppressive atmosphere seeming to revolve around him. In his arms, he cradled the fake baby—Adrian’s carefully orchestrated substitution for Misery’s real child.
The King’s fingers traced the infant’s cheek with an almost unnerving gentleness, his dark eyes studying the child intently.
“Remarkable,” he murmured, his voice low but dripping with menace. “The werewolf bloodline in this child is strong. A fine specimen.”
Adrian’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to keep his emotions in check.
The King’s fascination with the child made his skin crawl, every fiber of his being screaming to intervene. But he remained still, his expression unreadable.
The King’s head tilted, his lips curling into a predatory smile. He produced a thin blade from the folds of his robes and pricked the baby’s tiny finger. A single drop of blood welled up, and the King leaned closer, his tongue darting out to taste it.
“It reeks of werewolf stench,” the King sneered, licking his lips with exaggerated satisfaction. “But their strength will be mine.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened, but his voice was steady when he spoke.
“You’ve made a wise choice, my King. The bloodline is potent.”
The King’s gaze flicked to Adrian, his smile sharpening.
“Indeed. This child will fuel my power, Adrian. And when the wolves come for their final stand, they’ll see what their own kin has done to strengthen me.”
Adrian nodded curtly, his mind racing. Beneath the mask of loyalty, his resolve burned hotter than ever. The baby in the King’s arms was not Misery’s child, and every moment he spent convincing the King of the lie bought the real child precious time.
As the King returned his attention to the baby, Adrian’s thoughts darkened.
He would play this role as long as necessary, but he would never allow the King to win—not while he still had the power to fight.