Evening settled slowly over the Farm.
The sky turned deep orange behind the trees, and the air cooled as the day’s work came to an end.
The servants moved more freely now, laughter rising softly as the heavy tasks were finished.
Evryn stood near the kitchen, rolling down her sleeves after washing her hands.
The day had been longer than she expected.
Assigning tasks, correcting mistakes, checking supplies.
It felt good to be in control of something again.
Auren carried two water buckets across the yard without visible strain.
Most new servants would have shown fatigue by now, especially after being given the heaviest tasks on purpose.
His movements remained steady.
Evryn watched him from a distance.
That irritated her.
He did not complain.
He did not stumble.
He did not look humbled.
Brinna stepped beside her and lowered her voice.
“You are being hard on him.”
“I am testing him,” Evryn replied calmly, though her grip on the bucket handle was perhaps a little tighter than necessary.
Brinna leaned against the stone wall, glancing toward the well where several maids were still whispering and giggling behind their hands.
“Honestly, why are they sending such a handsome man here?
I am already starting to get distracted by him myself.
Just look at them…
look at how much they like him.”
Evryn did not look away from Auren as he moved.
“Of course they do…
he is…”
She tried to finish her sentence, but the words failed her.
Her eyes tracked the way he moved…the effortless, predatory grace, the sharp line of his jaw that looked like it was carved from marble, and the quiet, crushing power in his frame even when he was doing nothing at all.
“…Damn,” she muttered under her breath, suddenly speechless.
She caught herself and immediately rolled her eyes, turning back to Brinna with a scoff of pure mockery.
“He’s ridiculous, Brinna.
Truly,” Evryn whispered, gesturing vaguely at Auren with a dirty rag.
“Look at him.
He moves as if the very dust on the ground is an insult to his existence.
He spends more time adjusting his sleeves and checking his hands for a speck of dirt than he does actually working.
How am I supposed to train a man like that?
It’s like he’s spent his entire life wearing silk gloves and having his path swept before him.”
She watched as Auren gingerly moved a bucket a side, his expression one of faint, regal distaste for the grime.
“He’s too careful,” she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“One broken nail and I’m sure he’d declare a national emergency.
I need a soldier, not a pampered statue that thinks ‘manual labor’ is a suggestion rather than a requirement.
If he thinks he can survive my training without getting a single stain, he’s in for a very rude awakening.”
When Auren finished carrying the last of the water buckets, he placed them carefully near the well without showing any sign of strain.
The work had not touched him physically.
His breathing remained steady, his posture straight as ever.
The other servants were beginning to relax for the evening, but he remained composed, as if the day had only been an inconvenience.
Evryn approached him slowly.
She stopped only a few steps away, close enough to study him properly.
The lantern light from the courtyard fell across his face, catching in his silver eyes.
Up close, he looked even more striking than from a distance.
The maids had not been wrong.
There was something almost unfair in how perfectly shaped his features were, how calm he stood under attention.
For a brief second, she forgot that she was staring.
She recovered quickly.
“You will start before dawn,” she said evenly.
“Be here before the others arrive.”
The command was clear.
Simple.
Something in him shifted.
The idea of rising early did not anger him.
The labor did not insult him.
It was the tone.
The authority in her voice.
The reminder that he stood beneath her in rank, that she believed she had the right to direct him.
He turned fully toward her.
He stepped closer without realizing how much space he closed between them.
His silver eyes locked onto hers, sharper now, colder.
“Do not order me,” he said.
The words slipped out before he measured them, for a heartbeat, silence stood between them.
Then she smiled.
It was slow.
Dangerous.
Victorious.
He had given her what she wanted.
She lowered her head slightly in an exaggerated bow, one hand lifting her skirt just enough to mock courtly manners.
“My apologies,” she said sweetly.
“Your Highness.”
The title was deliberate.
Teasing.
For a brief moment, something almost like amusement flickered in his eyes.
She was not predictable.
She did not flinch from him.
Instead, she sharpened herself against him.
He decided then not to give her more.
He straightened slowly, allowing his expression to return to calm.
“I will be here before dawn,” he said evenly.
He stepped past her, close enough that she could feel the coolness of his presence as he moved by.
“You are not above anyone here,” she said behind him, her voice firm.
He did not turn.
He did not answer.
“Idiot,” she muttered beneath her breath.
He heard it clearly.
He did not stop walking.
Inside his mind, he repeated quietly, Patient, Auren.
Be patient.
He crossed the courtyard toward the darker edge of the house, forcing his anger into stillness.
The humiliation had been earned by his own words.
She had seen through him and struck precisely where his pride was most exposed.
Behind him, Evryn watched his back as he walked away, That irritated her even more than if he had shouted.
The farm had not fully fallen asleep yet.
Auren moved through the courtyard quietly, unnoticed in the noise.
As he approached the male servants’ quarters, he heard it.
A woman’s voice, breathless, broken by quiet moans.
A low male voice followed.
The rhythm was unmistakable.
Auren paused…He knew immediately what it was.
Servants took comfort where they could.
He did not care.
It meant nothing to him, and normally he would have passed without thought.
But tonight, however, the sound came from a room directly in his path, the door shut tightly.
He did not wait.
He reached the door and placed his hand against the lock.
With controlled strength, he forced it open, careful not to splinter the wood or leave obvious damage.
The lock gave way silently, as if it had never been secured at all.
Inside, two figures froze.
A maid gasped, clutching fabric around herself.
Ray stood beside the bed, half-dressed, his face draining of color the moment he saw who had entered.
Ray’s thoughts were loud in his mind, fear and panic mixing together.
Of all people, it had to be him.
The one who working under Evryn.
The one who will stood beside her all days.
Auren did not look at them.
His gaze did not linger.
He stepped inside calmly, crossed to his bed, and reached into his bag.
His fingers closed around the small dark stone, Abby had given it to him before he left, a simple tool that allowed him to open a gate without calling her, so she could focus fully on finding the wizard Vaws.
He had not planned to use it so soon, but the need was growing.
Behind him, the room remained silent except for unsteady breathing.
He stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him without force.
Inside the room, Ray stood frozen for a moment before rushing to the door.
He touched the lock, confusion spreading across his face.
He knew he had secured it.
He was certain of it.
Yet it hung loosely now, as though it had never resisted at all.
Ray’s jaw tightened slowly.
He stepped into the corridor, looking both directions, but Auren had already disappeared into shadow.
The gate closed behind him, and the Farm disappeared.
Cold stone replaced wood.
High ceilings replaced narrow corridors.
The air of the vampire palace settled around him like a familiar cloak.
For a brief second, relief touched him.
The palace was steady….
His.
Then the pain returned.
It did not wait.
The calm that proximity had given him shattered.
The pressure built fast, sharp and deliberate, as if the spell had been waiting for him to test it again.
He steadied himself against a pillar before the pain deepened.
He closed his eyes and forced control back into place.
Two days ago, the pain had nearly broken him.
Tonight it reminded him of that threat.
He moved through the corridor toward his private chamber without slowing.
Guards bowed as he passed…Inside his chamber, prepared blood awaited him.
Not the thin animal blood served in mixed estates.
This was richer.
Stronger.
Meant for pureblood vampires.
He poured it into a glass and drank without ceremony.
The warmth spread through him immediately, stronger than anything he had tasted.
It fed his strength, steadied his mind, sharpened his senses.
The hunger eased.
The pain did not.
It lessened slightly, enough to breathe without tension, but the pull remained.
It tugged from deep within his chest, reminding him that he did not belong here tonight.
He set the empty glass down slowly.
He could stay.
He could remain in his palace, surrounded by power and silence.
But the spell would not allow comfort, it would punish distance.
He stepped toward the balcony and looked out over his lands.
The view was wide and familiar.
It should have brought him peace.
Instead, he felt the absence of a small estate hidden among trees.
He exhaled slowly.
“This is weakness,” he murmured to himself.
Yet he was already reaching for the stone again.
The gate opened without Abby’s presence, The air folded in golden light, forming the path back.
The pain eased slightly even before he stepped through.
The moment he returned to the servants’ quarters, the pressure in his chest softened further, settling into something manageable once more.
He stood in the quiet corridor, listening.
Silence.
Inside the room, he placed the stone back into his bag and sat on the edge of the narrow servant’s bed.
The mattress was thinner than the ones in his palace.
He waited.
The farm slowly grew silent as laughter faded and doors closed one by one.
He listened to every sound without effort, aware of each movement in the corridor, each distant footstep, each shift of fabric behind walls.
His thoughts did not return to the palace.
They returned to her.
he would stand beside her before dawn.
He would hear her voice, sharp and deliberate, giving orders as if she had been born to command him.
He already knew she would test him further.
She would look for cracks in his control.
She would try to bend what she believed was arrogance.
He would endure it.