Duke Maximilian sat in his private study at precisely 9:47 PM, surrounded by stacks of books that threatened to colpse and bury him under centuries of historical knowledge. For the past three nights, he had been engaged in what was possibly the most important research project of his fifty-five years as a vampire: discovering the appropriate six-month anniversary gift for a political consort who was rapidly becoming much more than that.

  "Traditional anniversary gifts," he muttered, adjusting his unnecessary gsses as he flipped through a preserved pre-evolution etiquette guide. "First anniversary: paper. Fifth: wood. Twenty-fifth: silver." He frowned. "Nothing specific for six months. Utterly useless."

  He closed the book with a frustrated snap, accidentally sending a tower of reference materials cascading to the floor. One of his many cats—this one a plump tabby named Manuscript—gave him a judgmental look from atop a bookshelf.

  "Don't look at me like that," Max told the cat. "This is a significant cultural milestone requiring appropriate commemoration."

  Manuscript yawned in response.

  Max had already dismissed several potential gift ideas. Books seemed too impersonal (despite being his own preferred present). Blood jewelry was traditional for vampire nobility but felt oddly intimate given their supposedly political arrangement. Technology from his secret collection was too risky with potential staff observation.

  He checked his watch—an antique mechanical timepiece from pre-evolution days—and realized he'd spent three hours on research with nothing to show for it. In desperation, he pressed the intercom button connecting to the kitchen.

  "Morris, could you come to my study? I require... consultation."

  Minutes ter, his night butler appeared, expression carefully neutral as always. "You requested assistance, Your Grace?"

  "Yes." Max straightened papers unnecessarily. "I find myself in need of... advice. Of a personal nature."

  "Indeed, sir?" One eyebrow raised a fraction of a millimeter—the butler equivalent of extreme shock.

  "It concerns the upcoming six-month anniversary of my union with Lord Elias."

  "Ah." Morris's face remained impressively impassive, though Max could have sworn he detected the ghost of amusement in his eyes. "The six-month milestone of your strategic alliance."

  "Precisely." Max adjusted his gsses. "I require an appropriate gift to mark the occasion."

  "Have you considered asking what Lord Elias might want, sir?"

  Max stared at him, aghast. "That would ruin the element of surprise! Furthermore, it would indicate I had forgotten about the anniversary until prompted, which is categorically untrue as evidenced by my extensive research." He gestured toward the books scattered across his study.

  "Of course, sir. My error." Morris paused thoughtfully. "If I might make a suggestion, Lord Elias has expressed interest in Your Grace's collection of preserved music devices."

  "The record pyer?" Max asked, surprised. "He mentioned it?"

  "He was quite fascinated by the demonstration Your Grace provided st month. He inquired whether such devices were common in pre-evolution times."

  Max tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. "Pre-evolution music... yes, that has potential. Personal without being presumptuous. Historical without being didactic." A rare smile crossed his face. "Morris, you are invaluable."

  "Thank you, sir. Will there be anything else?"

  "No, that will be all." As Morris turned to leave, Max added awkwardly, "This conversation is, of course, confidential."

  "Of course, Your Grace. Just as the seven previous confidential conversations we've had on this topic over the past week."

  After Morris departed, Max turned to the practical challenge of locating appropriate music. His collection of vinyl records was extensive but rgely academic—historical speeches, linguistic references, and documentary recordings. Not exactly romantic material.

  He would need to make a midnight drive to his auxiliary storage facility where the more... frivolous pre-evolution artifacts were kept.

  Meanwhile, in a rarely used guest wing of the same estate, Lord Elias was facing a crisis of his own making.

  "It's ruined," he moaned, surveying the disaster before him. "Completely ruined."

  What had started as a simple project—creating a handwritten chronicle of their six months together as an anniversary gift—had somehow transformed into a spectacur catastrophe. Ink spttered across the parchment, smudges distorted carefully written lines, and his attempts at decorative calligraphy for the title page looked more like a child's first attempt at writing than a formal document worthy of a Duke.

  Elias had never been taught artistic skills - or much of anything else. As a "fwed vampire" who needed to eat food in addition to drinking blood, he'd been raised by servants in Orlov's court, neglected and rgely ignored. The noble court hadn't bothered with his education, not even in basic etiquette. He'd picked up what he could by watching from the sidelines, learning just enough to avoid embarrassing himself too badly.

  He'd thought a map would be perfect—personal, useful, and pying to Max's love of knowledge. But as he looked at the disaster before him, he fought back a very un-vampiric urge to cry.

  A subtle illusion could disguise the worst fws, but that felt dishonest. He wanted to give Max something real, not another pretense. Something that showed he cared, that their political arrangement had become... something else entirely.

  The soft knock at the door made him jump, hastily covering the ruined map with a bnk sheet. "Yes?"

  The door opened to reveal Morris, Max's impeccably professional night butler. "Pardon the intrusion, Lord Elias. I've brought the additional art supplies you requested."

  "Thank you, Morris." Elias accepted the package, then hesitated. "Actually... may I ask your opinion on something?"

  If Morris was surprised by the request, he didn't show it. "Of course, my lord."

  Elias reluctantly removed the covering sheet, revealing the disastrous map. "It's meant to be an anniversary gift for Duke Maximilian. Six months since..."

  "Since your strategic alliance. Yes, my lord."

  "It's terrible," Elias said ftly.

  Morris studied the map with careful attention. "The effort is evident, my lord."

  "That's a very polite way of saying it looks like something made by a child," Elias sighed. "I never learned..." He trailed off, embarrassed by the gaps in his education that other nobles would take for granted.

  Morris's expression softened slightly. "If I may, my lord, His Grace values sincerity over perfection. In fact, his own artistic endeavors are rather..." He paused diplomatically. "Let us say the Duke's talents lie elsewhere."

  "Really?" Elias couldn't imagine Max being bad at anything intellectual.

  "There is a self-portrait His Grace attempted several years ago that the staff has specific instructions to keep hidden at all times." The faintest hint of a smile touched Morris's lips. "It was allegedly a cat."

  Elias ughed despite himself. "That makes me feel a bit better. But I still need something worthy of him."

  "If I might make a suggestion, my lord—His Grace has expressed particur interest in your perspective on his territory. Perhaps a written account of your observations would be more effective than a visual representation."

  Elias considered this. Writing wasn't his strongest skill either, but he was certainly better with words than art. "That's actually a wonderful idea. Thank you, Morris."

  "Happy to be of service, my lord." Morris turned to leave, then paused. "And may I say, it's refreshing to see such... dedication... to ensuring the success of your arrangement with His Grace."

  After Morris departed, Elias gathered fresh parchment and began again, this time writing his impressions of Max's territory—not the formal observations he'd been sending back to Orlov's court, but his genuine thoughts. The beauty of the night gardens. The kindness shown to humans in the blood farms. The surprisingly comfortable feeling of belonging he'd begun to experience.

  He was so absorbed in his writing that he didn't notice the subtle illusion he was unconsciously creating around himself—a soft glow that reflected his genuine happiness.

  The following evening, Morris stood in the estate's main kitchen, preparing blood-breakfast for the Duke and his consort, when the junior butler approached.

  "Morris," the younger vampire said hesitantly, "I've just been asked by Lord Elias for advice about an anniversary gift for the Duke."

  "Indeed?" Morris replied without looking up from the blood he was warming.

  "But that's strange, because st night Duke Maximilian asked me about an appropriate gift for Lord Elias."

  "A remarkable coincidence," Morris said, his voice perfectly even.

  "The thing is," the junior butler continued, "they both swore me to secrecy. And both seemed to think the other might have forgotten about the anniversary entirely."

  "Most perplexing," Morris agreed, still showing no reaction.

  "Should we... inform them? To prevent potential embarrassment?"

  Morris finally looked up, his expression the epitome of professional restraint. "It's not our pce to interfere in the personal affairs of nobility."

  "But—"

  "However," Morris continued, "I believe both the Duke and Lord Elias will find their anniversary celebrations... mutually satisfactory."

  "You've helped them both, haven't you?" the junior butler asked, realization dawning.

  Morris permitted himself the smallest possible smile. "I merely provide service appropriate to the needs of the household."

  "The staff betting pool on when they'll finally admit they're actually in love has reached astronomical proportions," the junior butler confided. "Jenkins in the garage is offering three-to-one odds they'll make some sort of decration at the anniversary."

  "How unseemly," Morris said disapprovingly. He waited until the junior butler had turned away before adding very quietly, "The smart money is on the night after."

  As he arranged the blood-breakfast trays, Morris reflected on the peculiar turns of fate that had brought Duke Maximilian and Lord Elias together. A political arrangement transforming into genuine attachment. The schorly vampire and the undereducated consort finding unexpected common ground.

  Morris had served in vampire households since the early post-evolution days, and he'd seen many political unions. None had featured quite so many "tactical proximity requirements" or quite so much mutual pining disguised as strategic alliance.

  As he prepared to deliver the breakfast trays, he noted two packages carefully hidden in separate locations—one in the Duke's study and one in Lord Elias's quarters—both intended as surprise gifts. Both wrapped with slightly disastrous results, corners uneven and tape visible.

  Perfect for each other, even in their imperfections.

  Morris permitted himself another microscopic smile as he carried the breakfast trays upstairs. Some strategic alliances, it seemed, were destined to become something far more valuable.