_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5" style="border:0px solid">Lucius studied the correspondence id before him, each rejected offer more generous than the st. The parchment bore the eborate seal of Lord Darius Bckthorn—the seventh such rejection he had received in as many days.

  "His Lordship regrets to inform Your Majesty that the specimen in question remains unavaible for acquisition at any price."

  Specimen. The word burned in Lucius's mind as he carefully folded the letter, his movements measured despite the rage building within him. Two thousand years of careful restraint had taught him to control every gesture, to never reveal the storm beneath the surface. Yet the parchment crackled slightly as his fingers tightened imperceptibly.

  "Your Majesty," ventured Lord Renfield, the royal negotiator who had been shuttling offers between the pace and Bckthorn's estate, "perhaps if we were to expin the specific interest in this particur... pet?" His voice faltered at Lucius's expression.

  "I have made my interest clear," Lucius replied, his tone so perfectly neutral it chilled the room. "The price offered exceeds the value of Lord Bckthorn's entire estate. Only a fool would reject such generosity."

  Or someone who believed himself untouchable. Bckthorn came from one of the oldest vampire lineages—not enhanced by Keller, but among the first generation Lucius himself had inadvertently created. This ancient status had fostered generations of arrogance, a belief that bloodline provided protection even from royal displeasure.

  A fatal miscalcution.

  Behind Lucius, the pace windows revealed the first hints of dusk. Court would soon convene, nobles gathering to witness judgments, seek favors, or simply bask in royal attention. Tonight, however, Lucius had other pns.

  "Cancel my appointments," he said, rising from his desk.

  Lord Renfield's eyes widened. "All of them, Your Majesty? The Duke of—"

  "All of them." The soft finality in Lucius's voice made further argument impossible.

  As Renfield hurried from the chamber, Lucius moved to the window. Somewhere across the city, beyond the elegant spires and ancient architecture, y Bckthorn's estate—and within it, Nova. Two hundred years of captivity. Two hundred years of "training attempts" that had failed to break a spirit Lucius had glimpsed in prophetic dreams for millennia.

  Two hundred years while Lucius waited, unaware that the being he had seen in visions had already been born, was already suffering.

  "Your Majesty?"

  Lucius turned to find Lady Eversham, his chief court advisor, hesitating in the doorway. Her expression reflected the same bewilderment that had greeted his initial inquiries about acquiring a specific hybrid.

  "The court is specuting wildly about your interest in this... creature," she said carefully. "Some suggest rare blood properties, others some forgotten debt to be settled. The more imaginative suggest prophecy." She paused, searching his face for confirmation. "Might I know the truth, to better manage these rumors?"

  Lucius regarded her silently. Lady Eversham had served him for three centuries with unwavering loyalty, yet even she could not comprehend what drove him now.

  "Your Majesty has never before shown interest in any specific wereanimal hybrid," she continued, filling the silence. "Particurly one owned by a minor noble like Bckthorn. The court naturally wonders what makes this one special."

  "Everything," Lucius replied simply.

  Her brow furrowed at this cryptic response, but she knew better than to press further.

  "Prepare my car," Lucius said, turning back to the window. "I will handle this matter personally."

  Lady Eversham's sharp intake of breath spoke volumes. The Vampire King did not make personal visits to minor nobles. Such an unprecedented honor would elevate Bckthorn's status immeasurably—precisely the opposite of what his repeated rejections deserved.

  "Perhaps a representative would be more appropriate," she suggested carefully. "Lord Valerian could—"

  "I will go myself." The slight hardening in his tone silenced further discussion.

  After she departed, Lucius remained at the window, watching twilight deepen over his kingdom. Two millennia of waiting, of patient guidance, of carefully orchestrated pns spanning centuries—all leading to this moment. He had envisioned finding Nova untouched by suffering, perhaps born in one of his carefully arranged sanctuaries in Cassian or Gabriel's nds. Instead, Nova had emerged from cruel experiment, spent two centuries in captivity, endured countless "training" attempts that failed only because his spirit proved unbreakable.

  Just as Lucius had seen in his dreams, that remarkable resilience that had first captured his attention centuries before Nova's birth.

  The patience that had defined him for two thousand years was fraying. Each breath, each heartbeat he didn't need, marked another moment Nova remained in captivity. Every second of dey felt like betrayal of the connection that had sustained him across millennia.

  An hour ter, Lucius's sleek royal car rolled through the gates of Bckthorn's estate. Servants scrambled in panic at the unexpected royal arrival, the household thrown into chaos by the unprecedented honor of the king's presence. Guards and attendants formed hasty receiving lines, their formal postures betrayed by wide eyes and nervous gnces.

  Lord Bckthorn himself appeared at the entrance to his manor, his expression cycling rapidly between shock, pride, and apprehension. He was young by noble standards—perhaps four centuries—with the aristocratic features and pale blonde hair typical of the first-generation lineages. His confusion at the king's appearance was evident as he executed a perfect formal bow.

  "Your Majesty," he managed, voice pitched to project confidence despite his obvious bewilderment. "This unexpected honor overwhelms my humble household."

  Lucius stepped from the car, his movements unhurried, face a perfect mask of royal composure. Only the slight tension in his jaw betrayed the effort this control required.

  "Lord Bckthorn," he acknowledged with the precise degree of formality appropriate for a minor noble. "I have come to discuss the matter of Nova."

  A fsh of understanding crossed Bckthorn's features, followed by carefully concealed annoyance. "Ah. Your Majesty refers to specimen A-17. Your mysterious interest continues." He gestured toward the manor entrance. "Perhaps we might discuss this inside, where refreshments await?"

  "I wish to see the hybrid first," Lucius replied, his tone making it clear this was not a request.

  Bckthorn's smile faltered slightly. "Of course, though I must warn Your Majesty, the specimen remains untamed despite two centuries of effort. It's hardly suitable for royal inspection."

  "Nevertheless."

  With visible reluctance, Bckthorn led Lucius not toward the main house but to a separate structure at the rear of the estate—the "training facilities" where wereanimals were kept. The stone building stood apart from the elegant architecture of the manor, its design purely functional.

  "As I mentioned in my correspondence," Bckthorn said as they approached, "A-17 has proven remarkably resistant to standard training protocols. Two hundred years without progress—a testament to its stubborn nature, but hardly making it suitable for a royal collection."

  Lucius remained silent, his pace measured as they entered the facility.

  Inside, the sharp tang of silver and blood assaulted his senses. The main chamber contained various "training" apparatus—chains, restraints, and disciplines designed to break resistance in wereanimals. Along one wall, cages housed several specimens in various states of submission. Some cowered as the vampires passed, while others stared with the vacant eyes of spirits long broken.

  At the far end, a separate enclosure stood isoted from the others. Unlike the standard silver cages, this one featured reinforced construction and additional restraint mechanisms—special accommodations for a particurly difficult subject.

  "A-17 requires more robust containment than standard wereanimals," Bckthorn expined, a note of frustration entering his voice. "Despite its unique hybrid nature—or perhaps because of it—it has resisted every method proven effective with other specimens."

  As they approached, Lucius finally saw him.

  Nova.

  After two thousand years of prophetic visions, after centuries of patient waiting, after decades of searching without knowing Nova had already been born—there he was. Smaller than Lucius had imagined, his body bearing signs of repeated "training attempts" in the form of partially healed wounds and silver burns. His fiery red hair hung in tangles around a face that should have been broken by two centuries of captivity.

  Yet his eyes—sapphire blue and startlingly intense—showed no hint of submission. They assessed the approaching vampires with calcuting wariness, missing nothing.

  Exactly as Lucius had seen him in countless visions. Unbroken. Unbowed. The spirit that had sustained Lucius's hope across millennia.

  "As Your Majesty can see," Bckthorn continued, oblivious to the emotional earthquake occurring beside him, "the specimen's physical traits are indeed exceptional, but its temperament renders it unsuitable for proper society. After two centuries, it still refuses even the most basic commands."

  Nova's gaze shifted to Lucius, studying him with unexpected intensity. Something flickered in those blue eyes—not recognition, exactly, but a quality Lucius couldn't immediately identify. Interest, perhaps. Curiosity.

  "A-17, show proper deference to your king," Bckthorn commanded sharply.

  Nova didn't move, his gaze remaining fixed on Lucius with unnerving steadiness.

  "You see the problem," Bckthorn sighed. "Completely intractable. I've employed the finest trainers across three territories, yet it refuses to acknowledge even basic hierarchical principles."

  Lucius barely heard him, his entire being focused on Nova. Two thousand years of waiting, of patient guidance, of carefully orchestrated pns spanning centuries—all for this moment. Yet instead of the joyful discovery he had envisioned, he found Nova imprisoned, wounded, subject to two centuries of attempted breaking.

  "I will purchase Nova. Name your price," Lucius said, his voice betraying nothing of the storm within.

  Bckthorn cleared his throat uncomfortably. "As I've expined in my correspondence, Your Majesty, A-17 is not for sale at any price. The challenge of eventually breaking it has become something of a personal project. My reputation among the training community—"

  "Fifty estates like this one," Lucius interrupted, his gaze never leaving Nova. "Land, titles, resources. Name a province and it's yours in exchange."

  Bckthorn's eyes widened momentarily before his aristocratic mask reasserted itself. "Your Majesty honors me with such generosity, but I must decline. A-17 represents a unique challenge I'm determined to overcome. Perhaps in another century—"

  "Now." The single word carried two thousand years of absolute authority.

  For the first time, Bckthorn appeared genuinely uncomfortable rather than merely inconvenienced. "Your Majesty, I cannot—"

  "Cannot?" Lucius finally turned to face him directly, his expression unchanged yet somehow more terrifying for its perfect composure. "You believe you can refuse your king?"

  Bckthorn straightened, pride overriding wisdom. "With all respect, Your Majesty, vampire w has always protected noble property rights. Even kings cannot simply appropriate what belongs to the aristocracy without cause. It would undermine the very foundations of our society."

  The irony of Bckthorn lecturing the being who had created vampire society on its foundations might have been amusing in other circumstances. Now, it represented the final obstacle between Lucius and the being he had waited millennia to find.

  "You presume to educate me on vampire w?" Lucius asked, his voice so soft that Bckthorn had to lean forward slightly to hear.

  "Not at all, Your Majesty. I merely observe that our noble rights—"

  "Your rights exist at my pleasure," Lucius interrupted, centuries of carefully maintained patience beginning to crack. "Your position, your nds, your very existence as a vampire—all trace back to me."

  Bckthorn blinked in confusion at this uncharacteristic assertion from a king known for his diplomatic restraint. "Your Majesty speaks in metaphors. While the throne certainly—"

  "I will offer once more," Lucius said, his voice perfectly level despite the tremor of rage building beneath it. "Name your price for Nova."

  Behind them, Nova watched this exchange with undisguised interest, his gaze shifting between the two vampires with analytical intensity. A fsh of surprise crossed his features when Lucius used his self-given name—a name no one in his two centuries of captivity had ever acknowledged. Bckthorn drew himself up, aristocratic pride winning over political wisdom.

  "As I have stated repeatedly, Your Majesty, the specimen is not for sale at any price. This is my final word on the matter."

  For a moment, absolute silence filled the chamber. Even the wereanimals in nearby cages seemed to hold their breath. Two thousand years of patience, of careful pnning, of restraint in service to a vision only Lucius could see—all banced against this single moment of refusal.

  Behind them, Nova watched the exchange with unwavering attention, those sapphire eyes missing nothing.

  In the heavy silence that followed, something shifted in Lucius's expression—imperceptible to most, but unmistakable to anyone who had known him for centuries. The gcier of his patience, maintained across two millennia, had finally reached its breaking point.

  The final obstacle between Lucius and the being he had waited two thousand years to find now stood before him, wrapped in aristocratic arrogance and completely unaware of what he had just done.