---
The Lycan carried Natalia's limp form through a shimmering portal, her tangled hair hanging like a curtain over her face, obscuring her features. Blood matted the strands, dried and dark against her pale skin. Neil followed closely behind, his sharp gaze fixed on the Lycan's broad back, his expression unreadable.
As they emerged on the other side, the air shifted—thick, damp, and laced with an unmistakable metallic scent. The dim glow of torches flickered against rough stone walls, casting long, jagged shadows.
Neil flicked a glance at the Lycan.
"Take her to the dungeon," he ordered, his voice calm but commanding. "Lock her up. Make sure she doesn't get any ideas about running."
The Lycan grunted in response, adjusting his grip on Natalia. Without another word, he turned and lumbered down the darkened corridor, his heavy footsteps echoing against the cold stone.
Neil lingered for a moment, his head tilting slightly as he watched the Lycan disappear into the depths of the fortress. He still hadn't seen her face—hadn't yet looked upon the girl who had thrown King Viktor's family into chaos.
A slow, thin smile curled his lips."Return to me once she's secured," he called out, his voice echoing.
The Lycan's distant growl was the only response before the dungeon doors groaned open, revealing the abyss within. Rows of rusted iron bars lined the walls, the cells beyond them swallowed in darkness. The air was thick with damp rot, mold clinging to the stones like an infection.
And beneath it all, that unmistakable scent of blood.
Neil exhaled, letting the heavy doors creak shut behind him.
Now, the real game could begin.
---
The Lycan shoved open the massive iron doors, revealing a dungeon that stretched into darkness like an endless maze. The air was thick with the stench of mold and decay, but beneath it lingered something sharper.
As he stepped inside, the doors groaned shut behind him, sealing them in eerie silence. The only light came from torches mounted on the damp stone walls, their flames flickering weakly, casting warped shadows across the floor.
With a low growl, the Lycan shifted forms, his monstrous frame contorting back into that of a man—tall, broad, and imposing. His bare skin gleamed under the dim torchlight, muscles taut beneath the filth and dried blood from the battle. He showed no concern for his state, no hesitation, no shame.
Without a hint of gentleness, he unceremoniously dropped Natalia onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Her body hit the stone with a dull thud, limp and motionless. He spared her one final glance before turning toward the door.
Then—
A soft sound. Barely more than a whisper, but enough to make him pause.
A quiet moan, a breath of life.
The Lycan's head tilted slightly, his sharp ears catching the faintest movement behind him. He turned just enough to see Natalia stir, her fingers twitching against the stone. Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged gasps.
Then her eyes snapped open.
Wild and disoriented, she darted glances around the cell, her mind sluggishly trying to piece together where she was. The last thing she remembered was—
Her gaze landed on the figure before her.
The realization of his state struck her like a slap.
Natalia's face twisted into something between horror and disbelief.
"Where… where am I?" she stammered, her throat raw, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Lycan said nothing. He merely stepped forward, jammed the iron door shut with a deafening clang, and locked it.
Panic surged through Natalia like ice water. She scrambled to her feet, pressing herself against the stone wall as if it could swallow her whole.
"Hey!" she shouted, her voice hoarse. "You! Where am I? What do you want from me?"
No answer.
She heard his footsteps fade down the corridor, leaving her in darkness.
A shaky breath rattled out of her chest.
Natalia slid back down, curling her arms around her knees. The cold seeped into her skin, but she barely felt it. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, her head pounding, her heart racing.
In the silence, she hummed softly to herself—a lullaby from childhood, a melody barely audible in the suffocating dark.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
A lie.
But sometimes, lies were all she had.
---
As Natalia's whispered words faded into silence, the scene shifted. Gone was the damp, suffocating darkness of the dungeon—replaced by the golden grandeur of a palace bathed in opulence.
Towering crystal chandeliers cast shifting rainbows across marble floors polished to perfection. The scent of burning incense hung in the air, mingling with the faint notes of aged parchment and expensive wine. Gilded portraits lined the walls, their painted eyes watching with eerie attentiveness.
Neil stood tall, his posture poised, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke in hushed tones with another figure.
Evans.
Dressed in dark, military-styled attire, Evans had an imposing presence—rigid, disciplined, and utterly insufferable. A long coat draped over his broad shoulders, and a leather belt strapped diagonally across his chest bore the insignia of his rank. Though his features were sharp and refined, his eyes held the weariness of someone who had spent too much time dealing with fools.
The grand doors swung open, drawing their attention.
The Lycan who had carried Natalia stepped inside, now dressed in formal palace attire. He bowed, his hands clasped behind his back.
"The girl is secured in the east wing dungeon, my lords," he announced, his tone even and professional.
Neil nodded, a pleased hum escaping him.
Evans, however, arched a brow. "The east wing? That's the most secure section of the dungeon." His voice was laced with skepticism. "Rather excessive for a single girl, don't you think?"
Neil exhaled slowly, a smirk ghosting his lips. "It's not as if she's a mere prisoner, Evans." He turned slightly, the golden embroidery on his sleeves catching the light. "She is a prize—Lord Marshall's most valuable asset."
Evans crossed his arms, unimpressed. "A prize?" He scoffed. "She looks more like another liability to me."
Neil chuckled, shaking his head as if humoring a child. "I don't expect you to understand," he said smoothly. "After all, your concerns rarely stretch beyond holding a sword and barking orders."
Evans' jaw tensed, but he schooled his expression into something impassive. "And yet, somehow, my concerns tend to keep people alive."
Neil finally turned to face him fully, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "Then allow me to ease your concerns—because Natalia is more than just a guest in our care." He tilted his head, his voice dipping lower, more certain. "She is Our Future Queen."
Evans let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Don't be so sure, Your Highness."
Neil's smirk widened as he leaned in just enough to let his next words hang in the air like a promise.
"Sadly, I am."
---
Evans' gaze lingered on Neil for a moment. Then, with a curt nod, he turned to leave.
Neil watched him go, his smirk unwavering. "You are dismissed, Evans."
Evans only dipped his head slightly, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "As you wish, Neil."
And with that, he disappeared beyond the grand doors.
Neil exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back. His mind was already turning to the next phase of his plan.
Meanwhile…
The once-majestic halls of the Vampire Empire lay in ruins. The air was thick with smoke and blood, the lingering echoes of battle humming through the battered walls. The royal family's private chambers had not been spared—cracked stone, shattered glass, and broken relics littered the once-pristine floors.
Amidst the destruction, Lady Frieda, the royal sorceress, emerged from the room where she had been tending to the wounded. The scent of medicinal herbs clung to her robes, mixing with the ever-present stench of war. Her gloves, once pristine, were now stained, and she removed them carefully, setting them aside.
Olga, the last of her patients, lay motionless but stable. Lady Frieda adjusted her glasses, a tired but satisfied sigh escaping her lips.
"They will be fine," she finally announced, her voice steady. "Thankfully."
King Viktor and Queen Irina exchanged a tearful glance. The relief was there, but it was tangled with an even deeper, gnawing fear.
Lady Frieda's sharp eyes flickered toward them.
"How was the Malovis potion even in use?" she muttered, half to herself. "I haven't encountered its effects in centuries…" She paused before turning to the king.
"And where is our dear Natalia?"
The question shattered the moment.
King Viktor's face fell, his entire body going still.
"She was taken," he said at last, the words hollow.
"I don't know why," Viktor admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
---
Lady Frieda's expression shifted, a calculating glint in her eye. "I feared as much," she muttered, turning to leave.
King Viktor was quick to follow. "Do you perhaps know anything about Natalia's disappearance?"
She halted immediately, turning to him with a neutral expression, but something flickered in her gaze—a hesitation, as if she was carefully weighing her words.
"I may know something, Your Majesty," she admitted, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "But I must attend to some matters first. With your permission, I shall return and share what I know."
Viktor's patience, already frayed, threatened to snap.
"No," he said firmly. "Tell me what you know now. I need to see my daughter—by any means necessary."
Lady Frieda remained calm, but there was an edge to her voice now. "I fear I cannot, my king. Not yet. But I shall return, and when I do, I will bring answers." She hesitated for the briefest moment before adding
"I only hope what I suspect is wrong."
Viktor exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "Suspect what?"
Frieda's eyes darkened. "The Lycans… they do not involve themselves in politics, nor do they seek war unless provoked. They see themselves as superior—to vampires, to werewolves, to all. Yet, they did not just attack—they infiltrated. They breached the palace, moving as if they knew its defenses, its weak points."
Viktor's expression twisted with anger. "You're suggesting someone helped them?"
Frieda didn't answer immediately, but the silence was enough.
Viktor's voice dropped, his tone lethal. "There is a traitor in the palace."
"It is the only explanation," Frieda said gravely. "Someone fed them information, someone gave them the means to enter unseen, undetected—until it was too late."
Viktor's fists tightened. "Who?"
"I do not know… yet," Frieda admitted. "But I intend to find out."
The king's mind raced, replaying the events of the attack—the precision, the timing, the targets. They hadn't come to destroy. They had come to take"
"Natalia," he whispered.
Frieda nodded. "She was their goal from the start."
Viktor's entire frame tensed with rage. "Then whoever betrayed us…will suffer."
Lady Frieda studied him for a long moment before finally stepping back. "Trust me, Your Majesty—I shall return with the truth."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Viktor standing there.
His palace had been infiltrated. His kingdom betrayed. His daughter taken.
---
As Natalia crouched on the cold stone floor, the sound of the dungeon's main gates creaking open sent a shiver down her spine. The heavy groan of old wood echoed through the dimly lit corridor, followed by the slow, deliberate footsteps of someone approaching.
She rose to her feet immediately, her body tense, her sunken eyes snapping toward the sound. Her skin was dirty and peeled in places, a jagged gash stretching from her temple to her chin—a reminder of the Lycan's earlier attack. Though dried, the wound still ached, refusing to heal as it should have.
Natalia grasped the rusted bars of her cell, shaking them violently. "Hey! Help me! Why am I here?!" Her voice bounced off the stone walls, but the silence that followed was deafening.
Then, the footsteps stopped just outside her cell.
A figure stepped into the dim torchlight, and Natalia's breath caught in her throat.
Neil.
His ever-present smirk was in place as he stepped forward—but the moment his eyes landed on her, the smirk faltered. A flicker of confusion, maybe even disbelief, crossed his face.
"You?" he muttered, his gaze narrowing as if he hadn't expected her.
Natalia's fingers curled tighter around the bars, her knuckles turning white. Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with sheer, seething rage. "No way..." she whispered, venom lacing her tone.
Their eyes locked, a silent battle waging between them.
Neil's gaze roamed over her, taking in the blood, the dirt, the torn remnants of her training uniform. But then, his eyes settled on the wound across her face. His smirk disappeared entirely.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, his voice quieter, almost unreadable.
Natalia hesitated for only a moment, her fingers twitching near her face, brushing over the dried gash. The pain barely registered beneath the burning fury bubbling inside her.
"Why did you take me?...destroying my kingdom wasn't enough?!" she snapped, stepping forward until she was nearly nose-to-nose with him through the bars.
"Do you have any idea what you've done? My father—"
Neil cut her off with a sharp laugh, the amusement returning to his face like a mask slipping back into place. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against the cold air between them.
"Your father will what?" he taunted, his voice silky and condescending. "Storm my palace? Declare war? You think he'll stand a chance after barely surviving our last little visit?"
---
"No one will ever find you here," he murmured, his voice a low hiss dripping with satisfaction. His eyes gleamed, predatory, as he leaned in just slightly—just enough for Natalia to feel the weight of his presence.
She met his gaze with unyielding defiance. "Why am I here?" she spat.
Neil tilted his head, as if amused by the question. Then, his lips curled into a slow, mocking smile.
"You're a prize," he said simply. "I should've known when I saw you with that fool—would've made my work a lot easier." He exhaled sharply through his nose, a humorless chuckle following. "And then I wouldn't have had to—" He paused, as if savoring his next words. Then, with a smirk, he finished, "—destroy your dear home, princess."
Natalia's stomach twisted.
Her hands slowly slipped from the bars, her breath shallow as she took a step back. "What do you mean?"
Neil let the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle her. Then, casually, he lifted a hand and gestured.
"Come with me."
Natalia stiffened. Her legs tensed instinctively, her stance shifting into something defensive—something that said she would fight if she had to.
Neil's smirk widened. "Well, isn't that a cute little stance" he murmured, and before she could react, he produced a key, turning it in the lock with a sharp click
The door groaned open.
"If you want answers," he said, stepping back just enough to give her space, "come with me."
This time, he extended a hand.
Natalia's breath hitched.
Every muscle in her body screamed at her not to trust him. But she had no idea where she was, no idea how to escape, and no idea what he had planned.
Her fingers hovered just above his.
Then, slowly, she placed her hand in his.
Neil's grip closed around hers—not too tight, not too loose. Just firm enough to remind her that he was in control.
As they stepped out, she instinctively tried to loosen her grip, but Neil felt it instantly. His fingers flexed, keeping her close. He leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost over her skin.
"Don't do anything stupid, princess," he murmured, amusement laced in every syllable.
Natalia swallowed, her voice caught in her throat.
With a snap of Neil's fingers, the heavy wooden gates groaned as they were pulled open. Two guards stood at attention, their faces unreadable, their hands resting on their weapons.
Neil walked ahead, his pace unhurried, his presence commanding. He moved like a king in his own domain—like someone who knew he had already won.
Natalia, barefoot and shaking, followed.
Then, as they emerged from the darkness of the dungeon into the vast halls beyond, Natalia's breath hitched.
The palace before her was unlike anything she had ever seen.
Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, refracting rainbow hues across polished marble
floors. Gold and ruby inlays adorned the towering columns, and the sheer scale of the room made her own home feel small.
Her fingers curled slightly in Neil's grip.
He felt it.
And as if he could read her mind, he chuckled under his breath.
"Welcome home, princess."
---
To be continued...