Mixed Blood: Round Table of Knights - The Fairy of Ice

Shadows of Betrayal

The night sky above the village of Dobrovolsk was a deep, foreboding shade, devoid of even a single star or the gentle glow of the moon. A woman stood, her feet planted firmly on the ground, her frustration palpable. "I should have fetched water before sunset," she muttered to herself, her anger simmering just below the surface. "Why bother attending the elders' gatherings, anyway? I never know what to say or how to advise them on their issues!" Her irritation boiled over, and she stomped the ground, releasing a pent-up sigh.

As she approached the well, she noticed an unsettling silence. The night insects, which had been chirping just moments before, had abruptly fallen still. She raised her lamp, casting flickering shadows across the surrounding area. Suddenly, a faint rustling sound emerged from the grass to her left. She swiftly turned the lamp in that direction, but there was no one in sight. "H-hello?" she called out hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. Though she couldn't see anyone, she sensed a presence lurking in the darkness. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard another faint movement, this time followed by the sound of labored breathing. As she turned the lamp in the direction of the sound, the light fell upon a man, his body battered and bruised, his appearance devastating.

A blood-curdling scream tore from her throat as the injured man lurched toward her, his right hand outstretched in a pleading gesture. His left hand, however, was clamped over the gaping wound on his neck, but even that couldn't stem the tide of blood that poured from the gash like a river. She stumbled backward, desperate to escape, but her retreat was halted by a solid presence behind her. As she spun around, her lamp casting eerie shadows on the ground, she was met with a sight that made her blood run cold. A second 'man', his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light, grinned at her with razor-sharp teeth that seemed to gleam with an unnatural hunger in the flickering light of her lamp.

Paralyzed with fear, she was unable to move or scream as the monster leaned in, its jaws opening wide before sinking its teeth into her neck. As her life force was being drained from her body, her fading gaze fell upon the injured man, who was undergoing a terrifying transformation. His body began to contort and twist, his limbs elongating, his face distending into a grotesque, inhuman visage. The last thing she saw was the monster's face, its eyes blazing with an unholy light, before her vision slipped into eternal darkness.

---

"Goodness!" Alyssa exclaimed, her voice laced with a mix of shock and incredulity, as Loren revealed the truth about Anastasia. As was her nature, she had a multitude of questions, her mind racing to grasp the implications. "So, you're telling me that the Garados are plotting against us?" Alyssa's tone betrayed her lingering doubts, her eyes seeking reassurance. Loren promptly stepped forward, his calming presence a balm to his mother's frazzled nerves. He guided her to a seat and offered her a glass of water, his gentle gestures a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil brewing within her. "Your Imperial Majesty," Anastasia began, her voice measured and deliberate, "I understand that this revelation has come as a shock, and there is much to take in. But I assure you, this is the truth. The recent surge in attacks on our territory is, in fact, the work of our enemies." Just as Alyssa's confusion seemed to be reaching a boiling point, a knock at the door interrupted the tension. "Come in!" Loren called out, his voice clear and authoritative, as he beckoned the person outside to enter.

Chief Augustow, the seasoned leader of the royal soldiers, entered the room with a solemn expression. "Your Imperial Majesty, Your Imperial Highness, My Lady," he greeted, his voice laced with a sense of gravitas. "I bring dire news. A massacre occurred in the Dobrovolsk village last night. Our suspicions point to the Weak-blooded vampires as the perpetrators of this heinous crime." Alyssa rose from her seat, her movements fluid but laced with tension. She turned to face the window, her gaze drifting into the distance as she posed a question that seemed to be directed more to herself than to anyone else in the room. "Where are these Weak-blooded vampires coming from?" The words hung in the air, a sense of foreboding and unease settling over the room like a shroud.

Weak-blooded vampires were humans who had undergone a transformative process, courtesy of a pure-blooded vampire's potent blood. These individuals, having received a substantial amount of blood from their pure-blooded counterparts, subsequently pledged their allegiance, becoming pawns or minions bound to serve their creators. This loyalty was unwavering, regardless of their own desires or free will. Compared to their pure-blooded counterparts, Weak-blooded vampires were inherently weaker, relying heavily on their enhanced speed and strength to navigate the shadows. Their existence was one of servitude, forever tied to the whims of their powerful creators.

"If this is indeed the work of an angel seeking to destroy you, Lady Anastasia, then I must ask: why do these attacks reek of darkness and madness, rather than holiness and light?" Empress Alyssa's expression was one of puzzlement and concern. "The vampires that have been attacking our villages are not strategic or calculated in their assault; they are berserk, driven solely by their bloodlust. This is not the hallmark of a divine intervention, but rather the mindless brutality of creatures consumed by darkness." Her words were laced with a sense of urgency, for since the visit of the Vampire Queen, the attacks on human villages and towns along the borders had escalated. The Empire's defenses were being pushed to the limit, and the Empress knew that the blizzard that had thus far protected their lands would not be enough to hold back the invaders forever. Sooner or later, the Imperial Capital itself would be at risk, and the very thought sent a shiver down her spine.

The realm of Descovick was comprised of six distinct regions, with the Kaliningrad Oblast serving as the primary territory and Kaliningrad City as the Imperial Capital. Beyond Descovick's domain lay five additional regions: Central Russia, home to the nation's capital, Moscow; Northwestern Russia, boasting the storied city of St. Petersburg, which rivaled Moscow and the Imperial Capital in power and prestige; Southern Russia; North Caucasus; and the Volga region. The remaining territories were governed by powerful Dukes: the Ural region fell under the purview of Duke Venicio Garados of Yekaterinburg; the Siberia region was ruled by Duchess Amalia Logoski of Novosibirsk; and the vast expanse of the Russian Far East was controlled by Duke Muscovante Valderak of Vladivostok, who oversaw the largest of the regions.

Although Russia was ostensibly governed by a human Emperor, the truth lay in the fact that this monarch was, in reality, a puppet ruler, installed by and answerable to the Descovick Empire. The emperor’s role was to serve as a proxy, governing humans on behalf of the Empire, while maintaining the illusion of human autonomy. Behind the scenes, the true power brokers were the five allied regions, four of which were ruled by Grand Dukes and a Duchess, as well as a Prince of the Blood Imperial, all of whom were unwavering loyalists to the throne and Empress Regnant Alyssa Descovick. Collectively, these powerful nobles wielded greater authority than the remaining Dukes combined, and when considering the human Emperor's subjects, their numerical superiority further solidified their dominance.

A heavy silence descended upon the room, as if the weight of the unknown enemy's identity had stifled all conversation. Each person was lost in their own thoughts, pondering the identity of the masterminds behind the Weak-blooded vampires' attacks. Loren's whispered question broke the silence, his voice barely audible yet carrying across the room. "Who controls these Weak-blooded vampires? And why are they targeting villages instead of palaces?" His eyes scanned the map spread out before him, his mind racing with strategic possibilities. After a moment of intense study, he looked up, his gaze meeting his mother's. "It's not possible that they originated from the surrounding countries, Mother," he stated, his tone confident. Anastasia's curiosity was piqued, and she joined Loren at the map, her eyes tracing the borders of the neighboring nations. "What about those countries?" she asked, her voice laced with intrigue. "Do they have their own empires, as well?"

"These countries—Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, Poland, and Sweden—are under the protection of the Werewolves," Loren explained, his finger tracing the borders of each nation on the map. "It's highly unlikely that any vampire would form an alliance with them to destroy the Imperial Capital. The animosity between vampires and werewolves runs too deep." Empress Alyssa nodded in agreement, her eyes narrowing as she studied the map. "Furthermore, the only viable way to infiltrate our ports is by arriving on a ship from St. Petersburg," she added, her voice laced with a mix of concern and strategic thinking.

"We must convene with our allies and reaffirm their loyalty to the royal family," Empress Alyssa declared, her voice resolute as she turned to Chief Augustow. The Chief of the Royal Guards snapped into a crisp salute before departing the room, his understanding of the Empress's command evident in his purposeful stride. Alyssa's eyes, however, betrayed a deeper concern – the looming specter of civil war. Loren attempted to comfort his mother, guiding her toward a seat, but even his soothing presence couldn't calm the storm brewing within her. The gravity of their situation weighed heavily on her heart: the enemies' determination to overthrow the Descovick dynasty was palpable, and the revelation of a new entity joining their ranks pushed their circumstances to the brink. Anastasia's voice cut through the tension; her words laced with conviction. "Your Imperial Majesty, I concur with your plan. We must summon the Grand Dukes and Duchess, Prince Vasilchikov Durnovo of the Blood Imperial, and the Tsar himself. We need to proclaim our stance in this war and gather our allies with all due haste."

"Your Imperial Majesty, Mother, shall we extend an invitation to His Highness, the Duke of Yekaterinburg?" Loren inquired, his thoughts drifting to Elaine, the Duke's daughter, and his former betrothed. The Duke was a crucial ally, one of the few nobles outside the Descovick family's immediate circle who had consistently demonstrated loyalty. Loren hoped that the broken engagement between him and Elaine wouldn't sever the ties between their families entirely. With this in mind, and under the Chief of Royal Guards' guidance, messengers were dispatched to the nobles' domains, bearing personal invitations to convene at the Imperial Capital upon receipt.

On the castle of the Duke of Yekaterinburg.**

"How are you, Father?" Elaine asked, her voice gentle as she entered her father's chamber. The room, normally bathed in warm light and vibrant life, now seemed gloomy and dark, a stark contrast to its usual welcoming atmosphere. The Duke, seated in his favorite armchair, poured himself a cup of wine before responding to his daughter's inquiry, his movements deliberate and measured.

"How can they humiliate our house, Elaine?" the Duke exclaimed, his voice rising in indignation. Elaine swiftly intervened, her calm demeanor a soothing balm to her father's growing ire. She gently took the cup of wine from his hand and placed it on the nearby table. "Would you like to step out onto the veranda with me and breathe in some fresh air?" she asked, her tone soft and inviting. The Duke nodded, and together they exited the room, the cold wind gently caressing their faces as they stepped outside. Elaine inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling her lungs, before speaking. "I'm sure the Descovicks have their reasons, Father. We know how challenging things have been for them since the passing of the late Emperor." Her words were an attempt to understand the situation, though the unfairness of it all still stung. Her father sensed the pain behind her words, and his expression softened, his anger momentarily tempered by concern for his daughter's well-being.

Venicio's hand enveloped hers, and together they gazed out into the distance, their eyes lost in the vast expanse. Elaine's thoughts drifted back to Loren, her childhood friend and betrothed. Their union had been destined to unite their households and strengthen Russia. Yet, she had no idea who this woman was, the one Loren now called his wife. The pain of their broken engagement still lingered, and Elaine couldn't help but wonder what had gone wrong. They had never quarreled or shown any signs of discord before the party. The sudden turn of events had left her reeling. Tears began to flow, and Elaine struggled to maintain her composure, biting back sobs as she tried to remain silent. Her father's words, however, threatened to undo her fragile control. "I know this affects you deeply, my child. You don't have to hide it from me. Compared to me or anyone else, you've suffered the greatest blow from this disgrace." Elaine felt her resolve crumbling, and she fought to shut out her father's words, fearing that if she absorbed their truth, her carefully maintained facade would shatter, unleashing a torrent of emotions she couldn't contain.

The Duke's gentle grip on her hands was meant to be comforting, but it was a fragile bulwark against the tidal wave of emotions threatening to engulf her. Elaine's resolve crumbled, and she flung her arms around her father, embracing him with a desperate intensity as she burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably like a heartbroken child. The Duke wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he tenderly stroked her hair with his soothing hands. Elaine's heart felt shattered into a million pieces. How could Loren, the man who had sworn to love and cherish her, so callously abandon their betrothal and marry another woman, a stranger with an unknown past? The anguish was suffocating. Just as they were lost in their emotional moment, a knock at the door pierced the air, jolting them back to reality.

"Excuse me, Your Grace, My Lady," her personal attendant said softly, interrupting the intimate moment. The duke gently wiped away Elaine's tears with his hands, his touch warm and comforting. He then released her and walked back into the room to attend to the visitor. "Come in. What is it?" he asked, his tone measured. "We have a messenger, Your Grace," the attendant replied. The duke’s expression turned curious. "A messenger? At this hour?" He seemed taken aback by the unexpected arrival. As they made their way to the throne room, guided by the attendant, Elaine sensed a peculiar energy emanating from her father. His nervousness was palpable, and she could feel the floor vibrating beneath her feet in time with his rapid heartbeat. Why is he so anxious? she wondered, her curiosity piqued.

Upon arriving at the throne room, they were met with the sight of a vampire bearing the Valderak family crest on his right chest. The duke’s expression darkened; his distaste evident in his tone. "What brings a servant of the Valderak household to my mansion?" The Valderaks were a neutral entity, neither allies nor enemies of the Garados. Elaine's family, the Garados, had always maintained their loyalty to the Descovick household and the throne, avoiding entanglements with opposing households. They preferred to remain detached from the conflicts that often plagued the other noble families. The vampire messenger bowed respectfully; his eyes cast downward. "Good evening, Your Grace, My Lady." Elaine gestured for him to take a seat, and after he did, she and her father sat on the sofa opposite him, their attention focused intently on the messenger.

"I am Benedict, His Highness the Duke of Vladivostok's messenger," the vampire announced, his voice steady. "His Highness wishes to propose an alliance between our households, Duke of Yekaterinburg." Elaine's gaze flicked to her father's hand, which had clenched into a fist, his knuckles white with tension. She was well-versed in the intricacies of politics, having accompanied her father to countless meetings and negotiations. The implications of Benedict's words were clear: Duke Muscovante Valderak, the ruler of Vladivostok, sought to secure her father's allegiance now that her engagement to Loren had been dissolved. The cancellation of their marriage had effectively severed the ties between their households, leaving the Garados vulnerable to new alliances and shifting power dynamics.

"Muscovante certainly isn't wasting any time, is he?" her father said, a wry smile twisting his lips. Benedict began to offer condolences, but his words were cut short when the Duke slammed his fist onto the table, reducing it to splinters. "I don't want your pity, nor that of your master, Benedict," he growled, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Leave my sight and deliver this message to the Duke you serve: the Garados household will never be anyone's ally." The Duke strode to the nearest window, his back to the room. Elaine's eyes widened in surprise as she stared at her father, her mind racing with the implications of his words. Did this mean they would also sever ties with the Descovick household, their longtime allies? "F-father..." she stammered, her voice barely audible. Benedict, however, seemed unfazed by the Duke's outburst. "I understand, Your Grace," he said, his tone measured. "We're aware that you'll answer our call for aid in the future, should we require it."

The messenger's words crossed a delicate line, and Elaine's eyes flashed with a menacing intensity, a warning to tread carefully. "It would be prudent for you to ally with the eastern forces," Benedict pressed on, his tone unwavering. "Your territory's strategic location hinders our ability to attack the western regions. If you refuse to join us, your territory risks becoming a battleground, vulnerable to destruction." He paused; his gaze locked onto the Duke. "The Ural region, though neutral, is geographically situated at the crossroads of the eastern and western regions, making it a crucial location in the impending conflict." Elaine's anger simmered just below the surface, but she acknowledged the messenger's point. Their geographical position did put them at a disadvantage in the event of war. With a measured tone, she reiterated her father's stance. "I've already made our position clear, Muscovante's messenger. You may leave now."

As soon as the messenger departed, Elaine hastened to her father's side, her concern evident in her urgent tone. "Father, you've declared our neutrality, but in doing so, you've also made it clear that we're not friends of the eastern forces. We must choose a side, or risk being caught in the midst of the coup they're planning against the Empress of Russia." Her father turned to face her, his expression a mixture of annoyance and forced resilience. "Do not worry, my daughter," he reassured her, his voice firm but laced with a hint of vulnerability. "Whatever their intentions, if they dare to set foot on our lands, I'll ensure they never leave."

Though she wasn't certain where her father would find the strength to repel forces from all sides, she knew he wasn't bluffing. His determination and conviction were palpable, and she trusted him implicitly. Moved by his bravery, Elaine wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a warm hug. The gesture was a silent show of support, a promise that she would stand by his side, no matter the challenges that lay ahead.

----

A month had passed since Muscovante's messenger arrived at Garados' castle, and the territory was now plagued by a series of brutal attacks on human villages and towns. The perpetrators were weak-blooded vampires, driven by a lust for blood and carnage. Elaine's eyes widened in horror as she surveyed the latest slaughter, a village that had been ravaged just the previous night. The scene was one of utter devastation: adults and children lay brutally murdered, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition. Body parts were scattered everywhere, a grim testament to the monsters' savagery. "This is cruel!" Elaine exclaimed, her voice shaking with outrage. Her father's general approached her, his face grim. "We've searched the houses, my lady. There are no survivors. The victims' bodies are... malformed, with limbs torn from their sockets. We haven't found a single intact corpse, or one that died from blood loss alone." The general's words painted a chilling picture of the vampires' brutality, leaving Elaine feeling shaken and disturbed.

Elaine's gaze swept across the ravaged village, her mind racing with the implications of the carnage. She had noticed a peculiar inconsistency in the number of bodies at each slaughter site. "If we tally the bodies, I'm not convinced we'll reach the village's population count," she said, turning to her personal guard, Sir Karena, who stood nearby. "Am I correct, Sir Karena?" Karena looked up from examining an arm buried in a snowbank. "Yes, my Lady. We've observed the same discrepancy at the other sites we've visited. There seem to be many missing villagers." General Vladimir, her father's seasoned general, spoke up, his voice laced with concern. "Does this mean these weak-blooded vampires are not only slaughtering the villagers but also kidnapping many to feast on in their hideouts?" The possibility sent a shiver down Elaine's spine, and she exchanged a worried glance with Sir Karena.

The possibility of kidnapping victims sent a chill down Elaine's spine. Weak-blooded vampires, despite their limitations, were still a force to be reckoned with, especially if they were being controlled by a mastermind. "Who could be forming an army of Weak-blooded vampires?" she asked her troops, but no one ventured an answer. The sound of approaching horses broke the silence, and the group instinctively went on high alert. Two contingents of horsemen emerged in the distance: one appeared to be human, while the other bore the markings of the Descovick household. Vampires, with their supernatural speed and endurance, had no need for horses, yet the Descovicks had chosen to adopt human travel customs – a decision that had drawn criticism from other vampire nobilities. "Vampires! The Empress's troops!" General Vlad announced, his voice low and even, as the auras of the approaching vampires became discernible.

As Elaine's troops prepared to welcome the arriving vampires with the requisite respect, she halted them and stepped forward to confront the Royal guards. "I regret to inform you, Your Imperial Highness, that you and your soldiers are not permitted to be on these lands," she declared, her voice firm but measured, as she faced Loren. Augustow, the Chief of the Royal guards, bristled at her words, his face reddening with indignation. "How dare you address Your Imperial Highness in such a manner! Cut off her head!" he bellowed, drawing his sword. A soldier from Loren's contingent moved to carry out the order, but Elaine's troops swiftly intervened, forming a protective cordon around their lady. Augustow's face purpling with rage, he began to pronounce sentence. "We will assume that your actions reflect the character of His Highness the Duke. Your impertinence toward Your Imperial Majesty and Your Imperial Highness constitutes treason! You are all sentenced to d—" Augustow's words were cut short as Loren, Your Imperial Highness, intervened.

"Stop it, Augustow," Loren commanded, dismounting his horse with a fluid motion. Elaine stood her ground, her voice unwavering. "Your Imperial Highness, you and your forces are no longer welcome in the Ural regions. Were you not made aware of this?" Loren ignored her words and continued to approach her; his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. He reached out and grasped her hand, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "How are you?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, his face etched with worry. Elaine's instincts took over, and she pulled her hand free, taking a step back to create some distance between them.

"I'll repeat myself, Your Imperial Highness," Elaine said, her voice firm but measured. "We will not take sides and will remain neutral in the face of your conflicts with the eastern forces. Please leave our territory immediately." Loren's eyes clouded with sadness, and Elaine felt a pang in her chest as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Why was he doing this? She steeled herself and asked, her tone icy but brave, "Is your wife aware of your actions here?" Loren's approach halted, and he seemed to freeze, as if turned to stone. Elaine's heart ached at the sight, and she let out a soft sigh of disappointment. With a subtle bend of her knees, she showed respect to the Tsesarevich before turning to walk away, leaving him standing alone.

"Elaine, wait! Please! I'll protect you. I won't let anyone hurt you," Loren called out, his words piercing her resolve. Determined to shield herself from further emotional pain, Elaine spun around to face him, her hand flashing out to deliver a resounding slap to his cheek. The force of the blow left him stunned, unsure of how to react. The onlookers were equally shocked, with the Royal guards taking a step forward, ready to avenge their prince at Augustow's signal. However, Loren swiftly raised his arms, countering the signal and ordering them to stand down. Elaine's eyes blazed with a mix of anger and desperation. "Do not ruin us further, Your Imperial Highness!" she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion as she begged him to retreat.

As Loren beheld Elaine's distraught state, the fight seemed to drain out of him. His gaze fell, like a lamp extinguished by the darkness of night. Elaine's instincts urged her to rush to his side, to envelop him in a comforting hug, but she restrained herself. She was the one suffering here, not him. As tears threatened to overwhelm her, Elaine turned and fled to Sir Karena's side, seeking solace in her loyal guard's presence. Sir Karena swiftly wrapped her robes around Elaine, shielding her from prying eyes as she sobbed uncontrollably, her body racked with pain and heartache.

---

Upon receiving the news that the messenger sent to Yekaterinburg had been killed, Loren swiftly assembled his troops and set out for the Ural region himself. The Empress granted him permission, despite the two-week journey and the clear message of rejection that the messenger's death conveyed. Anastasia was present when Loren's forces returned, and she rushed to the gates, wearing a bright smile, eager to tease the crowned prince. However, to her surprise, Loren barely acknowledged her presence, his eyes passing over her without a flicker of recognition. His demeanor was lifeless, his spirit seemingly crushed. "What's his problem?" Anastasia asked Augustow, one of the men who had accompanied Loren on his journey. Augustow's response was a wry smile, followed by a bow, before he took his leave. Anastasia's curiosity was piqued, and she chose not to let the matter drop, following Loren to his private chambers.

"What's wrong, Loren? Did you have a confrontation with the Duke of Yekaterinburg?" Loren flopped down onto the bed, yanking off his boots and hurling them across the room. His actions screamed that he was in no mood for conversation. Anastasia, however, refused to back down. She approached him, her face inches from his, her eyes searching for answers. "Hey, why are you so angry?" Loren's gaze snapped up, his eyes blazing with a mixture of emotions, and Anastasia instinctively took a step back. His voice was barely above a whisper, but the sharpness in his tone was unmistakable. "This is your fault." His eyes dropped, and he stared blankly at the floor. Anastasia's heart skipped a beat as she realized what he was referring to. She could almost see the turmoil brewing in his mind – agony, sadness, and anger swirling together in a toxic mix.

"It's your fault," Loren repeated, his voice now soft-spoken but resolute. Though he didn't elaborate, Anastasia had a nagging sense of what had transpired. The Ural region was, after all, the home of the woman who had captured Loren's heart. "Yeah, and I'm sorry," Anastasia whispered, her words genuine but insufficient to quell Loren's anger. He rose from the bed and approached her, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. "I couldn't even hold her hand because of you," he accused, his voice trembling with rage. Anastasia remained silent, her guilt a palpable weight. "I couldn't protect her because of you," Loren continued, his words cutting deep. Again, Anastasia didn't respond, her gaze dropping in shame. When she finally worked up the courage to meet Loren's eyes once more, she was met with a shocking transformation. His anger had given way to profound sadness, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears. As the first droplets began to fall, Loren turned away, disappearing onto the veranda. Anastasia followed him, her footsteps silent and slow, her heart heavy with regret.

"Was this necessary? You proclaiming to everyone that you're my wife? Did you realize that hurt my love and earned us more enemies? I don't want this! I don't want any of this!" Loren's voice cracked as he spoke, his frustration and pain evident. From the angle at which she stood, Anastasia could see the tears streaming down his face, his eyes welling up with emotion. She gently reached out, taking his clenched fist in her hand, and pulled his arm, turning him to face her. "No, Loren, proclaiming to everyone that I'm your wife was my fault, but it was unintentional," she explained, her voice laced with apology. "I had no idea about the situation I was in at the party. I was simply fascinated by your race, and I didn't know you had a fiancée. It wasn't intentional, Loren." Loren's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes searching, but he remained silent, trying to maintain a tough exterior. Anastasia's apology hung in the air, and she continued, hoping to make amends. "I'm sorry, Loren. My target was the Duke of Yekaterinburg. He's the one I believe is behind the massacres carried out by the weak-blooded vampires, the ones who've been attacking human settlements in this country."

Loren's cold eyes narrowed as he spoke, "You think she knows her father's involved?" Anastasia shook her head, "She doesn't know." It seemed the duke was secretly orchestrating events without his daughter's knowledge. Loren's gaze lingered on Anastasia, and for a moment, she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "If that's true, I need to rescue her," he said, determination etched on his face. "She'll be caught up in her father's treason!" Anastasia nodded, "But first, you need to figure out why they're attacking not only our regions but also their own. And where are these monsters taking their hostages?" Loren's expression turned puzzled, "H-how did you know that?" Anastasia's enigmatic smile was her only response, "The wind told me." With that, she stepped back, opened the door, and advised, "Be prepared for the worst, Your Imperial Highness." She slipped outside, closing the door behind her. A few steps away from Loren's door, Anastasia leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the floor as she collected her thoughts.

"It hurts!" Anastasia whispered to herself, her words hovering between a statement and a question. Her hands instinctively rose to her chest, as if attempting to soothe the ache within. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the Empress approaching her. By the time she looked up, the Empress was already standing before her, a gentle smile on her face and a hint of concern in her eyes. "Anastasia, may I have a word with you?" the Empress asked, her voice soft and inviting.