*Bruno*
Bruno pushed the heavy door open with his shoulder, heart hammering so loud he feared they'd hear it. The ancient hinges threatened to betray him with a whine, but he caught the weight just in time, slipping through the narrow gap like a shadow melting into darkness.
Not sneaking—scouting. Knights didn't sneak. They observed.
Eyes wide and alert. Surveying. Careful not to let it creak too much on the hinge.
Too loud. Didn't want to be detected.
Knights didn't make noise in enemy territory. Especially not when the dragon might be nearby.
The study air hit him like a wall—too thick, too warm. It clung to his skin with the stubbornness of honey, heavy with the tang of roasted coffee, dust, and the metallic bite of ink. The dying embers in the hearth still radiated heat, painting the room in a golden glow that made the dust motes dance like fairy lights in the sunbeams streaming through tall windows. Bruno's lungs tightened, not wanting to disturb even the air as he scanned the room.
Lord Charles hunched at his desk, a living gargoyle surrounded by a fortress of scrolls. The man's spectacles flashed as he looked up, red eyes narrowing for a heartbeat before dismissing Bruno with a grunt that carried all the warmth of winter stone. Bruno welcomed the indifference.
That was fine. Invisibility was safety.
His boots whispered against the carpet as he moved deeper into enemy territory, eyes darting to Lady Funda by the window. Her porcelain cup trembled slightly in her grasp—Bruno didn't miss it.
Her claws clinked against the delicate rim, nails stained with burgundy that was too fresh, too wet to be paint. The copper scent beneath her lavender perfume told him everything. She'd fed. Recently.
She knew he was there. Of course she did. Bruno saw the flinch. But she didn't look. More busy looking out the window, searching for something.
OR waiting.
Either way, she was distracted. Distracted meant she couldn't be angry and hit him.
Good. But still, Bruno stayed cautious.
He kept to the far end of the rug. Safe distance. That way, if Lady Funda did change her mind, be angry and fire like a dragon, he'd have at least a three-second head start to dodge.
His skin still remembered the sting of her spoon from two nights ago. The bruise on his arm—the big yellow one right above his wrist from Lady Funda getting mad he wasn't quick enough to serve her coffee— touched it lightly, not to cry, just to remember.
There was only one person who looked up with genuine care.
"Oh, Bruno, honey," Mama said from the hearth, her voice a hush of ash and love. She smiled at him, her mouth smudged with soot.
Her sleeves were rolled, revealing thin arms dusted gray. She'd been scraping out the old ashes. Dirty work. Ash was even in her hair, making her look grey and old when she wasn't.
Her knees pressed into the rug as she worked, and she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, streaking black across pale skin. "There you are."
Bruno's chest gave a little lift. He gave her a nod—brisk and soldierly—and she moved to rub her hands on her muslin skirt, drawing dark grey lines over the rough fabric. She motioned for him to take up a pail to help her.
Immediately, a flush of excitement ran up him, wanting to help. Be a good boy for Mama. He moved a step towards her, ready to help before the bang. The door was thrown back before the scraping sound of boots echoed.
The crisp dragging of leather on stone only muffled once it met the plush push of the thick rugs that lined the study.
Bruno stiffened. He didn't turn, didn't need to. There was only one other person who could barge into the room like that. His habit of charging in unannounced, even with his own parents. As if he had every right to.
His stomach sank.
Mykhol.
Bruno's fingers curled into the folds of his tunic.
I thought they were supposed to be gone all day. That's what he was told. It was why he had to be the one to listen in on the scarred man and Ana.
Because Mykhol was supposed to be out in the woods, hunting, with that flimsy little lord, Sir Pendwick. Bruno was happy that both would be gone. Ana was safer if they were both away.
But he's back early. Bruno flashed a look up at the clock. He could read the time now, thanks to Ana—another of their lessons. But the sight only made him frown.
Bruno didn't flinch, but the air shifted, charged like before a storm. The room that had been soaked in quiet tension now crackled with energy—as if a window had been thrown open during a gale.
At the door, Lady Funda snapped her head so sharply that her dangling earrings looked like they'd rip off, the jewels sparkling against the light of the candles.
"Oh, my darling son!" She set down her coffee with a sharp clink, practically tripping over the edge of her skirt as she rushed to greet him. "You're back so soon—I hoped you'd return before midday!" Her ruby eyes sparkled with a warmth Bruno had only ever known in shrills and screams. Hearing her so sweet and loving made his ears itch.
"Did you catch anything? Of course you did." She gushed, eyes immediately falling to what Bruno now noticed.
Bruno's eyes found the burlap sack in Mykhol's grip, dark liquid seeping through the coarse fabric, pattering onto the carpet like morbid raindrops. The metallic stench hit him now—fresh blood that made his nose wrinkle and stomach clench.
Lord Charles was up and standing from his desk, forgetting his paperwork for the moment to immediately beam a rare smile that nearly swallowed his eyes behind his chubby cheeks.
"Son," he said with genuine pride. "You made good time. That Pendwick boy didn't slow you down, I hope."
"My lord!" In a hurry, Mama dropped the ash scraper with a smile already on as if she'd been waiting all day to see him. She roughly wiped her hands on her skirt again, dragging more ash and soot to darken the light cloth with more marks and signs that she was a servant.
But for the moment, it didn't even phase her as she was across the room in two quick steps, eyes soft and bright as moonlight.
"You're hurt," she murmured, reaching for the blood on his sleeve, brushing it gently. "Did you have an accident?" She sounded with all care and tenderness to the lord just the same as she would ask Bruno about his bruises.
Mykhol's laugh cut through the room, fangs flashing white against ruby lips. "Don't worry. It's not mine." He dangled the dripping sack higher, the wet sound of something sliding inside making Bruno's stomach lurch.
"It's a pity none of you could be there. You should've seen Sir Pendwick," he crowed, voice rich with mockery. "The fangless wonder can't even string a proper bow. Nearly took his own eye out. I shot three stags. Three. Pendwick didn't hit a thing."
Still beaming, Mykhol turned to his father, hands lifted in mock humility. "Of course, I let him keep one of mine. Told him it was his arrow that made the kill. You should've seen his face. Like a puppy getting praised for chasing its tail."
"Splendid, once again." The portly vampire flashed his fangs with approval. "You showed him." They clustered around him, orbiting like moths to a lantern. Everyone smiling. Everyone reaching.
Everyone but Bruno. He remained where he was, halfway to the fireplace and the door. Just watching. Listening.
"I don't know why that boy even challenged you to a hunt." Naska rolled her eyes. Her voice was light and eager. "You are clearly the best shot, my lord."
"I am the best, aren't I?" Mykhol dropped the bloody sack with a sickening thud. Something inside shifted with a wet slap that echoed in Bruno's ears. "He'll think twice before challenging me again. I can't wait to tell Ana. The boy's a wet leaf in the wind. Nothing like me." His smile didn't reach his eyes as he added, "Ana doesn't need to waste her time on the likes of him, King Alexander's meddling or not."
Bruno's fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. The way Mykhol said her name made his skin crawl—like Ana was a prize to be claimed. A trophy like the dead stags.
Ana's not a prize. Heat rose in Bruno's chest. Bad man. Black knight. I'm Ana's white knight. Sir Bruno.
"We will have this prepared for dinner." Lady Funda approved, already motioning for Naska to pick it up, which she did, but not without giving a slight frown, and dropped it just as quickly as it was heavy.
Mykhol smirked and lifted his head, letting his fangs shine against the light from the fire and candles. Making them appear whiter and shaper as if he himself took down the animals with just his bare teeth. Ana told Bruno once that used to be how vampires hunted, long long ago, from one of their history books.
"Make sure to serve some to Sir Pendwick. He needs to know who's meat he's eating."
"Ah, very well, good thought, son." Lord Charles beamed as Lady Funda smiled.
"Here, let me help you change." Naska stepped up with a look on her face. A look Bruno was learning what it meant.
She wants to do 'that wrestling stuff' with him again. His stomach twisted.
Why do grown-ups do that? The question burned in his mind. Maybe Ana would know.
But that would have to be later. Bruno pushed the thought as he felt the air shift.
"Perhaps later, " Mykhol grabbed her by the chin to tilt her head up slightly, blood from the sack lightly staining her chin. He looked over her, almost gentle and tender, but the expression didn't meet his eyes. He just had that hungry look again. His eyes darted to her neck. Fangs slightly out, but then he was turning, scanning the room as if looking.
Bruno knew what he was doing but didn't move. Mykhol noticed him anyway. His attention suddenly alerted the rest of them to remember the boy was still here again.
The air thickened like mud in Bruno's lungs as four pairs of eyes locked onto him. The pressure of their attention crushed against his chest. Waiting.
"I believe you have something to report to us, don't you, Bruno?" Mykhol's teeth gleamed too long, too sharp in the candlelight.
Bruno stiffened, his name in Mykhol's mouth crawling across his skin like cold oil. He hated how it sounded—wrong, like when he'd said Ana's name. His small fists curled behind his back, hidden beneath his tunic to conceal their trembling.
Focus. The mission. Remember what Mama said.
"While you and Sir Pendwick were gone, Admiral Nugen brought in someone with papers," Bruno relayed, hands clasping behind his back. He kept his voice steady and clean as his eyes fell to the floor.
"It was about some dead person and a ledger."
"Dead person?" Naska's voice wavered, her brow furrowing with genuine concern. She glanced at the others, searching their faces.
None mirrored her worry. Instead, something older and grimmer settled in their eyes—a shared secret. A private understanding. A grim one.
"So they've discovered Mr. Nimble, then." Lady Funda exhaled through her nose, her gaze dropping lazily to the emerald on her index finger. "That was quicker than I thought."
She said it as though someone had merely found a misplaced glove.
"Mykhol," she asked casually, "did you not hide the body?"
"Hide the— Their's a body?!" Naska's voice pitched higher, confusion evident, but no one acknowledged her.
"It sends a stronger message if he's found, Mother. You know that. For any of our supporters who might have second thoughts." Mykhol stopped to smile more to himself darkly. "I had both his fangs pulled."
Both?
He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He hadn't known that. He hadn't known someone could do that. It was more than mean—it was cruel. Villainous. Like something out of the dark stories Ana didn't let him read. Were too scary.
The kind where the monsters wore smiles and had bigger teeth and the knights didn't win. The princess was lost. The kingdom gone.
Bad stories of bad people doing only bad things.
He tried not to breathe too loudly.
"But that's not what concerns me right now." Mykhol's gaze found him again, narrowed and shrewd. "You mentioned a ledger?"
Bruno nodded once, his hair falling forward in trembling bobs. His bangs served as a curtain—one he was grateful for right now. The bad man. The black knight. "Yeah, but they said… they didn't find it."
Funda made a low, satisfied noise, like a cat's purr after blood. "Of course they won't." Funda went before looking towards her husband, who understood the wordless message. The portly man flicked his eyes to the spot behind the desk where the safe was.
"The Admiral will be at a dead end, then," Lord Charles added with a dull note of triumph, adjusting his spectacles.
"Eventually, yes," Mykhol said. "But I'm sure he will still trail down the trade route, looking for clues."
"Clues he won't find, of course." Funda seemed to almost sing at that.
"Heh? What clues?" His mother, meanwhile, blinked at all of them, her face pinching with slight frustration. "I don't understand. Who's dead? Can someone please explain?"
But again, her voice went unheard, or ignored. Mykhol's attention was back to the boy, his vermillion eyes taking an oddly softer tone.
"What about Ana? What did she say?" Mykhol pressed, waiting for the answer. "How did she respond? Was she upset?"
Of course, she was. Ana is a good person. Unlike you. Bruno swallowed down the flash to defend his lady. He remembered the way her shoulders had dropped, how she'd looked down at the report as if it had the man's face on the cover. The pained look on her face. The resignation that was too old for someone so young and pretty.
"She believed it was a robbery gone wrong," he answered, quiet again. "But she was sad. She… she didn't like hearing about his wife and daughter."But he didn't add the part where Admiral Nugen was again trying to persuade Ana to be suspicious of him. Or that the scared solider man suspected Mykhol of being involved.
He's on the right track. Bruno couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement. But he tucked the feeling down.
A knight didn't boast. Bruno knew. Knights didn't do anything for praise. But still, a sliver of pride, at his own contribution, swelled in his stomach.
Bruno stayed quiet as Mykhol frowned slightly at the news, as if genuinely pained by Ana's sadness. For a heartbeat, something almost human flickered across his face before vanishing like mist in sunlight.
"Yes, I thought she would." His voice was soft, almost regretful, before he squared his shoulders and turned. "Come, Naska. I wish to bathe."
"Yes, Lord Mykhol. Let's get you cleaned." Her tone had softened, back in orbit around his attention.
"Oh? Is that all you want?" Mykhol leaned closer and gave her backside a firm slap.
Naska giggled with exaggerated coyness. "Oh, you—" she puffed, cheeks blooming in pretense. Then she followed him like a shadow, offering Bruno a wink he didn't want.
"Good boy." She ruffled his hair, her touch a little too rough as she was in a hurry, fingers disappearing, stealing the comfort and warmth with them before mouthing a pointed don't disturb us.
Bruno flinched, his nose wrinkling at the perfume clinging to her sleeve—cheap scented oil with something burnt beneath. He hated that smell. Hated how it always clung to her after she'd been near him.
His chest pinched. Why does she keep going to him? Why doesn't she stay with me?
He hated it.
Bruno grimaced at the closed door where Mama had disappeared with Lord Mykhol. Again. His mouth opened to speak, to ask—but no words came. He knew better. Words didn't change things. Mama would just get mad. Say Daddy loved them.
Bad man.
He kept his mouth shut. Good knights knew when to hold their tongue. They didn't speak on things they didn't understand. That was what knights did. And now, he was left alone with the dragon and the wizard.
The room was still now that Mykhol had left. Like he had stollen the air with him. Making everything quiet, almost as quiet as Bruno. It slightly hurt his ears.
The sound only breaking as the tall vampire turned. Her heeled boots tapped over the stone, quick and sharp, trailing her disapproval like the tail of a veil. Bruno instinctively knew to get closer to the wall, feeling her anger rise.
The hush that had settled pierced with her tongue, laced with venom. She turned to Lord Charles with her lip curled.
"We need to do something about that," she hissed low through her fangs, jerking her chin toward the door Naska had vanished through. Her disgust hung like incense.
"He'll grow bored," Lord Charles replied with a lazy shrug, turning back to his desk and precious ledgers as if not wanting to continue the conversation even with his own wife. The temptation of numbers and money outweighed his need to socialize any day. "He's still young, you know. He will, soon enough."
"Not quickly enough," she snapped, crossing her arms. Her lip curled, upper fang gleaming. "I understand men have urges—but if he must, he could at least take someone with proper blood. That thing is a maid."
Bruno felt his stomach turn when she didn't even say his mother's name.
"Honestly. Let him get it out with a proper girl—someone of birth. It may even steer him back to the Empress." There was hope in her voice now, gleaming like a coin. "Actually, that's not a bad choice, is it, my dear?"
Charles grunted noncommittally, not truly listening. But it seemed to work. Funda brightened a bit more.
"Yes," she murmured, her eyes dancing at some thought pooling together in her head. She tapped one sharp fang with a painted nail. "Yes, I'll see to that."
"I'm sure if Mykhol were around the right kind of ladies, he'll realize it." But then the candlelight shifted. Bruno felt the flicker of it across his cheek as she finally looked at him again—truly saw him standing there.
Her expression twisted like milk gone sour.
"What are you still doing in here?" Funda snapped, finding Bruno with a hawk-like gaze. "Don't you have some kind of chores to do?"
"I-" He took an instinctive step back, arms shielding his head without thinking.
"Out of the way, bastard," she muttered, brushing past him to pick up Mykhol's forgotten hunting trophy.
The raw meat trailed a dark liquid that followed her across the rugs—drips of blood, thick and reeking. A line of red that soon stained the white stone floor of the hall, likely leaving a long trail of a mess that would have to be cleaned up.
A mess that someone would have to deal with. He or Mama. Getting down on their knees to crawl and scrub from the study to the kitchen. A long track that Bruno could already imagine would bruise the knees. And since Mama went with Mykhol…
He suspected it would likely be him.
Bruno clenched his little fists. His knees already ached imagining it. And he had lessons with Ana later—he didn't want to miss them. She'd promised to show him how she folded letters for royal correspondence. He wanted to fold something important too.
But if he had to scrub…
He blinked rapidly, forcing back the burn in his eyes. No crying. Knights don't cry.
"Child." Lord Charles's voice pulled him back. "Help me."
Bruno turned, nearly toppling over when the heavy tin box with a lock was pushed into his arms unwarned. It was far too heavy for his thin arms, and he could feel his hands already start to sweat from the effort. But he swallowed his complaint, not seeing any point in protest.
He used what strength he could to keep the weight from falling. The slight jingle of coins moving as his arms trembled as he followed in the portly vampire's wake. He was going to the safe.
"Hold it still." Was Lord Charles's only warning before he moved to twist the knob. His little eyes focused as he spun the dial, each number landing with a slight click.
"45…16..," Bruno softly murmured, distracting himself from the weight in his arms, he announced the numbers without thought. "72,"
"Hmm?" The vampire lord lifted his eyes, blinking through his small circular glasses. "What are you mumbling about, boy?"
Too loud. Too stupid.
You fool, knights are quiet!
Bruno shook his head with a quick flash of panic. He didn't mean to say that out loud. Quick. Hide.
He shook his head, bangs falling forward to hide the panic flashing across his face. The safe door swung open with a final click.
"Nothing," he said quickly, shifting the box higher in his trembling grip.
Lord Charles took it but paused, looking him over for a long moment before just shrugging like he was nothing. Unimportant compared to what he needed to do.
The old vampire grunted and took it from him, carefully moving some books to fit it inside. Bruno held his breath when the man lifted the leather-bound book inside. His heart held in his chest as a quick flash of worry ran up his spine.
Would he notice?
Would he feel how light it was now? Would his fingers stop at the odd thinness of it—wonder if the weight was wrong, the spine too loose?
What if he opened it? What if he flipped through and saw what Bruno had done—that the pages were blank, the real ones long gone?
Knights don't panic, he told himself. But his pulse pounded anyway.
But the old vampire simply repositioned the book to fit the box inside, then closed the safe with a decisive click.
Bruno exhaled silently, tension draining from his shoulders. He didn't see. None of them did.
"Boy? You look...odd." Charles's beady eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"It was heavy," Bruno replied, letting his arms hang limp with believable exhaustion. But inside, his heart drummed with fierce, quiet pride.
He didn't notice. No one had. Not yet. Likely wouldn't until it was time. They wouldn't until it mattered.
Bruno felt the smile and couldn't resist a small praise. Knights deserved a little praise, didn't they?
This was a victory.
His first. The tide, at last, was turning.
Sir Bruno—finally—was in the lead.