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THE LOST WORLD:

Regions of the world lost after the Fang War. Largely inhabited by The Damned.

Archives of History

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[GRAYDON COLLINS]

STANDING BEFORE the large golden engraved door, intricately designed in the Royal wing, my body was a stiffened icicle. I had met the Young Prince a few times over the years, but always in passing and from a distance, never for an actual conversation.

To be honest, I had never seen him converse with anyone outside his family, in the rare instances that he did make an appearance.

For who would stop the Tribrid heir even just for a friendly greeting?

He certainly could not be considered approachable in many ways. As the Tribrid beast he was, adorned with all three blood lines of royalty, an impossibility in himself, he felt like suffocating blur of power

He was likened to a god amongst our kind because of what he was and what he could do, and gods simply did not mingle with those beneath them.

To even stand before him, asking him to be his Select, his second in command felt like treason.

How was I to represent a god?

The halls in the royal wing were quiet and airy, with a coldness within them. As a Vampire, I preferred the comfort of the cold but this kind chilled me in ways I couldn't explain.

Only singular guards were posted in long intervals, all warriors from their perspective covens and packs.

No humans were allowed in this wing, not even maids.

I was never one to be standoffish, and yet standing in front of the doors of the Tribrid prince quarters, the future king of the Fang, destined to change the Fang race simply for being the miracle that he was, I couldn't help but stall, breathing low, fingers stiff and unable to knock.

First impressions were what mattered in the race of the King's Hand. I had to make a good first impression and the man whom I was to impress was right behind these doors.

I had no idea why he sent for me, but I certainly hoped it was for the better. Plucking courage, I aimed to knock when the door suddenly swung open to my surprise.

I had not even heard his footsteps approach the door to be ready- I noted.

It happened all too quickly, caught unaware, staring into the mystical depths of the Tribrid prince's saltwater gaze, cold and lifeless.

He did feel like a blur of power, his scent was different, nothing that could be exact.

He did not smell like a vampire, yet my immortal recognized its familiarity and also recognized its superiority. I couldn't hear his heartbeat, and I wondered if it was because he had an undead heart like mine even as a Tribrid.

It took me a whole 3 seconds to recover from the shock, immediately dropping to my knees, removing eye contact, and replacing it upon the space before my feet.

"My King. I am here to serve as you please," I bowed, eyes resting on the ground, a hand laid abreast as I knelt before him, trapping a needless breath in.

I could feel his sharpened gaze on me.

"I would have turned into a corpse and rotted through before you knocked."

His reply was stale and cold.

I clenched my jaw at his reply but cemented my tone giving my full respect.

"Forgive me, your highness. I have made royalty wait upon me, and do not deserve your patience. I await your punishment, my liege."

The air between us was stale, and silence loomed heavily.

When he did not reply, I slowly looked halfway upward.

He was not in sight.

Somehow, he had moved so swiftly that not even my True Born vampire senses packed with years of training, sniffing out the damned could pick up.

I couldn't even tell when he did it, if he had even listened to my apologies or if I had been talking to a space.

I looked upward in confusion.

"Enter," his voice echoed from within, "how long am I expected to gift my patience?" He asked.

Getting to my feet, I walked into the Young Prince Quarters. The vastness of it was huge. Living quarters as if a luxury apartment inside the Royal Court.

I stopped near a lavish couch, my eyes stuck on the prince who appeared from another hallway seemingly busy, half-dressed in loose dark pants, bareback, bare feet- my eyes finding themselves on the ground as he gingerly walked by.

"Graydon Collins," he stated in passing, moving toward the kitchen, where he took out a bottle of what looked like wine.

"Your highness?"

"Strip."

I blinked in surprise at the unexpected order, almost looking back up at him as he casually poured his wine, but I stopped my gaze from committing the offense.

"You hesitate?" He remarked not looking back as he pulled out a box from underneath, he opened it, letting what seemed like hundreds of small puzzle pieces drop onto the counter. Pieces he sprayed in front of him.

"You are here to serve me, Select of Lord Valcon, are you not?"

My throat run dry, but years of training and my knowledge of my pledge to the throne outshined everything else. It was my duty to serve. No matter what.

"With my dying breath, your majesty."

I started by placing the mask on the table beside me and uncrossing my jacket.

"Slower."

My fingers froze for a second at the statement, but I nodded on command, unbuttoning the green jacket. My hands were slightly shaky to my surprise as I slowly undid everything else until I stood in nothing but my boxers.

I was about to take it off, but either by instinct, hesitation, or utter foolishness my eyes shot up to the prince.

He was nowhere to be seen.

My eyebrows arched as I stood taller, craning my neck as I searched for the man, but he had simply disappeared, not even his scent indicating where he was.

Again, I was left wondering when he had left, strongly doubting he had stayed to watch me strip.

I looked down at my boxers, sighing- perhaps I should take them off. My fingers looped around the hem.

"Poison my eyes and your death will be severely painful."

My eyes darted to that of the prince, who stood a few feet away from me, catching me unaware again. His hooded gaze was challenging.

I swallowed, hands dropping to my side then tucked at the back in my military stance, my eyes retreating to the ground.

He seemed to stare at me for a passing second, scoffing as he handed me a package.

I took the package in slight curiosity, watching as he moved back to the bar, pouring himself another glass.

I suppose I was meant to open it, so I did, looking through the clothes.

"T-this is the royal Attire," I stated looking down at the golden embroidered clothes, meant for the Royal lineage.

"It is now your attire, at least for the night."

My eyes snapped to the prince at this, "I c-cannot, your majesty."

He paused staring at the puzzle before him for a second, not touching any of the pieces, simply starting.

"You refuse to serve me then?"

"No, your majesty. I will serve you to the end of my days." I quickly clarified.

"Good," he stated appearing before me so fast. I did not believe it was possible to super-speed that fast. My breathing was harsh as he collected my clothes, grabbing my mask off the table he examined.

"I know of you Graydon Collins," he suddenly stated, my eyes met with his, and this time for some reason I couldn't look away, "I offer this, serve me and gain my approval."

He was talking about the King's Hand.

My mother's words echoed in my head.

Loyalty. It was all about loyalty and trust. Even I found these two things essential.

I blinked and he was not before me, instead back at the bar, his damp dark hair fell forward as his hands moved quickly over the thousand-pieced puzzle that was set on the counter, wine beside it, his lips were mumbling something incoherent, but his scent was strong now- like he was using parts of his beings.

"I do not wish to mingle with anyone at the ball," he scoffed in distaste, as he looked down at his table, his fingers moving rapidly across it.

My eyebrows slightly arched trying to follow his hyper movements with utter failure.

"There's too much to do, and yet they throw lavish parties for useless things."

My ears perked at this. Useless?

His announcement for his Sworned mate? A dark chill crossed my skin. No fang would treat their soul mate with insults. For that's what it was.

His eyes suddenly met mine, as if reading my thoughts, salt water gaze cooling into an icy silver finish so abruptly, I remembered I did not have to keep taking in shaky breaths to live.

"We have five minutes, Lord Graydon." He gritted.

With that, he disappeared, the sound of a door closing a minute later.

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Word Count -1538