Lucien's breath came ragged and uneven, nerves crawling beneath his skin. This woman's power could change every memory in his head, twist them into new lies, erase his very identity.

There was no limit to what she could do to his mind. She was infamous for her role in the Seven Great Covenant as a prosecutor: the one who delighted in tormenting every vampire who defied their laws.

'Fuck! Who said the Seven Great Covenants were dead? They're here to punish us!' he thought bitterly, despair tightening his chest. Even his words couldn't save him this time.

He closed his eyes, forcing out the words. "Wait, I—I'll spy on them."

"I'm waiting," Fleur replied calmly, her tone cold and sharp. "And don't mistake me for a patient woman, Corvane."

Lucien gulped, nodding quickly. He drew a shaky breath and focused on the wind, listening to the faint murmurs carried from far beyond Corvane Manor.

"They… they plan to hide and run again," he finally said.

Fleur's gaze hardened. The veins snaking across her palm pulsed darkly before tightening around his neck, choking him.

"You aren't lying, are you? Because if I must check your mind myself, I will." Her voice turned menacing, low, and cruel.

"I—I swear! I'm not lying! I'm a coward, Fleur, but I'm not a fool!"

Her eyes narrowed before she finally released him. "They're still there, right?"

Lucien nodded, trembling as he tried to steady his breath.

"You hear that, My Liege? Don't let them escape."

From behind her, the shadows shifted and gathered into smoke, forming the tall, elegant figure of an older man leaning on a cane, Ulrich.

Beside him appeared two wolves the size of men, their golden eyes gleaming as they growled at Lucien.

"Excellent work," Ulrich said softly, his voice smooth as aged wine.

"Though I must admit, his kind never lasts long under pressure."

Lucien's eyes widened as darkness pooled around Ulrich's hand, shaping into a long, pitch-black sword.

"Wait! You said you would—"

His plea was cut short by the clean slash of the blade. His head rolled from his body, landing in the murky swamp water below.

Yet, horrifyingly, Lucien could still see. His mind screamed as he blinked, feeling pain flood every nerve.

"H-how?! What did you do to me?!" he gasped, his severed head trembling.

Black smoke hissed from the stump of his neck, sealing the wound and halting the blood. He could still move, his arms twitched weakly, his senses alive and raw.

"You lied, you monsters! You said you'd let me live!"

Fleur grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to face Ulrich, who regarded him with calm disdain, his expression neither pleased nor angered, merely entertained.

"Vampire power is a private matter, Corvane," Ulrich said.

"And technically, I did not lie. You are alive, are you not?" His lips curved faintly. "Leave the body here, Fleur. The head instead, we will require it to unseal the gate."

"Yes, My Liege." Fleur bowed before turning away.

Lucien's terror spiked as realization dawned. Leaving his body behind meant leaving him to rot: eaten by insects, devoured by beasts, or buried beneath the filth of the swamp.

Worst of all, he could feel everything. Every sting, every shiver, every drop of moisture against his exposed skin.

"No! No, please, don't leave me here!" he screamed, his head lurching as his body twitched uselessly. "I'll do anything! I beg you!"

Tears streamed down his cheeks, terror soaking every word. His voice broke into muffled sobs that no longer sounded human.

The swamp water crept higher, coating his body with filth and decay. It spasmed again, struggling against the stillness, while flies began to gather.

Ulrich sighed, exasperated. "Fleur, silence him. His desperation offends my ears."

Without hesitation, Fleur slipped off one glove and stuffed it into Lucien's mouth.

"Much better," Ulrich murmured, straightening his coat as if the world had regained its order.

He glanced ahead, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "Ah… what a cheap illusion."

They stepped through the mist and the swamp vanished. The world snapped into place at the back of the manor.

A garden spread before them, a mockery of beauty. Vines writhed like coiled snakes and roses moved with grotesque, humanoid form.

Petals reached like fingers. The flowers struck first, a slow, angry swarm that smelled of rot and sweet poison.

Ulrich lifted a single hand. His two wolves lunged without command. They tore through petals and stems with savage precision until the flower-people were reduced to ragged blooms and shredded vines.

Fleur watched, bored, and yawned wide enough to show her teeth.

"Fleur," Ulrich said with faint reproach, "a lady should be composed. Close your mouth when you yawn."

She flinched, then nodded with obedience.

"I cannot help it," she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Why do we need Velstrath at all? We could burn Corvane ourselves."

Ulrich spread the smoke from his palms and shaped it into many hands. The vapor crept along the ground, slipping into the plants' mouths and winding around their stems.

The monster blossoms swelled, fattened, and then burst in soft, wet pops. Petals rained like torn silk. Fleur smirked instead of applauding.

"Alliances are useful," Ulrich said as they moved on and the last of the creatures slumped.

"The Velstrath matriarch is formidable. She possesses something that wealth and influence cannot buy."

"Crimson Nectar," Fleur guessed with a distasteful scoff. "I do not find him charming."

"You have not met him yet," Ulrich replied smoothly.

"I expect you will find him... entertaining. I have heard he enjoys women's company."

His voice held the careful amusement of a man who tasted fine poison for sport.

"Bleh." Fleur made a face and the wolves padded ahead.

The trimmed hedges closed around them and the garden folded inward. The hedges rose taller with every step until the ordered beds became a maze. The light thinned.

"Another illusion?" Fleur asked, tension threading her words.

"No," Ulrich said, his grin sharpening. "We are in that harlot domain. Find the center, and we will end her."

They nodded to the wolves and set off. The beasts melted into shadow and vanished into the darkness ahead, moving with the same slow, deliberate grace as their masters.

Ulrich and Fleur kept pace, stepping carefully as if they meant to savor every trap and creature that crawled from the maze.

At one turn, a length of hedge split open and revealed a thousand glassy eyes. The instant they passed, the eyes spat thin, brilliant beams that would have sliced a body clean in two.

The light hissed across the path, but Ulrich raised his sword in a single fluent motion and the hedge shuddered.

The blade cut through roots and thorns alike. The eyes melted into a viscous trickle and dripped harmlessly to the earth.

They found little of interest beyond that, only a severed head propped awkwardly on a low stump. It gurgled and tried to form words.

Lucien's mouth worked uselessly against the glove still stuffed in it, a ragged sound leaking out.

Ulrich sheathed his sword and sighed. "Remove the gloves," he said, voice dry.

Fleur obliged and Lucien's screams tore free. He rolled his eyes wildly and spat words that came out uneven and frantic.

"My sister is here. You will be dead meat. I told you she is stronger than any of you."

Fleur laughed, annoyed. "You mean that repulsive little girl? I do not consider her a real threat. We know where her true body lies."

Lucien went white. "You still do not know where? I can point it out. Put me back to my body, let me live, and I will help."

Ulrich watched him for a long, appraising moment, then inclined his head. "We shall see if you are of use." His tone was polite and cold.

Fleur smiled thinly, the smile of someone who expected to be entertained or disappointed.

"Of course I will help," Lucien said cracking into manic laughter. They resumed moving through the maze.

Not a minute later, the garden erupted with sound. Metal clanged on metal as something fought close by.

Ulrich and Fleur quickened their pace and pushed through a final stand of hedges into a clearing that looked carved for combat.

A wounded man staggered back under a furious assault from a child. Blood ran from his temple and drenched his collar.

"Just give up! You are already dead! Or do you really want me to kill you?!"

"Elle... Don't do this, please come back to me, we can start a new life together."

The man pleaded as the stream of blood came from his temple.

But the girl spat at him, "You are ten years late, father!"

He lunged and missed; the girl's blade flashed and sent his weapon flying. With a strong kick, the man coughed, spat blood, and was thrown backward across the sod, the force of his fall destroyed the nearest hedge.

The man's eyes widened when he saw Ulrich and Fleur. Recognition flickered across his face.

"You? Is help from Isolde finally here?"

Fleur's patience thinned into irritation. "Isolde is not here. We are House Draemir, the ones who will save your life.'

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