Bloodline

by roxy.svl

Sequel to Endgame. The game is over and everyone lost. So begins the aftermath of the biggest scandal in Vampire Mountain history. The War of the Scars has begun. Kurda's been dishonourably exiled for high treason, and Mika is left to pick up the pieces of his life. [Mika-centric. Basically his life, parallel to canon between books 7-9].

35. It Was All By Design

Wow. Hi. I'm so glad you're here! I know life's been crazy but thanks for making the time to drop by. I really appreciate it.

It is with deeply mixed emotions I welcome you to the final official chapter of Bloodline. Now there will be an epilogue to follow and gods know it'll probably be just as long as any regular chapter because I'm bad at editing and letting go. But this where the story arc ultimately comes to an end.

Normally I feel really bad and apologize for how long these chapters end up being but I'm not sorry for this one. I didn't spend 3 years fighting with this story not to savour every last juicy morsel of the payout. This is it. This is why I voluntarily put myself through all of that. In fact, there's a few moments in here that have been written for over 2 (two) years because I couldn't risk letting them slip through the cracks and also I desperately needed a light at the end of the tunnel. When I first started this story in 2020 all I knew was how it was going to end. Everything in between was a void. Filling that void was both exhausting and the best thing I've ever done. Now I'm on the other side. Mika and Kurda are here too. The view is amazing. And I'm so glad you're here to see it with us.

(Speaking of seeing, here's the reminder: If you're reading this on fanfiction dot net, don't. Come to AO3. We have embedded images there. I've gotten some beautiful pieces from my talented Shandom mutuals I really want you to see and I literally cannot put them on this website. The option doesn't exist.)

Now more than ever, I hope you enjoy this.

Chapter 35: It Was All By Design ('Cause I'm A Mastermind)

Song:Mastermind by Taylor Swift

---

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates and all the stars aligned

You and I ended up in the same room at the same time

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

Of a chain reaction of countermoves

To assess the equation of you

Checkmate, I couldn't lose

MIKA

VM: Attention Sleeping Beauty! Report to the Hall of Princes immediately. Nothing bad. Just time-sensitive.

Any other time Mika might've been grateful Vancha thought to tack a courtesy disclaimer onto his telepathic wake-up call. But with Kurda still curled up and snoring against his chest (the softest little snores to ever ripple the atmosphere of planet Earth, by the way) Mika felt Vancha would be lucky to get a reply at all. Mika longed to run his fingers through Kurda's hair, kiss every inch of his face in selfish need to reassure himself this was real. But just because Mika was obligated to answer the call of duty at all hours didn't mean he had to ruin Kurda's lie-in. It was enough to be here. To breathe it all in and listen as Kurda did the same.

But only for a minute. With no small dose of resignation, Mika rallied his work ethic and replied to Vancha.

MVL: I'll be there in a minute.

He took his time disentangling himself from the cocoon of limbs and blankets, deciding to leave Kurda a note to explain why he'd left and promise to be back soon. The damp chill in the room did little to bolster his enthusiasm and goosebumps peppered his bare skin as he put his clothes on. He stoked the dying fireplace to preserve Kurda's coziness, but the small stack of wood in the corner collapsed upon itself as he pulled the piece that had apparently been crucial to the structural integrity of the thing. He cussed under his breath and turned around in time to see Kurda — still asleep — reaching for the empty space where Mika had lain til moments ago. Mika's chest tightened as he heard his own words echoing back to him from last night: You're stuck with me now. I'll be here when you wake up.

And fuck if he went back on his word less than twelve hours in. He knelt beside the coffin and brushed his fingertips across Kurda's cheekbone, whispering against his better judgement —

"Rise and shine, my little Phoenix."

He knew that'd do it. Kurda's gold-lashed eyelids began to flutter.

"Don'call me Phoenix." Kurda growled. But he was too sleepy to sound as stern as he undoubtedly intended. The words came out as a petulant whine. Gods, he was so beautiful and Mika was going to have a lifetime of fun with that nickname.

"How am I supposed to respect your wishes when you make that face?"

Kurda shook his head in exasperation as he sat up but he was absolutely fucking glowing."You're still here?" He croaked, the nickname forgotten. "I didn't just dream you?"

"Still here. Still scared to death you'll disappear if I blink too hard." Mika stole a few more seconds of Sire Ver Leth's valuable time to lean in for a deep, possessive kiss. Kurda melted into it like the liquid gold that surely ran in his veins.

"Gonna take more than a blink to get rid of me." Kurda mumble-murmured against Mika's lips. Then he pulled back slightly, looking Mika up and down as if taking silent inventory of him."You, on the other hand… I can't help but notice you're dressed. You have to go be Sire Ver Leth, don't you?"

Mika grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah. Fuck, that guy ruins everything. Vancha summoned him — I mean, me up to the Hall. Guess there's some last-minute stuff to handle before the opening ceremony. I almost didn't wake you —"

"But you said you'd be here when I woke up. And you are." Kurda finished Mika's sentence for him, squeezing his hand affectionately. "That's good enough for me. If I can't handle you at your Sire Ver Leth, I don't deserve you at your Sunshine."

All Mika could do was shake his head and laugh. The nickname was as absurd now as it was almost thirty years ago. Leave it to Kurda Smahlt to take a long hard look at Mika Ver Leth and conclude, yeah, not only am I gonna call that thing Sunshine, but he's gonna answer to it.

"You deserve more than I could ever possibly give you, Kurda." Mika replied quietly. "But everything I have is yours. I love you."

"I love you more." Said Kurda. Then his eyes clouded with almost imperceptible anxiety as he added, "…and you're still planning to pass that memo on to Vancha and Arrow, right?"

Mika, having an honorary PhD in almost imperceptible anxiety, tightened his grip on Kurda's hand and held his gaze. "Only if you want —"

"I do." Kurda interrupted fiercely, blue flames dancing in his eyes til he softened, squeezed Mika's hand a second time and asked, "Do you still —"

Mika cut Kurda off with every bit the brazen conviction as Kurda had done for him, not caring that his voice cracked like glass on a cold winter day — "I do. I'm ready."

"And you're certain it won't be an issue?"

"I don't see how it could be. Not that I need anyone's approval, but the clan has been singing your praises for almost five straight years now."

Kurda nodded at that, reassured. He draped both arms around Mika's neck and held on. Mika felt every muscle strand in his body go limp at the feeling of those dexterous fingers running through his hair. The learning curve had been steep, but peace was exactly as good as Kurda had always cracked it up to be.

"Should I come with you just in case?" Kurda chuckled, velvet-soft lips brushing Mika's ear.

"Stay here." Mika sighed in defiance of his innermost longing. "Try to get some more rest before the Festival starts."

"I don't think I could fall back to sleep if I tried."

Kurda stretched his arms, flexed his back and let out a soft groan of contentment. The sound sent a thrill of longing up Mika's spine all over again. He abruptly stood up, because it was either leave right now and only be slightly late… or rip the clothes off both of them and fumble his professional obligations entirely. Mika knew which option he wanted to choose. But democratically-elected dictators have less personal autonomy than you'd think.

"What, don't tell me you're excited for… how was it you used to describe the Festival? Seventy-six consecutive hours of liquor fuelled debauchery?" Mika reminisced as he slipped into his well-loved leather jacket while Kurda lounged in his coffin — very little of him covered by blankets, making Mika's departure all the more excruciating.

"Can you blame me? This time I get to debauch you." Said Kurda innocently just before Mika slipped out the door, grinning with one brow raised in a golden arch.

The mountain was wide awake despite the early hour. The air itself was electric with excitement for the Festival of the Undead. But the familiar simmer fell a distant second place to the anticipation for everything that would come after — at least in Mika's world.

Mika made haste for the Hall of Princes. The more haste he made, the more time he'd have to break the news to the other Princes. And the Elders too, he supposed. Not that the others were entitled to weigh in on this; in their five years apart Kurda had rebuilt his reputation from scratch while Mika reinforced the foundation of his own. Nevertheless, full disclosure seemed to fall within the lines of due diligence. And they were his friends. They'd want to know. He wanted them to know.

The doors of the massive, glowing Hall of Princes were sealed when Mika arrived. The line of guards greeted him with curt bows and crisp salutations as he pressed his palm to the access panel and opened the doors to see five figures gathered on the throne platform. Four were familiar — Arrow, Vancha, Gannen, and Shane. Vancha appeared uncharacteristically intense as Mika drew even with them.

"Gods, finally." Said Vancha, waving him over. "Mika, this is Elder —"

As if the fifth figure needed an introduction. Mika had never seen the guy in person and still identified him immediately.

"Tycho Otazu. Honoured to meet you." Mika supplied, brushing past Vancha to shake hands with the newcomer.

Otazu was a legend, an icon. Those who'd witnessed him fight described him being almost as big as Arrow. False. Otazu's towering frame was just as imposing as Arrow's, and definitely taller. While he was widely known as a rockstar of a warrior, during wartime he'd gained notoriety for being one of the first vampaneze to voice their disdain over the deployment of vampets. It wasn't an unpopular opinion, but the reign of the Vampaneze Lord was a dangerous time to be too honest. And what an ironic contradiction that presented to the ever-honest vampaneze.

"Mika Ver Leth, I assume?" Said Otazu. His handshake was firm and his voice was deep.

"Guilty as charged. Thank you for joining us. I trust you've been warmly welcomed into the Mountain?" Mika replied. Even at six-foot-three and in peak muscular condition he felt downright petite next to Otazu. But Mika wasn't phased. If anything he hoped Otazu would be down for a scrap in the sporting halls later. It had been decades since Mika had enjoyed a recreational duel with an evenly matched opponent that wasn't Arrow or Vancha.

Otazu's shrewd burgundy eyes brightened and he offered a low chuckle. "Too early to tell. I've been here all of five minutes."

Mika arched an eyebrow at Vancha. "Really, Sire March? You didn't even let the man stop by the Hall of Khledon Lurt first before herding him up here to work?"

But Vancha didn't joke back, even though the line practically wrote itself — that's a lot of criticism coming from the workaholic who thinks coffee is a food group, Mika.

Mika decided to put a temporary hold on sharing his personal news. A few minutes couldn't possibly make a difference in the long run.

"Alright, then. What's going on?" Arrow asked, punctuating it with a yawn.

"Indeed. I was hoping to get a few more hours of rest." Shane Astor added (muffling the yawn he caught from Arrow). "We'd better not have another nefarious guard captain on our hands. And don't think for one minute I'm going to assist you vampires in managing your staff."

"They're our staff now." Mika pointed out, earning a dismissive scoff from Astor. But there was a wry smirk in there too.

"Nothing's wrong. At least, not that I know of yet." Said Vancha. "Shall we retreat to the meeting room?"

Mika's brow furrowed warily but he didn't push Vancha for more information. All six filed into the small meeting room behind the throne platform. Vancha, Arrow, and Mika sat on one side of the meeting table while Harst, Astor, and Otazu took the other. Vancha reached into the front pocket of his purple creature couture and withdrew a small white envelope. It was wrinkled and creased — gods, how long had it been in there? — but very much sealed.

"This is a letter from Darren." Vancha declared, glancing pointedly around at all of them. "He gave it to me before he parted ways with our group."

Damn, that kid had been busy with his pen and paper. Mika had already heard all about the letter to Larten. Well, not all about it. He knew it existed, and that it was impressively honest. Gracie hadn't shared any juicy details. And Mika (begrudgingly) respected his colleague's privacy too much to pry.

"What does it say?" Mika asked.

Vancha glared in exasperation. Mika almost laughed, because how many times had he looked at Vancha the very same way? But there was something else in Vancha's eyes. Something deeper than impatience. He paused before responding —

"…While I have my theories, all I can say for certain is that the envelope states 'to be opened prior to the commencement of the Festival of the Undead, in the presence of all attending Princes and Elders.' And now that Mr. Otazu has completed our party, I'd like to find out what Darren felt was so important he couldn't just tell me."

"Perhaps it's a prank of some sort. Your cub Prince fancies himself a bit of a comedian." Gannen Harst mused.

"Maybe..." Vancha didn't look convinced. He pulled a shuriken from his belt and used the silver blade to tear a neat line down the top of the envelope. Mika didn't think he'd ever seen Vancha proceed with such caution in all two hundred years he'd known him.

A faint thread of electricity hummed through Mika's spine as Vancha pulled the letter from the envelope. There was no doubt in Mika's mind that Vancha was telling the truth when he said Darren hadn't tipped him off about whatever he wrote. Yet Mika felt just as certain Vancha's unspoken guess would prove correct. Many decades later Mika would look back on this moment and recognize the sensation for what it was — in his heart of hearts he knew it too. Vancha cleared his throat several times. Normally Mika loathed the grating sound, but tonight it barely registered. Finally Vancha held the letter up and began to read aloud.

Vancha, Mika, Arrow, Gannen, Shane, Tycho —

I hope this letter finds you all healthy and in high spirits as the Festival approaches. I'll be raising a glass and toasting to the progress we've made between now and last council. All that progress is actually what inspired me to write you this letter.

Twelve years ago (at least it will be by the time you read this) I was in the middle of my trials and didn't know if I'd live to see another night, let alone another Festival… let alone have the privilege of writing this letter now. I'm only alive tonight because of one vampire who was kinder than any I'd ever met. What I didn't know at the time was that he was also the most courageous. And what I know now, after all that's happened, is that he still is.

I don't have to retell history. You were all there to witness it firsthand. My eyes are on the future now. Without further ado: I, Sire Darren Shan, am hereby putting forth an official nomination to invest Kurda Smahlt as a Vampire Prince.

Vancha, I'm sure you now understand why I kept this letter sealed. Sorry for the secrecy. I didn't want to risk word getting out and causing an uproar before all the Princes and Elders got a chance to sit down and talk about it privately. Some might say this is a crazy idea. I say Kurda has been carrying out the duties of a Prince all along. It's only right we honour him as one.

The decision is in your hands now. If you reach a unanimous decision in favour of proceeding, it'll be just in time to announce it at the opening ceremony. If you have to put the vote to the Generals, they'll already be in the mountain for Council. All you'll have to do is summon them up to the Hall of Princes and let them have their say. (I have a feeling the final tally will be a lot higher than the 54% that passed his nomination the first time around). But if my motion is ultimately struck down, at least I tried. I owe Kurda that much. We all do.

Stay well. May the luck of the vampires be with us all. And if not… even in death may we be triumphant!

- Sire Darren Shan

Vancha's face was stony as he finished speaking and set the letter down on the table. But his glinting eyes betrayed the ultimate truth — his unspoken theory had proved correct.

It didn't even occur to Mika to read it for himself. Hearing it was enough. The words Darren wrote were already branded into Mika's brain just as clearly as the ones he shouted the night he rose from the presumed dead and condemned Kurda a traitor. And just like that night, Mika's private, guarded universe went so silent and still it was impossible to believe the earth was spinning on.

While Vancha leaned back in his chair to massage his temples and ponder it all, Arrow snatched the letter up. Arrow's brow creased deeply as he processed it with his own eyes, but the underlying emotion seemed to be intrigue rather than indignation — an important distinction to make.

"Is it standard practice to submit investiture nominations on paper?" Otazu spoke up with shrewd interest.

"It's never been done as far as I know." Vancha explained, still dazed. "But there's no rule against it. Darren is a Prince and his word is law, written or spoken. The matter will be put to a vote just the same as if he proposed it in person. Unless anyone objects to the validity of the nomination?" He cast questioning glances towards Arrow and Mika in turn.

Arrow, eyes still on the letter, offered a shruggish nod of assent. Mika drew breath to speak, to disclose the appropriate information so they could decide what to do with it, because it carried an entirely new weight now:

I need you to know I still love Kurda. And Kurda still loves me. Don't know why, but that's not the point. The point is that we've chosen to do something with those feelings, and that decision was made before we knew this was going to happen.

Then he'd follow up with the obvious question because it was the right thing to do:

I understand my position obligates me to operate cautiously in all clan matters, so are you still comfortable proceeding with the nomination in light of what I've told you? Be honest. I can take it.

"Vancha's correct." Mika heard himself say instead, mouth so dry he almost couldn't speak at all. "The nomination is valid."

He kicked himself internally for freezing. An invisible weight had settled on his tongue, barricading the truth. What would they do when he told them? What would they say? What would change? This was no time for denial.

Oblivious to Mika's plight, Vancha shot a sheepish grin across the table at the three Vampaneze Elders and remarked, "I bet you didn't think you'd get to exercise your voting privileges quite this soon. But I suppose it's only fair we let the guests have the first crack at it. What say you about Darren's proposal?"

"I only accepted this position because of my respect for Smahlt." Otazu replied bluntly. "I would've been perfectly content to never set foot in this place."

"No offence taken." Said Arrow, raising an eyebrow in wry reproach.

"Then I'll try harder next time." Otazu deadpanned. "For now, I, Elder Tycho Otazu -" he paused, mouth twitching strangely as if unsure whether he liked the taste of his own title "- vote in favour of investing Kurda Smahlt."

"Noted. Thank you." Said Vancha as he recorded Otazu's official vote at the bottom of Darren's letter. Then he glanced back up and trained his gaze on the next Elder.

"I don't think this can possibly go any worse than the first time you tried to invest him. I, Elder Shane Astor, vote in favour of investing Kurda Smahlt." Shane Astor declared.

Vancha wrote that down too.

"I am with my brethren. His comeback far outweighs the crimes of his past. I, Elder Gannen Harst, vote in favour of investing Kurda Smahlt." Gannen added evenly. "Or would it be considered re-investing? I am not familiar with your clan terminology."

"The terminology for this particular situation doesn't exist, because nothing like this has ever happened before." Vancha snorted. But his brusque manner couldn't hide the emotion pooling in his eyes. He cleared his throat before addressing the room at large:

"I can feel in my bones that Kurda deserves this honour. Not only do I stand by my original decision to nominate him many years ago… I am proud to state that I, Sire Vancha March, vote in favour of investing Kurda Smahlt."

Vancha recorded his own vote beside the others, then looked to Arrow. Arrow's jaw twitched pensively as he gave the matter some more thought before speaking at last,

"As things currently stand, Kurda has impressed me more than I thought possible. I bear no grudge against him. Now with that said, part of me believes it is enough that we've accepted him back into the fold… and that investing him would be a step too far." Arrow paused and inhaled, weighing his words before continuing. "But my loyalty to tradition would've lost us the war if left unchallenged. I feel differently now that I've witnessed my beloved clan come this close —" he pinched his forefinger and thumb together "— to total destruction. Never again. Whatever fresh dangers await us in the future, let both clans face them together. With Kurda at the helm."

Mika felt Arrow's eyes on him. He couldn't say for sure, nor could he gauge Arrow's expression because he was no longer looking at Arrow. Mika stared down at his own hands as they rested clasped and professional on the table — while fighting the urge to dig his nails into the ancient wood. All he knew right now was that this was not the time to make eye contact. When he finally ventured a glance up, Arrow was rolling his eyes at Vancha and Mika was in the clear. But not for much longer.

"So is that a yes? Paris always told us it doesn't count on the record unless you actually say the whole thing." Vancha pressed, earning chuckles from all around the table. Except for Mika. Any other day, Mika would've been the one to nitpick semantics. But Mika could barely process the words being exchanged, much less add to them.

Arrow huffed and swatted Vancha's shoulder. "Yes, idiot! I, Sire Arrow, vote in favour of investing Kurda Smahlt."

Mika looked down at his white knuckles one more time. Time felt glacial. The sound of Vancha's dull pencil recording the penultimate vote seemed to go on for hours. Mika tried to speak again. Paused. Closed his mouth before anyone noticed he'd opened it.

Sure, just yesterday Arrow had offered a tidbit of gentle encouragement from a surprisingly pro-Kurda angle. But this letter didn't exist in their world yesterday. This letter took all of yesterday, all of last night, and turned it upside down. And where did Vancha stand on it? What about the Elders? Their opinions mattered too. And how could Mika blame his colleagues for having concerns about two Princes ruling unbiased and parallel to each other while actively together, given the nature of their personal history? What if — gods forbid — they rescinded the nomination? If the table was turned Mika would be standing up on the thing, ranting at them all — does the phrase massive fucking conflict of interest mean anything to you? How about most vulnerable era of clan history? That one ring any bells? We can't have this.

No! It won't be like that. My reputation can take it. He's redeemed himself. They've all said it! We can have both! Mika shook himself internally, desperate to escape this invisible spiral of worst-case scenarios. He had to speak. Now. Had to tell the truth. Surely the truth wouldn't change anything. Surely they knew Mika well enough not to question his dedication. They'd given him no indication otherwise. They didn't even shoot him odd looks as the letter was read. And Kurda had won back their respect in such a colossal way, surely his relationship would be above their scrutiny.

That's a lot of surelys. Too many, I think. How can I be sure? Am I setting Kurda up for failure? That would be even crueller than breaking his heart.

Don't be an idiot. You know them. They know you. You know him. You can have both.

Time was running out. One way or another, Mika had to make his move. His range of options was narrow: he could come straight out with the truth and risk compromising the nomination Kurda still knew nothing about. Or he could keep his mouth shut to let the nomination pass, then privately extinguish the spark for the good of the clan. He could break both their hearts but safeguard the investiture. Kurda would understand. They'd rule side-by-side as friends and colleagues. No one had to know how close they'd been to endgame.

Or Mika could run. Not forever, just for a minute. Make up some excuse to flee from this room, run to Kurda, drop the bombshell and ask what the fuck do we do now? Help me, I can't lose you again! But if that's what it takes for you to finally get what you always deserved —

Even the hypothetical test simulation of Kurda cut Mika off before he could get the words out. Mika could practically feel those small, warm hands settle on either side of his face, steadying his invisible chaos in the way only Kurda could:

Breathe, Sunshine. All I ever wanted was to unite the clans. I don't need a throne or a title if it's going to ruin us. You know I never cared for the spotlight anyway. I'll reject the offer.

A visceral chill settled in deep Mika's core as he realized that was the true worst case scenario. All others paled in comparison to the nightmare it'd be if Kurda declined the thing he deserves more than anyone ever has — for the wrong reason. If Kurda truly didn't want any of it — and who could blame him? — he had the right to make that decision without having to factor Mika into it.

Mika couldn't control how the others would handle the truth. All he could control was his own role in it. Time was up. That would have to be enough. He closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed deep. Breathed through. Breathed out. And he opened his eyes once more.

"Mika? What say you?" Vancha asked.

"That's easy. I, Sire Mika Ver Leth, cast my vote in favour of investing Kurda Smahlt." Mika replied calmly. He didn't even have to fake it. He was calmer than he'd ever been in his life. It was so simple it wasn't even a conscious decision. It was an understanding. As usual he'd been overthinking it.

"Well. There we have it." Said Vancha, voice coarse with emotion. "Assuming Kurda accepts, we'll make the announcement at the opening ceremony and schedule the investiture for the end of Council. I'll summon Kurda down here just as soon as we sort out the final Festival loose ends."

Vancha and Gannen launched into a discussion about ceremony logistics. Arrow set about earnestly bringing Otazu and Astor up to speed on the various tournaments that would take place throughout the course of the Festival. No one paid a shred of attention as Mika opened his ever-present notebook and picked up a pencil. It was his turn to write a letter. He thought it would be hard. Excruciating, even. But the only hard part was finding a sharp pencil. Once he'd managed that, writing the letter itself was the easiest thing he'd ever done. Decades of being widely known (and gently teased by Arrow and Vancha) as a detailed note-taker worked in Mika's favour. They didn't have the slightest idea Mika wasn't taking notes. Either of them could've looked over and busted him at any moment. But true to his prediction, they didn't.

For the first time in his life, Mika didn't proofread the document he'd written. He folded it into a neat rectangle — blank side out — and stood up from the table.

"Where you going?" Arrow inquired.

Mika paused in the doorway but didn't turn around. He kept his eyes on the backs of the thrones that lay just outside the meeting room.

"I have an appointment with Valderstein. Commissioning a custom build for Gracie." It was the truth. The timing was a handy convenience. "You know he books up fast. And he's got a transatlantic voyage to catch in a few weeks so he won't be sticking around after the Festival. I'll be back as soon as I can, but go ahead and get started without me."

"By the black blood of Harnon Oan, I wish you'd been my dad!" Arrow remarked with a booming, incredulous laugh. "I didn't get a custom Valderstein til I became a Prince!"

"That's because he refused to take you on as a client til he legally didn't have a choice. He's seen your storage locker." Vancha snickered.

Mika laughed at their familiar banter; drawing as much comfort from it now as ever. But he didn't look back. They would've seen it in his eyes. And even though his head was clearer than it had been in decades, they'd think he was crazy. He wouldn't have blamed them.

He left them all there in the meeting room where they couldn't see him set his letter on Vancha's throne. As Mika passed his own, all he had time for was one final squeeze of the armrest, with the same fingers that had white-knuckled the ancient wood more times than he could possibly count. The one tangible item that represented centuries of blood, sweat, and tears. He could still feel every notch and groove in the underside where he'd dug his nails in any time he needed to ground himself without making it obvious. A few spots were even peppered with tiny dents where Gracie cut her teeth at the tender age of way too young to be there.

The air itself felt different as Mika started the long walk down the aisle towards the magic doors. He smiled as it hit him — he'd been here before. Five years ago. This was the Hall of Princes he visited in his death-dream; lying on the floor with blood spilling from his chest while Kurda waged war for his life. Mika could've sworn he heard Arra and Paris talking behind him. Paris gently tsk-ing. Arra scoffing in derision because for the first time in his life she didn't understand his motive. But Mika didn't look back. Just kept his eyes on the door. He'd already done this once in his dreams. It was so much easier this time. Palm to the panel. It seemed warmer than usual. The door hummed like an old friend and slid open.

And just like in the dream, Kurda was waiting for him on the other side. Beautifully oblivious, standing still as the guards completed the standard security screening. His face was serene and posture was at ease. He had no idea his life was about to change again. Mika had this dream too, so many times. Both awake and asleep. The one where Kurda gets what he deserves. The one where he shines so brightly he eclipses everyone else in the room. It's not his intention; he'd never do that on purpose. That's the most beautiful thing about him — he just can't help but shine. And Mika's there. Somewhere. Doesn't matter where.

Kurda grinned as Mika emerged. The guards bowed and retreated to their posts.

"Have you been demoted to Hall Greeter? Is that what Vancha wanted to talk to you about?" Kurda joked.

"Yeah. Exactly."

"I was halfway through making coffee when he summoned me too. What does he need me for?"

"It's about the cavern renovation I mentioned last night. I told them I'd already asked you about it, but they want to go over a couple of things." Mika white-lied.

To which Kurda lipped back without so much as batting an eye — "I've got a cavern you can renovate."

If there truly was a past version of Mika throwing a tantrum and pounding the walls somewhere in the back corner of his own mind, his present self couldn't hear that guy over how hard he was laughing now.

"Just tell me when and which broom closet, Phoenix Lord. I'll be there." Mika vowed with a complicit smirk that Kurda mirrored with relish. The air between them simmered at the prospect of a stealthy mid-party hookup.

"You told them, right?" Kurda asked as he caught his breath, a note of hesitation in his tone.

"Yes."

"…And?!"

"They took it great." Mika replied steadily. "Weren't surprised at all."

"Fair enough, I guess." Said Kurda. His eyes lit up full-force all over again. "Where are you going, anyway? Or did you just want to open the door and escort me in?"

"I have an appointment with Valderstein. I know the timing is awkward but I can't reschedule. I shouldn't be long. I'll meet you back up here as soon as I can."

Kurda rolled his eyes as Mika knew he would, and threw his arms up in fond exasperation. "My gods, how many custom swords does one man need? You only have two arms!"

"This one's for Gracie!" Said Mika, a little defensively.

"You know she's going to be the only half-blood in the history of the clan to own a custom Valderstein." Kurda pointed out.

"She'll be fully-blooded by the time it's finished!"

"That's not even close to the point I was trying to make. Now, my love, I need you to quit blocking the door. Perhaps they don't care if you play fast and loose with your schedule, but I'm still fairly invested in making a good impression in the Hall of Princes. Just in case."

It took everything in Mika not to lose it all over again at Kurda's ironic and oblivious usage of the word 'invested'. He kissed his other — better — half one more time before carrying on his way. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

What if I told you none of it was accidental

And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork and then just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

And now you're mine

It was all by design

'Cause I'm a mastermind

GRACIE

Gracie wasn't surprised when all Mika would divulge about last night was that he'd enjoyed catching up with Kurda and that only time would tell what came next. In fact, she kicked herself internally for feeling a twinge of disappointment that there wouldn't be an immediate segue into a happy ending. She blamed her eleventh grade boarding school roommate Sophie, whose parents had gotten divorced the same year Kurda got exiled. Sophie self-medicated by watching The Parent Trap every time she felt an emotion. Gracie liked the movie, but she won't deny a correlation between that habit and her investment in noise-cancelling headphones.

Vampires don't do family like humans do, Gracie kept telling herself, just as she's been doing the past twelve years. Unlike Sophie she'd never had the option to immerse herself in naivety. But there was another voice in the back of her head that seemed to get louder and more insistent with every step they'd taken on the journey back to Vampire Mountain — Vampires don't raise orphan human babies either, yet here you are.

She decided two things could be true at once. Mika and Kurda's business wasn't not her business. But she wouldn't go out of her way to make it her business. So even though the walk to Valderstein's workshop would've allowed her ample time to pry, instead she asked Mika if Valderstein was the guy's first or last name — to which Mika admitted he didn't know and never thought to ask. Then she asked if he even knew whether Arrow was a first or last name — to which Mika assured her he did but refused to elaborate.

Even though the swordsmith only visited the mountain periodically, all of his equipment resided in a large cavern near the sporting halls. Valderstein was as rough-hewn as a vampire could be, which was very. He wasn't especially tall but his width and muscle mass lent him an imposing presence. The braids in his long red hair made him look like he'd stepped off the set of a high-budget Viking documentary.

Despite knowing how seriously Mika took the acquisition of Valderstein's handcrafted weapons, there'd still been a part of Gracie that assumed he was exaggerating. There was no way the diameter of her wrist was vital to the final product. But Valderstein gathered that data and more. Wrists, arms, palms, shoulders, waist, ribcage. She held still as he measured all of it. Her physical form hadn't been the subject of such analysis since she was fitted for a couture Maid of Honour dress for her childhood friend Lola's wedding eight years ago. And just like that time, she did her best to play it cool while her inner child jumped up and down in excitement.

The — her very own (!) — sword's design would be simple and elegant, based on the original Oakeshott XVIII. The term meant nothing to Gracie but Valderstein deduced would be the most practical for her build. All that remained was what Mika referred to as the fun part — a vampire's equivalent of picking out the trim options on a brand new car. Gracie had done that before. Somehow this was harder.

Valderstein kept a large and well-organized suitcase containing a sample of all the materials he used to customize the aesthetics of each weapon to the client's preferences. She'd choose everything from the hand grip material to the hilt design to the pommel ornament. She painstakingly studied each strip of leather, piece of wood, nugget of metal, and precious gemstone. Too many options, all available in far too many colours.

While Gracie wrestled with choice paralysis, Mika went to war against a practice dummy in the corner after Valderstein handed him a new blade prototype in hopes of getting some user feedback. Gracie didn't fully understand most of the swordsmanship lingo they tossed back and forth, nor did she pay them much attention.

"You ever take on apprentices?" She heard Mika ask Valderstein as he took a break.

Valderstein scoffed at that. "Nay. I haven't the patience to teach and work at the same time. Suppose I ain't gettin' any younger though, am I?"

"You don't look a day over four hundred." Mika politely assured the man who did in fact look several centuries over four hundred. "But it'd be a sad day for the clan if your craft died with you."

Valderstein arched a bushy red eyebrow. "You got someone in mind?"

"Maybe."

That caught Gracie's attention and she looked up from the handful of colourful gemstones she'd been examining — one of which would adorn the base of her weapon's hilt.

"I'm more interested in using the swords than making them, to be honest." She cut in, making an assumption about where Mika was going with all that. To her surprise, he barely glanced at her.

"Not everything is about you, Gracie." He dismissed her nonchalantly.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of getting into the trade. Where would you find the time? Or does this new era of peace have you so thirsty for a new challenge you're trying to put me out of business?" Said Valderstein, voice drenched in skepticism. It was no wonder Mika thought so highly of him. The swordsmith spoke plainly to Mika, like a friend rather than an omnipotent entity. (And having seen Mika square up with a spider, Gracie couldn't even associate the words omnipotent entity with him and keep a straight face).

Mika shrugged again, giving nothing away. "I just wonder sometimes… if I were to encounter a surplus of free time — hypothetically, of course — what I'd do with myself."

"Bah! I reckon you're safe from that particular conundrum, Sire." Valderstein remarked. "There's still a small but loud minority out there who don't think too highly of the new treaty. I daresay you and your colleagues will have your hands full for a long time to come. I don't envy you."

That was met with a third consecutive shrug from Mika. "Old news. Can't please everyone. One night at a time. Where'd you say you sourced this steel? Australia?"

By the end of the hour Gracie had a near-complete idea of what the finished piece would look like. The blade itself would be pale silver. There'd be a simple but elegant monogram engraved at the base of it — G.S.V.L.— and a crisp white diamond embedded into the pommel. Probably white, anyway. Should you look at the others one more time? No! You're going with white. It's the obvious choice. The hilt would be cherrywood, and the hand grip bound in dark dyed leather — to which Mika cautioned her to clean properly after each use lest it end up looking like Arrow's. But aside from that he'd been largely uninvolved in the details.

Of all the times to take a break from micromanaging. Gracie almost wished he'd apply a bit of pressure. With the Festival opening in mere hours, surely he had better things to do than kill time window-shopping for his six hundredth sword or however many he owned at this point.

Gracie spied Valderstein watching her out of the corner of his eye and belatedly realized she'd picked up the pink sample diamond again, despite having already convinced herself to opt for the more classic white. It'd be flashy enough to have a diamond embedded in the hilt. Never mind a pink diamond. Who do you think you are, Vampire Princess Barbie? Charna's fucking guts.

She put the pink gem back, wondering why it was on the sample roster in the first place and blurted out decisively,

"I'm ready."

Valderstein nodded and made his way over to the sample cabinet. He pulled a notepad from his pocket and began making a list of the sample selections Gracie had set aside. He travelled too much to keep an inventory of everything that went into crafting the perfect custom weapon. Instead he manually sourced every last scrap of material to the specifications of the client. It was why his work was so sought-after among the clan — and why his waiting list was staggering.

Mika stood across the table from Valderstein, watching him write.

"You're going with the white diamond?" Mika asked abruptly, shrewd eyes darting up to Gracie.

Gracie grimaced in dismay and sighed, running a pensive hand through her hair as she reevaluated everything again. "It'll be too flashy, right? Should I get black like yours instead? Or just skip the diamond?"

But Mika held up a hand and started shaking his head before she finished speaking. "No, no. It'll look great. I just thought you wanted the pink one. You kept going back to it."

He'd been paying more attention than he'd let on.

"The pink is nice. I just thought white would be better." Gracie dismissed the comment. But Mika didn't.

"Better how?"

"You know! Just… better. It's more neutral."

The subtle arch of Mika's eyebrows made Gracie certain he was testing her somehow. Now he looked less like her dad and more like the calculating leader everyone else knew him as.

"But do you like it better?"

"Would you get pink?" She pushed back, trying to douse the spark of frustration that the rare occasion he withheld his opinion had to align with a time she really wanted his opinion. How could he not understand it wasn't just a rock?

Mika just sighed in exasperation like he was the one being put on the spot here. "Of course I wouldn't get pink. But you're missing the point. This isn't my sword. Gods know I have too many. This one's all yours."

Gracie held her ground, folding her arms across her chest in defiance.

"I appreciate the sentiment." She told him with as much diplomacy as she could muster. "But are you really going to stand there and tell me nobody will laugh in my face when I show up to spar with a big pink rock on my hilt?"

"First, you don't spar with a custom Valderstein. Second, yes. Someone will, at some point, believe they can pass judgement on you for something as insignificant as that." said Mika. "Doesn't make it right, but it's inevitable. And it will speak more about their character than it ever will about yours."

"…I'm hardly an expert, but I've heard you roast Uncle Arrow about his boomerangs at least a dozen times."

"That's different! They're inefficient and impractical and he might as well strap a kitchen knife to a gods-damned frisbee, it'd be a quarter the weight and just as accurate —"

"Charna's guts, I'm sorry I brought it up." Gracie cut him off, struggling not to laugh at the vein twitching in his forehead. Meanwhile, Valderstein chortled. Mika rolled his eyes but quickly sobered up as Gracie glanced back to the sample cabinet for the umpteenth time.

"I don't care what colour you choose, Gracie." Mika told her with renewed gravity. "And I'm sorry I made you second-guess yourself. I know it's just a shiny rock, but you'll face thousands of choices over the centuries and most of them will be harder than this one. What I want is for you to trust your own judgement and make your choices for the right reasons. It doesn't have to make sense to the rest of the world."

There was a weird hitch in his voice. And she knew he knew she heard it because he immediately pivoted back to the war-torn practice dummy.

Gracie nodded slowly, even though neither Mika nor Valderstein was watching her now. Valderstein had taken a seat at his workbench and was starting a repair job on a dagger that had seen better days. Gracie couldn't help but notice he'd slid his commission draft list down the table, closer to where she was standing. He'd left the pencil there too. As if to say, you're on your own, kid.

She scribbled one word on the blank space at the bottom of the list. Then she folded up the list and set it in the middle of Valderstein's desk.

"Done. For real this time. Sorry that took so long."

Mika turned around. Both his face and posture were completely relaxed, a drastic departure from five years ago. The difference was even more noticeable today than when they first reunited yesterday. Gracie supposed the cooldown period in the wake of a gruelling war would evoke that kind of change in anybody. Everybody in her circle carried themselves more confidently these days. Hell, she felt it in herself.

"No need to apologize." Mika told her. "You're the only thing on my schedule today."

Gracie raised an eyebrow at that. "You don't have to patronize me. I wasn't born yesterday, I know it's opening night. Is there anything I can help with? A few of my friends are assisting Lart — I mean, Quartermaster Crepsley's staff."

Mika gestured vaguely upwards.

"I guess I'm due to check in on the Hall of Princes. You're welcome to come with me."

You see all the wisest women had to do it this way

'Cause we were born to be the pawn in every lover's game

If you fail to plan, you plan to fail

Strategy sets the scene for the tale

I'm the wind in our free-flowing sails

And the liquor in our cocktails

KURDA

Vancha, Arrow, Gannen, Shane, and the newly-arrived Tycho Otazu were filing out of the small meeting room behind the thrones as Kurda drew even with the platform. Gannen and Shane borrowed Mika and Darren's thrones. Kurda couldn't help but feel a strange surge of pride as Arrow earnestly tapped Tycho's shoulder and pointed at his throne, inviting Tycho to take a seat there. The vampaneze's eyes narrowed in suspicion but he accepted the offer and settled into the throne while Arrow plunked himself on one of the temporary chairs.

Vancha paused before his own throne. He picked something off the seat — a piece of paper. His furrowed brow suggested he hadn't been expecting it. He reached over and prodded Arrow's arm roughly, then thrust the paper in front of Arrow's face. Arrow's brow furrowed in the exact same way Vancha's did.

"Pardon us, Mr. Smahlt. We'll just be a moment." Said Vancha lightly as he gestured for the Vampaneze Elders to join him and Arrow in a huddle.

Kurda nodded and took a seat on the front pew while the group traded inaudible mutterings for a minute or so. It didn't seem to be a big deal, whatever it was. Probably just a memo they'd missed. Nobody seemed alarmed as they broke the huddle. Vancha crumpled the paper into a ball and chucked it carelessly over his shoulder.

"Sorry for the delay." He addressed Kurda briskly. "Thank you for joining us on such short notice."

"I'll let it slide this time, Sire March." Kurda replied. "And I'm pleased to see you arrived safely, Tycho. Or should I say, Elder Otazu."

Tycho waved a hand and grunted dismissively. "Keep the pompous shit away from me. I didn't come here for the ego boost, Smahlt. You of all people know that."

Kurda shook his head and laughed. But before he could retort, Vancha restored the atmosphere to businesslike. Which, despite the grandeur of his position, was abnormal for him. Usually he left such reality checks to Mika.

"Alright, I don't have to remind you this is a big night for all of us." Vancha said. "There's some time-sensitive business to discuss before we commence the Festival, so I'll get right to it." There was a renewed gravity to his tone that had Kurda automatically straightening his back.

"I have good news on that front. The archive room should still have the blueprints I drafted for Tunnel 1D's renovations about twenty years ago. I'll be able to repurpose them for 2C with a few minor tweaks. As long as the staff are up for it, we can start the project as soon as Council concludes." Kurda said, operating under the earnest assumption Vancha and Arrow would be pleased to hear he was a step ahead of them.

To Kurda's dismay, he seemed to be the one behind the ball. Vancha and Arrow gawked back at him with confusion.

"What in hell's half acre are you on about?" Arrow replied with the informal finesse of a rusty soup spoon.

"The renovations you want me to oversee." Kurda glanced uncertainly back and forth between the two Princes. "Mika said you wished to discuss it with me immediately. That's why you summoned me, is it not?"

Vancha and Arrow exchanged another bizarre look. They didn't seem overtly displeased. If anything they looked amused. Nevertheless Kurda's chest began to tighten.

"He did, did he?" Vancha replied, lip twitching.

"Yes, Sire." Said Kurda. Then he swallowed, hoping the sound of his gulp wasn't as audible as it seemed to him. Had Mika actually told them?

Don't think like that, Kurda chastised himself. If Mika said he told them, then he told them. And if they had a problem, he'd have told me.

"We'll have to berate Sire Ver Leth for his gross lapse of judgement later." Said Vancha drily. Beside him, Arrow snickered as if cracking a silent inside joke with himself. Vancha continued — "The tunnels can wait. They've stood this long. They can stand a little longer. Kurda, we summoned you here because we want to talk about you, with you."

Kurda felt a long-forgotten but distinctly familiar chill of foreboding settle deep beneath his skin. He forced himself to take a steadying breath before responding, "Me?! Haven't we beaten that topic to death? Surely everyone is sick of hearing about me by now."

"As usual, you aren't giving yourself nearly enough credit." Said Vancha. His expression was difficult to read and his air of mystery did nothing to settle the sudden twisting in Kurda's stomach.

Kurda took an automatic step closer to the throne platform. As if cued by the gesture, Vancha rose from his throne and descended the stairs til he was eye-level with Kurda. Kurda frequently forgot the two of them were very nearly the same height. It was Vancha's raw muscle mass that made him look as imposing as he did. Kurda dropped his voice to a near-whisper, hating this sudden onset of panicked apprehension but powerless against it.

"With all due respect, Sire March… Vancha… what's going on? Is there a problem?"

Vancha raised both battle-gnarled hands and rested them on Kurda's shoulders.

"I won't torture you with suspense any longer." Vancha assured him with a surprising amount of empathy. Maybe he could hear Kurda's heart pounding. "Here it is: Darren submitted a written nomination to have you invested as a Vampire Prince. It was put to an immediate, unanimous vote among the attending Elders and Princes not even an hour ago. I'm sure I don't have to remind you what a unanimous vote means —"

There was more. Vancha kept talking. But Kurda's mind and body had ceased processing information somewhere around the word invested. His feet were flash-frozen to the floor as his heart dropped, plummeting from his throat to his stomach. The world was shrinking and the oxygen in the room was thinning as if a giant invisible siphon was stealing it away.

"Well? What do you say?" Arrow boomed. It was excitement that heightened the volume of his voice, not anger. But it was still loud enough to jerk Kurda back to reality — and to flinch on reflex.

"We apologize for the short notice." Said Vancha. "But assuming you accept, you'll be formally invested at the end of Council in three weeks time. That should be enough time for the staff to plan the feast."

Kurda's voice finally found itself without a shred of help from his brain. The lack of his brain's involvement was apparent in the words that came flying from his mouth:

"By the black blood of Harnon Oan, what is wrong with you people?!"

"Smahlt, we don't have nearly enough time to list everything wrong with Vancha, never mind the rest of us." Gannen Harst spoke up drily. Arrow let out a thunderous snort at that. Kurda would've appreciated the joke any other time, but the boiling sensation in his core was becoming unbearable.

"Don't you remember last Council?" Kurda pressed, knowing he sounded a little manic but powerless to do anything about it.

"Believe it or not, we all remember last Council. Every single one of us. And it was still a unanimous vote." Said Arrow with infuriating serenity. Surely the man had to have gotten into Vancha's mushroom stash. Accepting Kurda back into the clan had been one thing. Accepting him as a friend had been a miracle.

But to accept him as an absolute equal? Arrow had to be high. There was no other explanation.

"What about the Generals? Don't you think they should have their say, considering it's me?!" Kurda snapped, caving to the small but loud part of him that was desperate to give them a reason to recant this unthinkable, unbelievable, incredible offer.

It just wasn't real. There was no way. Every fibre of his being rejected it. Either there'd been a mistake or there was another shoe yet to drop. Suddenly Kurda knew exactly how Mika felt last night in those few moments of crippling suspense after Kurda said those three words out loud. Mika's first instinct had been to detach and deny, to protect himself. Just as Kurda was doing right now.

"It's a done deal, Kurda. The Generals have had five years of say. And we've been listening." Said Vancha. His steady conviction stood in stark contrast beside Kurda's turmoil. "The vast majority say you've earned their respect back tenfold, and that's without any sort of official poll, mind you! But they're all in the mountain right now. If it means that much to you we'll herd them all up here and put it to a vote."

"But in my professional opinion, it'd be a waste of everyone's time." Arrow declared.

"I couldn't agree more. I'm starving." Otazu grunted. "I say we ordain him right here and now and get on with our lives."

Shane Astor muttered to Otazu in a stage whisper — "They don't ordain. They invest. Like a bunch of gods-damned bankers."

"This place really is a giant joke." Otazu replied in the same tone, trading a glance with the other vampaneze.

"Welcome to the circus, gentlemen." Vancha winked at them before turning once more to Kurda. "I don't blame you for being shocked, Kurda. The fact that you never saw this coming in your wildest dreams only furthers my conviction that you've earned it. But ultimately the choice is yours." Vancha paused, his wayward grin twisting into a half-grimace. "And we apologize for asking that you choose quickly… but we do ask that you choose quickly."

It took a few shaky breaths for Kurda to respond. The shock still hadn't worn off, in fact he was quite certain it would live in him til his dying day. But he did manage to rally as much eloquence as could reasonably be expected given the circumstances.

"I already made my choice all those years ago, knowing it'd be the end of my life… one way or another. I made peace with that and carried on." Said Kurda at last, voice plaintive and strained with emotion. He didn't think he could've sounded less Princely if he tried.

"We know." Said Vancha.

"I was there." Arrow added with a dark chuckle.

"Everything I've regained since my exile is a miracle beyond my comprehension. I'm lucky to be alive, never mind here. The life I have now is more than enough." Kurda soldiered on, fighting for every word against his swelling throat. "It just… it doesn't seem right to allow me this choice a second time."

"Agree to disagree." Vancha sighed.

"Think of it this way. For us to put forth this offer after what happened at last Council, you must've really impressed us. Even I voted for you. Vancha and Mika didn't even have to kick me in the shins." Said Arrow. His earnestness could've been comical, had Kurda been in a fit state to chuckle.

Mika. Those two precious syllables upended Kurda's psyche in a whole new way as he was once again reminded how all of this always had been — always would be — bigger than him. Bigger than them.

"So… all of this is despite the fact that Mika and I got back together last night? Or did he not tell you?" Kurda ventured, steeling himself for their response. It belatedly occurred to him that Mika had known exactly what Kurda was about to walk into when they'd passed each other in the doorway mere minutes ago. And he'd still fucked off to meet with the sword guy. Kurda didn't have the mental fortitude to unpack that one right now.

Arrow and Vancha exchanged a loaded glance that was impossible to read.

"It's been disclosed. We don't care." Said Arrow. Then he frowned. "No, I misspoke. We do care. We care a great deal."

"And we had any qualms about you working together, you wouldn't be standing here right now." Said Vancha.

"Then why isn't Mika standing here?" Kurda blurted out.

Vancha shrugged, then winked. "Damned if I understand what goes on in his mind. Ask him when he gets back. He's your problem now, after all."

Kurda threw up his hands in frustration, lost for words. It was all too cavalier. Since when did the Princes operate like this? He hadn't been away that long.

"You and Mika have both given everything you have for the good of the clan, and then some." Vancha continued with renewed sobriety, trying to coax Kurda back from the metaphorical edge. "You've been tested harshly. We all have. But you're not here because you passed every test. No one among us has managed that and it'd be hypocritical for us to hold you to the same standard. While there's no doubt you strayed the furthest, the truth remains that you came back the strongest. And we have complete faith in both of you — independently and together."

"I don't know what to say!" Kurda choked out, drunk on the disbelief he wasn't yet ready to call euphoria.

"Say yes!" Said Vancha, grabbing Kurda's shoulders again and giving them a little shake.

Kurda winced, running a clammy hand through his hair. "Can I have a few nights to think about —"

"No!" Arrow cut him off, the word tumbling out amidst a boisterous, boyish laugh.

"Arrow." Vancha shot his colleague a warning glance, but the flickering excitement in his eyes hadn't waned since the moment Kurda walked into the room. That felt like hours ago now.

"What? If we want to announce it at the opening ceremony tonight, we can't exactly let him waffle back and forth —"

"You want to announce it tonight?!" Kurda yelped.

"Of course we do!"

"Was he this incoherent when you sentenced him to exile?" Shane Astor leaned over to ask Arrow out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oddly enough, no. He was surprisingly composed throughout all that. I thought he'd handle this better." Arrow muttered back.

Kurda no longer trusted his knees to hold him upright. He used his remaining gumption to stagger backwards and sink onto the front pew where he hunched over with his face in his hands, breathing in harsh, shallow gasps. His whole body was trembling. Convulsing, actually. And they wanted him to sit up there with them?! What a joke this was. That was when he realized it was laughter ratting through his frame. He was laughing. At himself. At all of them. All of this.

"Oh my gods… I can't believe… this is… well, it's a bit of a fucking nightmare if I'm being honest!" He stammered as he raised his head at last. Naturally, his rare but timely use of a cuss word earned another round of laughter from up on the platform.

"So that's a yes, then?" Gannen Harst spoke up. He'd moved from the throne area to stand beside Vancha at the bottom of the stairs, using his shorter brother as an armrest. And as stoic as Gannen was, there was a flicker of Vancha's contagious vigor in the deep maroon eyes that were fixed on Kurda. They were all watching him. Waiting for his official answer.

Gods help us all.

"I guess." Said Kurda weakly, rising to his feet and praying his shaking legs would keep him there.

"Step it up, Smahlt!" Vancha pressed with relish. "You know the drill! If we all had to say the whole thing when we cast our official votes, so do you."

"Gods, fine! I, Former General, Former Prince Elect, and Former Condemned And Exiled Traitor — in that order — Kurda Smahlt, do solemnly accept the nomination of Vampire Prince! There! Are you happy now?!" Kurda practically shouted. It was still a fight to get each word out, but this time his opponent was laughter rather than shock.

Arrow slammed his closed fist triumphantly on the armrest of his throne like a judge with a gavel. Vancha and the others broke into rowdy applause.

"Finally. Last time I ever agree to a meeting before breakfast. But congratulations nonetheless, Smahlt." Said Shane Astor, stretching as he got up from the borrowed throne and waving a beckoning hand. "C'mon, Otazu. I'll show you to the dining hall. About time someone did."

Otazu followed his colleague's lead. Gannen shot Vancha a questioning look as if seeking permission he didn't need.

"Go with them. Enjoy a hearty meal before the big party tonight." Vancha encouraged his brother. "No need to further torture you with vampiric administrative mundanity. Arrow and I will remain here and go over the fine print with Near-Future Sire Smahlt."

"I'll heed your order this time, brother. But don't get used to it." Gannen retorted smoothly. He elbowed Vancha with ill-disguised fondness, shook Kurda's hand in congratulations before following the other vampaneze out of the vast dome. Vancha sauntered back up the stairs to settle in his throne. And Kurda remained rooted to the floor with the weight of a mountain crashing around in his head. It seemed like an eternity ago he'd first steeled himself for the backbreaking responsibility of Princehood. But everything had changed so much since then, all that mental preparation was useless to him now.

Mercifully, Vancha and Arrow began quietly discussing logistics and scheduling, leaving Kurda a bit of much-needed room to breathe. He didn't count the minutes but he did know he could've used a few more before hearing the familiar thunk of the door guard's staff on the floor.

Arrow opened the door with his control panel. The sentry stepped inside, looking almost as confused as his superiors did earlier when Kurda started rambling about blueprints.

"Yes, Antony?"

"Uh… Sire Ver Leth is requesting a meeting with Sires March and Arrow?" Said Antony. Didn't take a genius to see why the guard didn't feel the math was adding up. With every passing moment Kurda became more and more convinced he'd missed a chapter here.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Send the idiot in." Arrow slapped his palm to his forehead and made a derisive snorting sound that was stuck halfway between amusement and exasperation.

Kurda's stomach clenched, constricting his heart along with it. But the uncertainty was no match for the deluge of sheet relief he felt knowing Mika was here. Everything will be okay now that Mika's here.

"What's going on?" Kurda inquired in Arrow's direction.

But Arrow was busy rolling his eyes at the black-clad figure moseying his way up the aisle like he had all the time in the world. This guy sure looked like Mika but he couldn't possibly be Mika. Mika doesn't mosey. Mika only walks at one speed: get the fuck out of my way miles per hour. Gracie strolled along beside him, appearing just as relaxed — but far less suspicious. If Mika had tipped her off about the nomination, her poker face was just as tough as his.

"Look who it is. Done with Valderstein already?" Vancha scoffed.

Mika hadn't batted an eye at the chilly reception. He was carrying his offensively handsome self far too much assurance to be a coincidence. What was wrong with him? Even Gracie was starting to pick up that something was off. She side-eyed Mika, then glanced at Kurda as if he could provide a shred of insight.

"Sorry I'm late." Mika said calmly. In one smooth motion, he placed his hand confidently on Kurda's lower back to pull him and kiss his lips. It was swift and clean; the type of kiss that's perfectly acceptable in the presence of friends and family. But as with every move Mika makes, it was oh so pointed. It was a statement.

Kurda had an abundance of statements of his own. So many words trapped, bottlenecked and inaccessible. Then, in the corner of his vision, he saw Gracie's eyes light up with childlike jubilation as she realized the universe had granted the one wish she'd been safeguarding deep in her heart for twelve long years.

"You said time would tell!" She half-shouted, rounding on Mika.

"I didn't say how much time." Mika replied with a thin smile. Meanwhile Vancha was looking him up and down, almost as if silently challenging him. Kurda's heart began to race in renewed panic.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Vancha growled. "You're not pretty enough to get away with that. Go make yourself useful. There's still much to do before the opening ceremony."

Mika looked Vancha in the eye and asked — "Didn't you get my resignation letter?"

He spoke that sequence of words such disarming casualness it took several seconds to register in Kurda's still-reeling mind. Even then he was certain he'd misheard. Slowly, his jaw dropped as an invisible force sucked the oxygen from his lungs. He pivoted to stare at Mika in shock and horror, and he wasn't the only one.

"Resignation letter?!" Kurda and Gracie gasped in unison.

Vancha and Arrow remained completely unperturbed; in hilarious contrast with Kurda and Gracie's identical aghast expressions.

"No." Arrow told Mika flatly.

"No idea what you're on about." Vancha added.

"Mika, what resignation letter?!" Kurda pleaded with increasing desperation. Mika still didn't respond. Not verbally, anyway. He kept his eyes on the throne platform but gently flexed the fingertips of the hand that rested on Kurda's lower back. A tiny offering of reassurance invisible to anyone but them.

"I put it on Vancha's throne. Off-white piece of paper, about this big? Written in pencil? Signed by me?" Said Mika, raising an eyebrow as if the others were too slow on the uptake for his liking.

"Oh, that piece of paper. Of course. Now that you mention it, I do recall seeing something like that." Said Vancha, slapping his armrest like he'd just experienced a great revelation. Then he looked Mika dead in the eye and added: "I used it to wipe my ass."

"So you didn't read it?" Mika asked, glancing dubiously back and forth between Arrow and Vancha.

"We skimmed it." Arrow shrugged, squinting at Mika through narrowed eyes. "Waste of damn time."

Vancha nodded in agreement and gestured impatiently at Mika, beckoning him up the platform stairs. "Now go review the schedule for tonight. Gods know Arrow and I probably forgot something as usual. Don't know why we even bother when you're going to rip it apart and do it yourself anyway."

Maybe Mika's lackadaisical attitude had Arrow and Vancha fooled, but their bodies weren't nestled against his. Kurda's was. So it was Kurda alone who detected the almost imperceptible tremor as Mika exhaled. And Kurda knew Mika's mind and body intimately enough to identify a sigh of relief. But Mika didn't seem ready to give up on whatever game he was playing. He remained firmly where he stood, sighing in exasperation and throwing his arms in the air.

"You're on your own!" He insisted. "I told you I don't work here anymore!"

"Fine. Then I'll address you as the civilian you are." Arrow grunted. "I order you to get back in that chair before I pick it up and beat you with it."

"What if I decided I'd rather take the Co-Games Master position? Or work with Valderstein and learn how to forge my own swords? Either option sounds far better than sitting between you two all night." Mika countered. Now it almost seemed like he was having fun with this. But Kurda couldn't fathom what about this sick prank was fun. And at this point it had to be a prank.

Arrow crossed his arms and shook his head, visibly losing patience with his best friend. "I don't recall seeing your name on the list of Vanez's proposed candidates. And Valderstein doesn't take apprentices. Whatever midlife crisis you're having is many decades too late."

"Easy, Arrow. Midlife crisis or not, he's still our friend. He's also the reason we have a functional filing system. That's worth something." Vancha interjected, eyes twinkling merrily. "Have it your way, Mr. Ver Leth. We accept your resignation. Thank you for your years of service."

"I appreciate your understanding, Sire March." Said Mika, offering a respectful half-bow.

Vancha continued loftily, "As for your future career prospects, I can help you there. I owe you that much. So from Prince to civilian, I offer you two options. And I order you to pick one."

"Let's hear it." Said Mika. Kurda wasn't imagining it; there was a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

"Option one: report immediately to the office of Quartermaster Crepsley where you'll serve as his assistant til one of you dies of old age." Vancha elaborated. He paused, leaned forward with teeth slightly bared and eyes narrowed for emphasis. "Option two: get back in your damn throne right this second and pray we don't tell the Generals about your lapse of judgement."

Mika's chiselled features slowly cracked into a wayward smile and a shrug that seemed more than a little exaggerated. Both the expression and the gesture were reminiscent of a stage performer taking a bow upon completion of a successful act. But his smile instantly shifted from performative to genuine as he turned away from the others to face Kurda at last.

"You knew they wouldn't accept your resignation! It was all a play!" Kurda gasped. "My gods, the lengths you three will go just to save face... it's sick! I will never understand." But even as Kurda spat the words out, he realized he did understand. Possibly better than anyone ever could. Just like he'd needed to put the choice in the hands of the Generals at his reinstatement trial, Mika needed to put this choice in the hands of his colleagues now. The payout of both gambles had been a clear conscience and respect of the highest degree.

Kurda's knees went weak all over again. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His body attempted both simultaneously. The result was an unattractive gurgle as he swatted Mika's shoulder in equal measures exasperation and adoration.

"All rise for Sire Smahlt, world's shittiest pacifist." Said Mika. He was hanging tough but Kurda was close enough to hear the strain in his throat. He kissed Kurda once more. Slower and sweeter than the first time. Vancha and Arrow humoured them with a smattering of sarcastic applause, but it wasn't loud enough to muffle Gracie's sharp gasp at the word Sire. Mika hadn't tipped her off about the nomination after all. The second life-altering bombshell in as many minutes had just landed on her world.

"Sire Smahlt?! Dad, you're being invested?" Her voice cracked and Kurda's heart melted all over again as his steel-eyed warrior princess dropped what precious little remained of her aloof mask. Not for the first time that night, Kurda blurted out the first words that came to his mind. Actually, it was a gross overstatement to say his mind had any involvement whatsoever:

"I'm sorry, Honey Bee. I told them they were insane to nominate me again, but they wouldn't listen."

Gracie rounded on Mika for the second time and snapped, "You knew this all along too?!"

"Only for the past two hours." Said Mika. "Darren wrote a nomination letter and gave it to Vancha two months ago, under the condition he didn't open it til we were all together, so he called a meeting to —"

"Wait." Gracie cut in. "Did the letter have a hotel logo at the top?"

"Indeed it did." Said Vancha.

Gracie's eyes went from wide to shrewd to wider than ever as she put the pieces together. "Darren wrote that letter after the Hemlock-Burgess wedding! He said he was just writing one to Larten. I was in the room the whole time! I can't fucking believe he didn't tell me."

"I'd damn well hope Darren knows how to handle confidential clan information. That's the absolute bare minimum of what we expect from him. No offence, Gracie." Said Mika rationally while Gracie seethed. For a moment he looked like he considered pulling her into a hug, but she was still staring daggers of disbelief at him so he seemed to think better of it. Instead he headed for the throne he'd been so callous about abandoning.

"That's awfully high and mighty from the man who didn't even have the decency to resign to our faces." Vancha growled, purposefully sticking his foot out to trip Mika on his way past.

"Because I knew you'd make it a whole thing." Mika said without a shred of remorse as he recovered his balance and finally settled back into his throne.

Vancha rolled his eyes. "Gods, just stop talking. I've had enough of you for tonight. Now, Sire Arrow, I say we've earned some lunch. I also say we leave Sire Ver Leth here to think long and hard about his choices."

"Sire March, I couldn't agree more." Said Arrow. He cuffed Mika upside the head (with the purest affection) as he passed by. At the bottom of the stairs, Arrow paused. Only at this distance could Kurda see his eyes were glistening with emotion. Arrow gripped Kurda's shoulder, glanced back at the thrones and added in an undertone — "Feel free to try one on for size."

It was all Kurda could do to nod obediently. As Arrow and Vancha walked away, Kurda forced his legs of gelatine to carry him up the stairs of the throne platform.

"Vancha?" Mika called at his friend's retreading back.

Vancha threw his hands in the air and pivoted back. "By the black blood of Harnon Oan, what now?"

"You didn't actually…" Mika cringed at the mere notion of it — "…wipe with the letter, did you?"

"While it certainly belonged in the water closet, no. That parchment's far too soft for my liking." Vancha replied, voice dripping with disdain. And yet there was that ever-present flicker of mischief and fondness in his eyes.

Mika rolled his eyes and fake-gagged in response. "Right. Where is it, then?"

"Tossed it behind my throne. Should still be on the floor somewhere if you want to keep a souvenir from the stupidest day of your life." Said Vancha with finality as he carried on towards the door.

"Yeah. That's exactly what I had in mind." Said Mika. "Thanks. See you later."

Kurda honed in on the discarded letter right away, with Gracie hot on his heels. Mika didn't even have time to get up before Kurda snatched it off the floor and began to un-crumple it.

"You don't have to read it." Mika winced. But it was halfhearted, as if he already knew there was no point in trying to talk Kurda out of it. Before he took in a single word, Kurda felt a surge of renewed adoration at the sight of several compact paragraphs written in Mika's ever-steady hand. Some things never change. Other things change a lot — faster than you think you can handle, til you're standing in a big glowing room faced with no choice but to handle it anyway.

Kurda sank wordlessly into the throne that had once been Paris's. Gracie sat on the armrest and leaned into Kurda's shoulder as they both began to read in silence.

What if I told you none of it was accidental

And the first night that you saw me, I knew I wanted your body

I laid the groundwork and then just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

And now you're mine

It was all my design

'Cause I'm a mastermind

---

To my honourable colleagues - Sires March, Arrow, Shan.

Please be advised I am formally tendering my resignation from my position as Vampire Prince, effective the moment I walked out of this room.

I know this will come as a shock to you. I ask two things of you now — 1) Don't summon me back to question me. I won't answer. 2) Do not breathe a word of this to anyone, especially Kurda. Let me tell him on my own. You trusted me to make the right decisions for the clan all these years. Trust me one more time.

I've learned from firsthand experience and no small amount of missteps that the line between love and duty is a difficult boundary to navigate. We all agreed we need strong Princes more than ever as we look towards the future. So to alleviate any potential conflicts of interest, I am choosing to step down in advance of Sire Smahlt taking his rightful and hard-earned place at the head of the clan. He'll be better than I ever was.

I don't blame you if you're cursing my name and accusing me of acting dishonourably. I'd argue that the most honourable thing I can do now is to ensure Kurda's path to the throne is clear and uncompromised. It's been the greatest privilege of my life to work alongside you. I have no regrets and I'll never stop serving the clan.

I'm not crazy. I promise. No further discussion required. Just know I'll always consider you my brothers.

Thanks for everything.

- Mika

---

No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

To make them love me and make it seem effortless

This is the first time I've felt the need to confess

And I swear

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'cause I care

MIKA

Mika knew he was going to get an earful as soon as Kurda finished reading. And in a perfect world he'd have preferred for Gracie not to read it at all. Mika simply wasn't wired to be comfortable with having such a personal revelation exposed like this. But Gracie was the golden string that tied him to Kurda ever since the very first night, when she ate Doritos out of his hand in the motel. It doesn't get much more personal than that. And Mika was hardly in a position to complain about the state of his world. So he got comfortable and waited for them.

After several long minutes, Kurda's shimmering blues reached the bottom of the page — only to snap back up to the top and start over again. Fair enough.

Gracie, on the other hand, had her feedback locked and loaded after the first round. She hit Mika with a stare so scathing he almost felt bad for all the people — hundreds if not thousands — he'd personally victimized with the exact same look over the years.

"Well. That sure was a lot of words." She told him.

Mika knew better than to mistake her reproach for anger or disappointment. She was reeling from shock. Again, fair enough. He nodded calmly and absorbed the blunt force of her glare.

"Yes. That's how letters work." He said.

"So… you thought it'd be easier to resign without warning than to disclose a workplace relationship?" Gracie continued, the words picking up speed and tripping over one another. "Who would've challenged you on it?! The Vampire Resources department?!"

Mika smiled wryly at her indignation. "Remember what I said about trusting your own judgement even if it doesn't make sense to the rest of the world?"

"Yeah, and I'm never trusting yours again."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. Honestly, I'm glad you don't."

"So, is that it? Or do you have any other life-changing updates to disclose?"

"You're adopted."

"Old news." Her lip twitched with the threat of a laugh, but she held tough.

"Then I think that covers it." Mika sat up straighter in his throne and awkwardly lifted one arm to offer a hug and was relieved when she made her way over to oblige him.

"I'm happy for you. Really." Gracie mumbled into his shoulder as she held on tight. "Just been a long two hours, that's all."

Mika glanced over Gracie's shoulder, at Kurda. He was still reading the letter, holding it in one shaking hand while the other covered his mouth. It was the face and posture of a man who needed a minute. Mika kept his attention on Gracie.

"You've been so fucking tough, and so patient." Mika told her. He spoke slowly and firmly as if that'd give her no choice but to take his words to heart. "You deserve the Valderstein. And everything else that's yet to come."

She rolled her eyes but nodded, blinking back tears. Already smiling again. "I guess I really am stuck with you now, aren't I?"

"I can still take you to the orphanage if you really want." Mika replied, straight faced.

"Not if I put you in a nursing home first." Said Gracie. She didn't even hesitate.

"They won't let him retire, remember?" Kurda spoke up abruptly. He turned in the throne and looked Mika dead in the eye, face unreadable.

"I didn't retire. I resigned."

"No, you tried to resign and failed miserably."

"I'll get going." Said Gracie, glancing back and forth between Mika and Kurda. "My new cellmate was scheduled to move in today so I should probably find out what kind of person will be sleeping ten feet away from me for the next decade or so. Cross your fingers they're not crazy."

"Good luck, Honey Bee. I'm sure they'll love you almost as much as we do." Said Kurda, managing a thin smile.

"I hope you get a crazy one." Mika contributed frankly. "They build character."

Kurda swatted Mika with the rolled-up letter. Gracie snorted in amusement at them both, but there was no downplaying the glow in her face.

"Congratulations. You really do deserve it. I'm so proud of you." Gracie whispered as she threw her arms around Kurda.

"It's a little soon for that. Let's give it a few months and see how it goes." Kurda joked, patting her back gently. "We'll see you at the opening ceremony tonight, yeah?"

Gracie shrugged as she pulled away. "I'll see you, but I doubt you'll see me from the nosebleeds."

"Gracie, I know you've been very clear about your intentions to separate yourself from us and our reputations. I respect that more than you know." Mika ventured as Kurda nodded intently beside him. Neither needed telepathy to know exactly what the other was thinking. "…But if you want to take in the view from the top, there's no rule that says you can't. Your friends will never know you aren't somewhere in the crowd. They won't see you behind the balcony. But you'll see them. You'll see everything."

He let the implied offer hang in the air. Gracie's firsthand memories were minimal, but she was quite familiar with the story of the Festival before last. The one where she — age almost three — cussed obliviously and unapologetically into the voice amplifier as a result of Mika's misguided attempt to get her to say "luck". Mika remembered it as clearly as if it was yesterday. It was secure in the top three best moments of his life; ahead of his own investiture but slightly behind today.

Gracie visibly pretended to think about it, stroking her chin as if posed with an intellectual quandary. "Hmmm. Can I help you give the speech again?"

"If you so much as look at the amplifier I'll have you taken out by security. We can't afford another scandal." Said Mika. "But the offer stands."

"We won't blame you if you'd rather sit in the crowd with your friends. But if you want to be up there, you know where to find us." Kurda added encouragingly.

She shot them both a final, wicked grin over her shoulder before heading for the sealed door. Mika touched the control panel in his armrest to part the doors, and again to close them once she'd passed through.

And then there were two. Kurda was no longer trying to mask the lingering shellshock now that there was no one else here to see it. He just sat in Paris's throne, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, staring straight ahead.

"If there's ever a lag between your panel and the door, you can try holding your hand flatter." Mika heard himself say, seized by a sudden compulsion to fill the silence with something that might be even a little bit useful.

Kurda didn't answer. Didn't even acknowledge the tidbit of practical advice. Mika readjusted his approach, dropping all pretences and reaching across to touch Kurda's arm. The thrones were close enough together that he only needed to lean a little bit.

"Kurda… talk to me. It's just us now. You can say whatever you want. I can take it. As long as you talk to me."

Kurda exhaled a long, shuddering sigh but finally those ocean eyes locked into Mika's. When he finally spoke, his voice was thin and strained.

"…You did know, right?"

"Know what?"

"That the others would never actually let you step down. It was just a play to save face."

"I didn't know." Mika replied after taking a deep, steadying breath. Kurda deserved the truth, and he'd have it. "I was fairly certain. But I didn't know for sure."

"How sure? Give me a number."

"Sixty percent sure." Having already done the math in his head, Mika was quick to reply.

Kurda sprang to his feet, electricity radiating from him. "Oh gods, Mika! What were you thinking? What - what if they called your bluff and let you walk away? What the hell would you have done then?! You would've lost everything you worked for, and for what? To guarantee me a job you didn't even know if I'd want?!"

Mika slowly stood up, holding Kurda's crackling gaze all the while.

"I wasn't bluffing, Kurda. I took a chance. And I was fully prepared to walk away with no regrets if they accepted my resignation."

Kurda shook his head vehemently. "No! I don't believe you. You wouldn't risk your title for anything. I know you, Mika! You wouldn't… you'd never…"

Mika took a cautious step closer, holding out a hopeful hand as an olive branch. "I know it's a lot. And I'm so sorry it had to happen like this. Come here —"

"No! I'm too furious at you!" Kurda half-sobbed, sparks shooting from his eyes as he batted Mika's hand away (albeit with the force of a feather duster). "How dare you resign on my account?! Maybe I didn't want you out of my way, hmm? Maybe I couldn't imagine being up here without you beside me! Did you bother to think about that?!"

"I'm not delusional enough to believe my plan was the ideal solution… but there was no time." Said Mika quietly. "I couldn't take a chance on them rescinding your nomination because of me… or on you rejecting it."

"Vancha found the letter before he told me about the nomination!" Kurda argued. "He showed it to Arrow and the Elders and everything. I just had no bloody idea what it was at the time! But they could've easily rescinded the nomination because of it. What then?"

"I'll admit I hoped they wouldn't find the letter til after. Honestly I thought Vancha would just sit on it. But I don't believe they'd change their minds after reading the letter. They wouldn't punish you for something I —"

"Then why resign at all?! You're contradicting yourself! Gods, Mika! This isn't like you! You've never been this reckless. I don't understand, I can't believe —"

"I chose you." Mika cut him off. The three words flew from his lips more loudly than he intended, but it worked. Kurda went still and silent as Mika closed the distance between them with one stride, gently but firmly taking Kurda's face between his palms as he repeated in a low murmur — "I chose you. Like I said last night: it's always been you. It's always going to be you. You and Gracie. You're everything. It was the easiest decision of my life."

Kurda still had some fight left in him, but his body language was already softening in Mika's hands.

"Nobody asked you to choose!" His voice was barely more than a whimper. He paused to take a shuddering breath as Mika's thumb caressed his cheekbone.

"I know."

"Arrow and Vancha wouldn't have expected you to step down! And they wouldn't have accepted my reinstatement if they knew they'd lose you over it! I wouldn't have accepted if I knew!"

Mika didn't buckle beneath the weight of Kurda's words. He could carry it for both of them.

"I know." Mika repeated. "That's why I did it. I wouldn't blame them for having concerns about us serving as Princes together after everything that's happened. I had to put the decision in their hands, even if the outcome cost me. It was a price I was willing to pay. You of all people should understand that."

Kurda nodded numbly. For a moment he didn't say anything. Mika knew he was recalling the night he stood on trial before the Generals, voluntarily asking for them to vote on his fate even though the Princes had already agreed to lift his exile sentence. Only now did Mika truly understood why Kurda had taken that gamble back then. And only now did Mika realize how he'd shaken himself just as badly as Kurda.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it didn't come to that." Mika added, voice gravelly with sudden-onset exhaustion. "But if it could only be one of us up there… it should be you. If you want it."

Kurda raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to study Mika imperiously. There it was. The Sire Smahlt stare, they'd call it. It'd be legendary.

"Mika Ver Leth, I'll love you til my final breath. I'd fight for you. I'd die for you." Kurda vowed. His voice wasn't shaking anymore. He spoke with a conviction so fierce it re-stoked the burning adrenaline in Mika's core. "I'd even kill for you, although I pray it never comes to that again. But for the sake of my health and sanity, I need you to never attempt a grand romantic gesture of this scale ever again for as long as we both shall live."

"Kurda Smahlt, I love you more than you know. And it'll be my honour to leave the schemes to you from now on." All Mika could do now was laugh. It was either laugh or lose it, and he didn't have time for the latter. "Fuck, I wish you could see yourself right now. Then you'd understand why this was worth a bit of scheming."

"I don't know about that. From where I'm standing, your thought process has never been more baffling to me!" Kurda spat back. "I haven't even been home for twenty-four hours and you're already driving me crazy!"

That was the turning point. They were out of the woods. After shock came acceptance that this was real and they were safe. And with acceptance came a pink flush in his cheeks and a helpless grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. And finally there was laughter. Kurda went limp, trembling with joy and relief as his face nestled as snugly into the crook of Mika's neck as it always had. Platinum silk tickled Mika's nose as he folded both arms protectively around that lithe but deceptively strong frame.

"I'm driving you crazy?! What a coincidence." Mika snorted, only half-coherent as tears streamed from his eyes. "Until twenty-four hours ago, my biggest problem was Arrow getting scrambled egg shrapnel all over my bacon —"

"Mika."

"— But don't worry. You're still the one true mastermind and I'm still just the guy in the big chair. At least for three more weeks, then you'll have your own and I'll —"

"Gods, just shut up."

Kurda drove his lips into Mika's with fierce abandon. The force of the kiss pushed Mika backwards but his balance didn't waver. Mika sank into his throne, pulling Kurda with him.

The ancient thrones of Vampire Mountain were spacious and sturdy by design, built to comfortably seat even the most hulking creature of the night — or two regular-sized ones. So Mika had plenty of space to gather Kurda into his lap and hold him there, one hand clamped possessively around Kurda's lean, toned thigh and the other hand supporting his back as it arched against Mika's body.

"Honestly, what was your plan if they let you quit?" Kurda laughed breathlessly when he came up for air. "You'd be out of your mind with boredom within a week and begging for your job back!"

"I already told you I was ready to explore another career path!" Said Mika, panting from the intensity of the kiss, the feeling of Kurda's hips grinding into his thigh, and the frustration of knowing there were two layers of fabric between them. "I could've moved on as Valderstein's apprentice, or Co-Games Master! Between that and visiting the Hall of Princes to sit in the front row and whistle at you, I'd keep myself busy."

"Bold of you to think we'd let you come and go from the Hall as you please, like some kind of half-feral cat."

"I'd still have my own key. It's not as if I could put my blood back in the Stone."

"Well then, I'd have you arrested for harassment. Come to think of it, I might just do that anyway. I forgot how difficult you can be. Perhaps a bit of humbling would do you some good." Kurda's playful cadence teased both Mika's mind and body as unassuming as a summer breeze, but his voice was undercut with a ragged strain of lust that sent pure golden lightning through Mika's nerve endings.

"Watch yourself, Kurda Smahlt." Mika murmured deep and low into Kurda's ear. "You're not a Prince yet, so don't act like one."

That precise sequence of words was neither accident nor coincidence. They burned like poison when he spat them across this very room twelve years ago. Now they rolled off his tongue and into Kurda's lips, where they met their match as perfectly as a strong shot of dark, dirty espresso meets a hot mug of sweet chai.

So I told you none of it was accidental

And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk

On your face, you knew the entire time

You knew that I'm a mastermind

And now you're mine

Yeah, all you did was smile

'Cause I'm a mastermind

---

"I was patient, ahh, I was patient...

NOW I CAN SCREAM THAT WE (THEY) MADE IT!"

No seriously all I have to offer is a Post Malone lyric from 5 years ago. I'm exhausted. I'll probably say a few more words in the epilogue but for now... my work here is done.

Finally, I think I sorta reiterate this every time but it really is important that you know this. If you've invested your valuable time and emotional energy into following this story, I appreciate you so fucking hard. I do not take for granted how much of a commitment it is to keep up with such a bulky, convoluted story. And whether you're a frequent commenter or a silent appreciator, I truly do adore you all the same. With that said, I'm on the verge of wrapping things up here. If you've made it to the bottom of the page you've now born witness to the plot twist(s) I've been secretly planning for literal years. This was the big one. And now *more than ever* it would mean a lot to know it's made you feel something too. If you have time. But if it's late and you have work or school tomorrow then no worries, I'm just glad you stopped by.

Thank you for being here!

- roxy (& Mika & Kurda & Gracie)