Chapter 5

“Why! Hello, Lady Dantalion!”

The smile shot up Illyana’s face like a trick candle—too sudden, too wide, too pleased.

Liza and Mabel scrambled, rifling through their coats and belts for anything remotely useful.

When that failed, they turned to Eris.

“Hey!” she snapped, fending them off with elbows. “Quit it—I’m just as empty as you are!”

The vampire on the throne watched it all with quiet amusement.

“Ma’am, who are our guests?”

Illyana tilted her head, voice calm.

“I get the sense I know. But I’d rather have it confirmed.”

The frantic scramble stopped.

Liza, Mabel, and Eris froze—half-crouched, half-guilty.

Slowly, their heads turned.

First to Dantalion.

Then to the throne.

Liza cleared her throat.

“Ah. Right.”

She straightened.

“Freaks swing first.”

Dantalion smiled—

A proper court smile, not the mischievous grin from before.

This one had weight behind it. Framing. Authority.

Like she was introducing relics, not people.

“Of course, Illyana.”

She gave a small, theatrical gesture with one hand—wide enough to invite, sharp enough to sort.

“The two lively ones are Liza and Mabel—Gravein, if we’re being formal.”

“The vagabond is Eris. She goes by von Tiefenburg, but you know how complicated it gets when we’re dealing with Derrick’s people.”

Illyana rose from the throne.

The once-silent figure—carved in stillness—suddenly felt warm.

A slow, widening smile bloomed across her face.

“Ah—ah-ha!”

She bounded down the steps, a motion so smooth it made the throne behind her look like an illusion.

Dantalion moved to meet her, smile rising to match, hands folded as if receiving an old friend mid-twirl.

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“Of course they are.”

Illyana’s gaze swept across Liza and Mabel like a painter recognizing her own brushwork.

“That light in the eyes… that spine in the stance…”

“It seems to run in the family.”

She folded her hands again—this time not in presentation, but in welcome.

Then her attention shifted to Eris.

“And the third—yes. Von Tiefenburg. A common surname in Night Shift these days…”

She tilted her head slightly, a whisper of amusement passing through.

“Derrick really doesn’t have to use it,” she said, lightly.

“He could still just be Derrick Gravein. It’s not as if he were some servant.”

Mabel narrowed her eyes, studying the woman—no, the Lord—in front of her.

She looked young.

Maybe younger than Liza.

But the signs were there.

The red eyes, steady and glowing.

The faint point to her teeth, more refined than fanged.

The skin—too pale, too perfect. Not cold, but curated.

The stillness that didn’t feel like calm.

A vampire. No doubt.

But not like the others they’d fought.

She wasn't a snarling, thrashing mess.

This one felt closer to Eris.

“Dandy,” Mabel said, squinting up at Illyana again,

“I’m getting the sense… nothing in this castle is exactly human.”

She didn’t mean it as an accusation.

It just came out—the only conclusion she could pull from the patterns.

“Yes, Mabel.”

Her voice softened—not with apology, but with pride.

“This is Illyana von Tiefenburg.”

Illyana gave a small, measured wave.

One hand raised, palm forward.

Like she’d been introduced at court a thousand times before—and had ruled each one in silence.

Dantalion continued, glancing between the sisters with that same maddening poise:

“She runs our kingdom when I’m out wandering your world.”

“A castle like this is impossible to manage from afar—especially when I have to reference your time while existing in mine.”

She gestured upward, to the unseen moon, to the endless black beyond the stained glass ribs.

“It’s always night here, as you’ve seen.”

A small smile curled.

“So it only made sense I’d leave it in the hands of a creature born to navigate the dark.”

Liza ran a hand through the back of her hair.

The pieces finally clicked.

“That’s well and good, Dandy. But why does she know so much about us?”

“We’re nobodies. Dad? Yeah, I get that. But us?”

Illyana let out a soft giggle.

“Derrick tells me about you all the time on his visits.”

“Though in the early ones, he did wish you’d give his tools back.”

Liza and Mabel traded a glance.

The same guilty look.

Their minds drifted—just for a moment—

Back to the weapons lying at home.

Still safe.

But then—

Mabel blinked.

“…Visits?”

Her voice came out quieter than she expected.

“Why would Dad come here?”

“How would he come here?”

It was Illyana’s turn to blink.

She raised a hand to her cheek—fingertips grazing skin in thought, not vanity.

“Mabel… do you not know?”

Her voice wasn’t mocking. Just surprised.

Genuinely, gently surprised.

“Vampires can appear before their lords at will—wherever they may be.”

“And that can be reversed.”

She paused, tilting her head, expression softening further.

“You never found it strange… that they’re never truly alone?”

Mabel and Liza locked eyes again.

Trying to confirm it between them.

Trying to un-know it.

But Illyana was right.

Every hunt had at least a pack of Commons.

Sometimes an Enforcer—probably the one who summoned them.

Even Count Sablefield had drawn others to him, rallied them through the chain.

Someone always called the others.

And then—

There was Dad.

Liza spoke the problem out loud.

“Wait… what do you mean, their lords?”

“Dad’s just a—”

She froze.

“Aw, slag.”