The morning in the Vampire Castle was never bright—

  but today, it was loud.

  Sunlight spilled freely through the high windows, making the castle shimmer more than usual, almost too alive for so early an hour.

  Joseph lay asleep beneath the velvet canopy of his bed, draped in sheets dyed deep midnight blue. His breathing was calm, steady... until—

  CLANG!

  A metal bucket hit stone somewhere in the hall.

  Then—

  "Hurry! Wipe the floor—quick!"

  "They'll be home any moment!"

  Whispers, footsteps, frantic rustling—an entire storm of noise trembling through the corridors.

  Joseph's eyes opened.

  For a few seconds, he just stared at the carved patterns above his bed, trying to understand if he was still dreaming. But the chaos outside continued—maids rushing, furniture being dragged, tapestries being straightened, floors being scrubbed.

  He let out a long exhale.

  "Seriously...?"

  He swung his legs off the bed and stood, the cold floor kissing his feet. His hair felt messy over his forehead as he walked toward the door, still drowsy.

  He pulled it open.

  Instantly—

  Every maid in the corridor froze.

  Buckets stopped midair. Brushes stiffened. A few maids gasped. Another dropped a cloth and scrambled to pick it up.

  "P-Prince Joseph!"

  "We—we are so sorry!"

  "We didn't know you were resting!"

  "Forgive us, my lord!"

  They bowed so fast their heads nearly hit the floor.

  Joseph sighed.

  "Please... don't worry," he said, rubbing his eyes slightly. "What's happening here? Why is the whole castle shaking from morning?"

  A braver maid stepped forward, bowing again. "My lord... today your elder brother and eldest sister are returning from the Royal Hunt."

  Joseph blinked.

  "Oh."

  The Royal Hunt—

  the elite sport of the royal bloodline. Months of traveling, battles, rituals, prestige.

  His brother and sister always made an event of their return.

  The other maids were about to slip away after giving him the news, but Joseph's voice cut through gently.

  "Wait."

  All of them stopped.

  He pointed to one maid in particular—the youngest-looking one, carrying a folded cloth nervously in her hands.

  "You. Stay."

  Her eyes widened, and she stiffened like a statue.

  The others exchanged looks, half nervous and half envious, then hurried away.

  Now, only the two of them remained in the long corridor, quiet except for distant cleaning sounds.

  The maid lowered her head instantly.

  "M-My lord, forgive me if I have done anything displeasing... I-I didn't mean to dishonour you in any way—"

  Joseph's jaw tightened.

  Not again.

  He stepped forward in a smooth motion, placed his hands lightly—but firmly—on her shoulders, guiding her to stand straight with a subtle surge of power. She gasped softly as her back straightened automatically.

  "Hey," Joseph said, lowering his face closer to hers, eyes narrowing with a hint of mischief.

  "Stop apologizing. You've done nothing wrong."

  Her cheeks flared bright red.

  Her breath hitched.

  She stared into his eyes as if unable to break away.

  Prince Joseph.

  This close.

  Holding her shoulders.

  Her thoughts were clearly not about castle duties anymore.

  "I just want to talk to you," he added in a low voice. "Something I don't want others to overhear."

  Her eyes widened even more, and her lips parted slowly. She swallowed, then looked down in pure embarrassment.

  "M-My lord..." she whispered timidly. "I... I understand you might have your... needs. But our purity is also very precious to us maids..."

  Joseph froze.

  "..."

  His expression turned into the most glorious, confused question mark the castle had ever seen.

  "Needs?" he repeated flatly.

  She nodded, still blushing furiously.

  Then it clicked.

  Joseph almost choked on air.

  "NO—no, no!" He pulled his hands away instantly and waved them frantically. "What?! I didn't mean THAT! Absolutely not!"

  She lifted her head a little, startled.

  "I just want to ask some general things about the castle! That's it!"

  Silence.

  Then she exhaled a breath of relief, her face still red, but her body relaxing slightly. Joseph placed a hand on the back of his neck, embarrassed, muttering:

  "Why does everyone always jump to the strangest conclusion around me...?"

  She finally looked up at him properly—eyes soft, still shy, but no longer trembling.

  "I... I understand now, my lord. Forgive my misunderstanding."

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  Joseph gave a helpless half-smile.

  "Yeah. Good. Now, can we talk?"

  She nodded lightly, clutching her cloth to her chest as if it were a shield.

  The maid's face was still flushed pink, her hands nervously tightening around the hem of her apron as she waited for Joseph's explanation. The corridor around them buzzed with distant footsteps and hurried voices, the entire castle vibrating with the restless energy of preparation. Yet in this tiny pocket of space, everything felt suspended—just Joseph and this trembling girl who couldn't lift her eyes.

  Joseph sighed softly, running a hand through his hair before steadying his voice.

  "I said... I want to talk with you," he repeated, calmer this time. "Not that."

  His tone softened, but his expression sharpened—focused, intent, almost pleading for clarity.

  The maid swallowed hard and nodded, still red to the ears.

  "Y-Yes, Prince Joseph. Then... what would you like to know?"

  Joseph leaned one shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms, trying to appear relaxed even though something cold and restless twisted inside his chest.

  "What is the Queen doing on the throne?" he asked. "And why?"

  The question hit her like a blade. Her expression tightened; she hesitated and glanced around nervously, as if the walls themselves would report her words back to someone powerful.

  "My Prince..." she whispered, voice trembling. "This... this is not something a maid should speak about."

  Joseph didn't move, but his presence pressed forward—dark, silent, unmistakably authoritative.

  His eyes, sharp and unreadable, locked onto hers until she felt cornered emotionally rather than physically.

  "I'm not asking you as just someone," he murmured. "I'm asking you as the King's son."

  Her breath caught. For a moment she simply stood there, fingers trembling, lips pressed thin. Then—slowly—she nodded.

  "It began... after some years, when you were sent to the human world," she said quietly. "The King... the King began feeling sick."

  Joseph's brows furrowed.

  "Sick? Father never gets sick. He's a pureblood—"

  "Yes."

  She clasped her hands together. "At first, His Majesty ignored it. It was nothing more than headaches, dizziness... but then it grew worse. And when the pain became unbearable, the royal healers checked him, and they discovered something inside him..."

  Her voice dropped to barely a breath.

  "Demonic power."

  Joseph's heart stalled.

  "...What?"

  She nodded fearfully. "Yes, Prince. Demonic energy... rooted deep within him. Corrupting him. Draining him. Eating him alive day by day."

  A cold chill crept up Joseph's spine. Rage, confusion, fear—everything tangled in his chest.

  "And how," he demanded, "did demonic energy get inside the King?"

  The maid inhaled shakily.

  "Her Majesty... the Queen... claimed she knew why."

  She paused. "She accused... Lady Aria."

  Joseph felt his entire body tense, every muscle turning to stone.

  "My mother?"

  The words snapped out of him sharper than steel.

  "Yes, Prince."

  The maid flinched at the harshness in his voice but forced herself to continue.

  "The Queen said it was Lady Aria's fault... that she brought the demonic curse into the castle."

  Joseph's jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

  "Explain."

  "The dagger..." she whispered. "The dagger used to kill Lady Aria... it was contaminated with demonic energy."

  For a moment, Joseph forgot how to breathe.

  The dagger...

  The night...

  The blood...

  The memory of his mother collapsing in darkness—

  His heart tightened painfully.

  The maid continued, voice trembling.

  "At first, the King thought the humans had sided with demons... that they attacked Lady Aria under demonic influence. But when the mob who attacked her were interrogated..."

  She lifted her eyes, horrified.

  "They remembered nothing, Prince. Nothing at all. As if their minds were wiped. Controlled."

  Joseph leaned against the wall, stunned.

  Pieces of his visions, memories, nightmares—everything twisted together into a violent knot inside him.

  Demons.

  It was demons.

  They targeted his mother.

  His family.

  His entire existence.

  He whispered, half to himself, half in disbelief—

  "...So Mother was telling me the truth... even in the vision."

  The maid looked at him with confused sympathy but did not interrupt.

  Joseph dragged a hand across his face, frustration and grief burning through his veins.

  He forced himself to steady.

  "What happened after?" he asked quietly.

  The maid hesitated again—but he waited, gaze steady and sharp, leaving her no choice.

  "When the King couldn't find any cure," she said slowly, "the illness grew worse. He could barely stand. Some days he couldn't even speak. The Queen... she said the empire needed strength... that Lady Aria cursed the King before her death... and that she alone was fit to take the throne."

  Joseph's breath trembled.

  "And Father...?"

  "He collapsed."

  Her voice cracked. "One day, in the throne room... he collapsed and never woke again."

  The corridor seemed to shrink around him.

  Joseph's fingers curled into fists as he stared at the floor, his vision blurring with the weight of everything.

  The Queen dethroned him.

  Mother was framed.

  Father was poisoned with demonic corruption.

  The throne stolen.

  The truth buried.

  All while Joseph... was gone.

  A sickening ache pulsed behind his ribs, a hollow pain that spread through his chest like a slow poison.

  The maid continued hesitantly, "And the King—"

  He interrupted "I know," he said softly. "I've... already seen him."

  The maid's eyes widened.

  "You've seen His Majesty?"

  Joseph gave a slow nod, his jaw tightening as the image resurfaced—his father lying still beneath the shimmering drapes, pale as moonlight.

  "Yesterday. He is alive. Barely. Breathing... but not himself."

  The maid lowered her head.

  "Yes, Prince. That is how he has been... for centuries. He never woke again after that day."

  She wrung her hands, voice trembling.

  "The healers only manage to keep his body stable. They say his spirit is... trapped. Bound by the demonic corruption inside him."

  Joseph inhaled sharply through his nose, the memory of seeing his father—motionless, pale, his once-mighty aura dimmed to a flicker—burning like fire in his chest.

  The maid continued, voice small:

  "Everyone in the castle knows... the King still lives. But the Queen hides his true condition from the empire. She tells the people he is resting from old wounds... but we all know the truth, Prince. He has never opened his eyes."

  Joseph closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.

  The knowledge wasn't new—but hearing the truth from another mouth twisted the pain deeper.

  Joseph pressed his hand over his face, tilting his head back as if searching for strength in the ceiling above.

  A long, heavy breath escaped him—exhausted, angry, heartbroken.

  Everything... everything he missed.

  Everything done behind his back.

  Everything stolen from him.

  He dropped his hand and exhaled shakily.

  "...Thank you," he murmured. "You can go."

  The maid bowed deeply and hurried away, still trembling, still red-faced, but grateful to escape.

  Joseph pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside.

  For a moment he just stood there in silence, letting the shadows of the room settle around him.

  Then, without another thought, he walked toward the bath.

  Steam filled the air.

  Water poured.

  Clothes dropped.

  And Joseph sank into the warmth, letting the heat calm the storm raging inside him just enough to breathe.

  He washed.

  He dressed.

  He prepared.

  Because today...

  his brother and sister were returning.

  And everything in this castle — every lie, every truth, every hidden sin—

  was about to unfold before him.

  To be Continued...