Reign of Blood

Chapter Five

Castle Solum was easily the oldest building in all of Veneficus. Incidentally, it was the building in which Annaliese had spent her entire life. She wasn't sheltered by any means, but she'd always had a taste for luxury.

A taste for danger and shadows. A taste for thrones and gold. A taste for respect and admiration.

At the same time, she'd always had a taste for darkness. Though Castle Solum was old and beautiful, it had always been a mask for the horrors contained within. The very horrors she'd been raised by. Inside, there was little light to the castle, especially now it was inhabited by vampires.

Annaliese had grown up in that darkness. It was no wonder she'd adopted some of her own.

At the door to her Goddaughter's spire, Annaliese didn't stop to knock. She gave the door a hard push and entered of her own accord, calling out in an all too happy voice, "Room service!" The heavy door slammed shut behind her. "Zazreen, you'd better not still be in bed."

Currently, Annaliese was giving out what she liked to call 'Queen Lessons.' Almost two decades ago, a friend- of sorts- had died, leaving Annaliese the soul guardian of his shy, timid little daughter. The whole affair of where she'd go was deeply rooted in scandal- as was typical for anyone with witchy ties- but Annaliese had stepped up when the situation called for it.

It went like this: her dead parents had asked Annaliese to raise the baby right before they'd succumbed to a mysterious illness whilst the vampires had choked on copious amounts of sick and blood realising what said arrangement would entail.

Their future monarch was to be raised by an evil witch Queen. Oh the joy!

Now she had a God daughter to govern.

Her name was Nazreen.

She was a funny little thing. If her species was anything to go by, then there was no reason for that kid to be anything but unstoppable. The strength of a vampire and the power of a witch? Unimaginable. And yet the bleeder was- much to Annaliese's contempt- working well below average.

Since her Mother had been a witch and her Father had been a vampire, Nazreen was an odd mix of both.

And yet she wasn't truly either.

Unlike the vampires, she didn't drink blood. In fact, the mere smell of it sickened the little bleeder. She'd tried- Annaliese had encouraged her to try- and yet she'd turned her nose away, not so bravely telling the Queen that she 'couldn't stomach the stuff.'

It was laughable. A vampire that didn't like the taste of blood.

Then there was her witch side.

Contrary to common belief, the witches couldn't simply pop out their cauldrons and broomsticks and do whatever spell they pleased. A witch was born with a field of expertise. Where hers was blood and her good friend (basically sister) Evette's was the future, Zazreen had nothing.

Or maybe she did. Assuming she did, it was yet to come to light.

Annaliese would assume she did.

There had to be something going for the girl.

It was with questions like this that the Queen missed her old friend the most. All she'd have had to do was pop for a quick mental jaunt to the future and she'd have had all the answers to the Queen's questions.

Now she was forced to wait and wonder like every other Oracle-less nobody out there.

Living like the peasants.

"Nazreen?"

She heard a groan from the bed.

"When will you learn that this isn't how Queens are supposed to behave?" She traipsed over to the canopy bed, depositing herself at the end of it. "At least try being hungover if you're going to spend the entire day in bed. You need an epic excuse. Sleeping in is for the weak. If you don't exit this chamber, you'll never get the upper hand on your enemy because you don't know your enemy. Then, in your absence, they will assume you're weak and make a try for your throne. You don't want that so stop moping, clean your face and get out."