The Vampire's Court

Chapter 4- The Rose Thief

A week had passed since Lord Emmons' talk with his daughter. He had his own resignations of faltering to Seraphine's request so quickly, but she looked so... alive, now. Teeming with life, just like that rose.

The warm sunlight streaming through the windows of Morgan's study cast a sense of serenity, a feeling that was shattered by the sudden appearance of Withers in the doorway. His tall, imposing figure seemed to fill the frame, his dark eyes gleaming with an unnerving intensity. The air around him seemed to pulsate with an aura of power, sending a shiver down the spines of the staff who had hurriedly sent him to the lord's study.

Morgan, caught off guard, startled in his chair, his eyes widening in surprise. He quickly regained his composure, a forced smile spreading across his face. "Sir Withers! To what do I owe the pleasure?" He stood, extending a hand in greeting, expecting a handshake.

But Withers merely gazed at the offered hand, and back up at Morgan, his expression unreadable. His eyes seemed to bore into Morgan's very soul, making him feel uneasy, even threatened. Morgan's smile faltered, and he awkwardly retracted his hand, his eyes darting away from Withers' intense stare.

The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with unspoken meaning. Withers' voice, low and gravelly, sent a shiver throughout Morgan's body. "I'm here, Mr. Emmons... to collect a debt."

The words hung in the air, ominous and foreboding. Morgan's mind raced, wondering what debt Withers could possibly be referring to. He felt a sense of intense fear, a feeling that his world was about to be turned upside down.

Withers' gaze never wavered, his eyes pinning Morgan where he stood. The air seemed to thicken, the shadows in the room deepening, as if darkness itself was closing in. Morgan's heart sank, his instincts screaming at him to beware, to be prepared for the worst.

Morgan's eyes darted wildly, his mind racing as he struggled to comprehend the situation. "I—a—a debt? I—I don't—" he stammered, his words trailing off as Withers cut him off with a curt gesture.

Withers' hand emerged from his coat pocket, and Morgan's heart skipped a beat as he saw the grand white rose nestled in his fingertips. The flower glowing with a the same otherworldly light, its petals shimmering like gold in the sunlight. Morgan's eyes widened in horror as he recognized the rose, his mind reeling with the implications.

He knows...

"You stole from the Duke." Withers stated, his voice dripping with accusation. "Any other flower..." he shrugged, his expression dismissive, "he may have not been so privy to care. But these...," he gazed at the rose with an unsettling admiration, "these are his most prized flowers."

The air in the room seemed to thicken, the shadows deepening as if darkness itself was closing in. Morgan's heart sank, his instincts screaming at him to beware. The threatening aura emanating from Withers was palpable, making Morgan's skin crawl.

Withers' gaze snapped back to Morgan, his eyes glinting with an unnerving intensity. "Wh-what are you going to do to me?" Morgan stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Withers' smile was a thin, cruel line. "Not a thing," he said, his voice dripping with more icy malice. "I told you, I'm here to collect a debt."

Morgan's mind reeled as he struggled to comprehend the situation. "What does he want?" he asked, his voice shaking.

Withers' smile grew wider, sending a bone-chilling feeling down Morgan's spine. "What's most precious to you," he replied, his voice dripping with menace.

Morgan's mind reeled again as he struggled to comprehend what Withers meant, but then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Seraphine. The Duke wanted Seraphine.

His mind raced, he couldn't possibly go back on his word, not now. He had just promised his daughter she could find her own husband, in her own time. But it seemed fate had other plans.

Morgan's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the implications of Withers' words, but more importantly, the room around him. It was drenched in shadows on a perfectly sunny day. Everything about this moment seemed strange. Not human.

"What are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Withers' smile grew even more wild, his eyes flickering with an otherworldly intensity. "Ah, Mr. Emmons," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "You want to know what I am?"

Morgan nodded, his heart pounding in his chest.

Withers leaned forward, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "I am but a mere servant," he said. "A messenger, if you will."

Morgan's eyes widened, however determined to get an answer. "But what are you?" he repeated, his voice more insistent.

Withers chuckled, the sound sending shivers down Morgan's spine. "I am what I am," he said. "And you, Mr. Emmons, are but a mere mortal."

Morgan's mind was racing, his thoughts tumbling over each other in a mad dash to comprehend the situation. And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit him. "What... is the Duke?" he asked, his voice barely audible again.

Withers' smile grew even more wild than the first, his eyes glinting with an unnerving intensity. "Ah, the Duke," he said, his voice dripping with reverence. "He is...more powerful than your feeble mortal brain could possibly understand."

Morgan felt a shiver run down his spine, his mind reeling with the implications. Whatever the Duke was, he was dangerous. And Withers, his servant, was just as unsettling.

"I don't understand," Morgan said, his voice shaking slightly.

Withers leaned back in his chair, his smile growing even more enigmatic. "You don't need to understand," he said. "All you need to know is that the Duke's will is not to be trifled with."

Morgan nodded, his heart heavy with foreboding. He knew that he had to protect his daughter, Seraphine, at all costs. But how could he defend her against the Duke's wrath?

Morgan's face contorted in desperation as he begged, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, I'll give you anything! My farms, my land, I'll import rose seeds from all distant lands if it appeases him, just don't take my Sera!"

Withers' expression remained unmoved, his eyes glinting with a cruel light. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Mr. Emmons," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "The Duke wants only one thing: the girl."

Morgan's body seemed to crumple, his legs giving out beneath him as he fell to his knees. He grasped at Withers' coat, his hands shaking. "Please, I'll give you anything else! Just name it!"

Withers sneered, his lip curling up. "Ah, Mr. Emmons, you were so quick to sell your daughter off during our first encounter. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Morgan's eyes welled up with tears. "I promised her... I promised Seraphine she could find her own husband in her own time. I couldn't bear the thought of her being trapped in a loveless marriage."

Withers' laughter was harsh, cutting. "You dug your own grave, Mr. Emmons. Now figure out how to lie comfortably in it."

He turned to leave, his voice dripping with malice. "His grace is expecting your presence at Lord Somerset's ball, in a fortnight. The Duke wishes to catch a glimpse of his new bride. And remember, Emmons, not a word of this and what you know to anyone outside your daughter, or His Grace may just go and snap her pretty little neck."

Withers disappeared from the room, leaving Morgan alone on his knees, feeling hopeless. The silence was oppressive, the shadows in the room seeming to closing in around him. Morgan's body shook with sobs, his mind reeling with the implications, and the shock from sudden change in atmosphere. He had failed his daughter, and now she would pay the heaviest price.