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Considering the immortal lifespan of vampires, the king was also well aware that the only way for Kirill to achieve his goal of a monarchy was to either kill his father, or force him to step down.
     
    Every day Kirill considered both options very carefully.
     
    Thoughts of Etienne popped into his head and he smothered a snarl. He’d interfered on the werewolf prince’s behalf, stopping the trolls and the goblins from attempting to take advantage of the prince while he fought off a witch’s blessing that would have rendered him human. In the long run, it had been a smart move. Etienne’s blood was necessary for the prophecy unfolding at the World Tree and Kirill had no way of knowing if the prince’s blood would still have worked if he’d become human. However, there was no denying that in the short run, angering the goblins and trolls presented…issues.
     
    Kirill fixed his father with a look that had sent lesser men running screaming into the night. “Father, you of all people should know that sometimes a setback is necessary in order to take a substantial step forward.”
     
    A sharp bark of laughter burst from his father. “Indeed. After all, if that insipid coup of peasants hadn’t killed us all while we slept, we never would have risen as vampires.” His eyes sparkled with a red glow as he smirked at Kirill. “And I would not have the prospect of ruling Dacia for centuries to come.”
     
    Not if I can help it. Kirill gave him a cold smile. “How very optimistic of you.”
     
    “Now, now please don’t fight, you two,” Kirill’s mother interrupted. “I’m interviewing new handmaidens today and I need to be in a pleasant state of mind for the tasting. The last girl had far too much iron in her blood and I blame the two of you for distracting me too much to notice that when I took her on.”
     
    “My apologies, Mother,” Kirill said with a slight bow. “I’ll leave you alone to collect yourself. Have a pleasant evening.” Kirill turned to leave.
     
    “Not going to wish me a pleasant evening too, Kirill? Not very respectful…”
     
    Kirill shot his father a smile dripping with insincerity. “Oh, I do hope you have a pleasant evening, Father. After all, one never knows how many evenings one has left.”
     
    The threat brought a chuckle from his father and Kirill swept out of the room before he could be further tempted to try and wipe the mirth from the king’s face. He burst into the hallway and thundered through the various passageways of the palace, weaving in and out of secret rooms. The design of the castle was nearly as complicated as the layout of their kingdom itself, filled with twists and turns and dead ends. Only those intimately familiar with the castle could navigate it without hardship.
     
    Kirill finally reached his own private sanctuary. He pulled a key from a hidden pocket in his clothing and unlocked the door. The heavy wood swung open silently on greased hinges and Kirill sighed when he finally had it closed and locked behind him.
     
    The smell of ancient texts filled his nostrils and he drew the perfume deep into his lungs. He let his gaze rove around the room, the sight of all his parchments, scrolls, and ancient books like a balm to his soul. This was the true treasure of the kingdom. His father believed battles and blood paved the way to glory, but Kirill knew better. Knowledge was power, and if one could garner enough knowledge it would put him at a distinct advantage over his enemies. Only with knowledge could one properly plan for the future.
     
    “The future,” Kirill murmured. He stepped forward, gliding to the giant table that held an organized chaos of information. One scroll in particular drew his attention. It was so tattered that he feared even looking upon it was to risk its integrity. Touching it seemed an invitation for the parchment to turn to dust. Yet the words remained clear, flowing across the surface in smooth black lines. The magic of the