Lizzie traveled light, and therefore only had one bag with her, so instead of opening the trunk, she set the bag in the backseat. The keys were in the ignition, and she found it odd that nobody had tried to steal it. But then again, people might have known just who the car belonged to and decided it wasn't worth the risk.

The drive took another hour due to just how deep into the woods the castle was. The terrain was the same, woodsy surrounding. There were no trails here, no place for people to camp. She could probably be killed out here, and no one would hear her scream.

Unlike werewolves, vampires integrated into city life without a problem – except the royal family. They preferred the peace, quiet, and privacy the forestry surrounding Somerset provided, and had settled there around the same time the city was founded, in the early seventeen hundreds. The tall, thick trees gave them protection from prying eyes and any attacks on themselves or their territory. Coming from Eastern Europe – Elise was originally from Russia before moving to Romania to study at a university – the family was used to the cold, and therefore had no problem with the snow, fog, and wind that prevailed Somerset’s winter months.

When she arrived, she parked the car in the driveway, and for a moment, she simply stared. The castle was styled as gothic, built out of dark grey stone, and she was certain that it had been constructed with the time of Vladislaus' transformation – or Rebirth, as the history textbooks called it – in mind. It was tall, dark and imposing, with pointed roves and square balconies. There were no guards marching on the balconies, no guards in front of the heavy, stone entranceway. Weren’t they supposed to be heavily guarded? Or did it not matter, since they were capable of defending themselves against most attacks? The windows were all pointed and closed – probably because of the bitter wind currently tousling her hair around - and she wondered how a family of four could live in such a big space without feeling isolated.

"Miss Grant?" a soft, tenor voice inquired.

Lizzie tore her eyes away from her temporary new home to regard who had spoken her name. It was a man she didn’t recognize, probably a servant.

"May I take your bags?" he asked her as he descended from the doorway and approached her as she exited her vehicle. The door was stone and appeared to be three times as tall as he was and heavier than the car she would be driving for however long this mission would last, which had an intricate design carved into it; a dragon breathing out fire, from the looks of it.

"I only have the bag," she told him, indicating the backpack sitting in the backseat.

Without waiting for permission, he reached down to grab it, and then turned back around, indicating that Lizzie should follow. She hated just how obviously awed she was by this place, but she couldn't help it. When they reached the interior of it, the butler shut the large doors behind them, and again, she could only stare. The ceiling was so high – so incredibly high she had to bend her neck back to see the top of it – with Turkish artwork dating back to the late thirteen hundreds painted into it. There were various staircases and balconies covered in rich crimson carpet, and on the walls was more art. Lizzie was certain she’d get lost in the maze no matter how long she spent here. The floor was stone, just like the door, and she knew if she didn’t wear at least socks, her feet would get extremely cold.

It took her a minute, but she suddenly realized something was missing.

"Where, exactly, is this blood-sucker in dire need of a babysitter?" she asked, her voice laced with dryness as she placed her hands on her hips. It would have been nice if he met her at the door. Already she felt herself develop a small dislike for the guy.

"By blood-sucker, I'm sure you mean prince," a voice just as dry as hers said. She didn't need to turn around to know that it was Nikolai. “You forget your place, Miss Grant. Despite your inferior humanity, you are speaking of a royal and you should address me with respect.”

He had a thick, Russian accent with a hint of Romanian sprinkled in for flare. It was cold and deep, like velvet sheets.

Forget small, she could feel herself develop a big dislike for this vampire, royalty or not.

Even though she could begrudgingly admit that he was right.