The door hadn't shut in place before Julien threw a wad of clothes at Rowan. "Get out."

Rowan didn't oblige, instead reaching for the discarded projectile on the floor. Julien threw a pillow this time, missing Rowan by a couple of feet. 

"I said get out," his words had no real bite to them. "Lest you bleed all over the floor."

When his guard didn't reply and just continued to pick up discarded clothing and the pillow off the floor, Julien groaned. Both knew the wound had likely stopped bleeding, but it was the only reason Julien had to get Rowan to leave him alone.

The prince was aware that he was acting like a rebellious teen, but he really did want his privacy. Rowan was always around him, never away for more than the few hours he did sleep in the guard's quarters, and while Julien didn't mind the company, it was just another reminder of his dependency on other people. 

It wasn't something he could just tell Rowan, he'd just tell Julien that he was a Rosenthal and that that's how it was for a person of his status. Like everyone else told him. 

But it wasn't like Julien was a true Rosenthal, now was he? Why couldn't his guard see that?

While living his lavish and privileged life as a prince was enjoyable, Julien almost envied the human servants who could freely walk the streets and live without expectations. Even vampires and dhampirs without a clan had more independence than him. 

This wasn't the first time Julien's anger and jealousy over the freedoms of other beings made him lash out. Since Ivan had insisted the two youngest princes received guards till their maturity age, Julien had been nothing but hostile and impossible with his guards. Every year it seemed the Rosenthal's would have to find a replacement, and at the height of his vampiric puberty and a newfound sense of powers, guards were replaced weekly. Julien's record was annoying one of his guards to quit in just two hours.

And yet, Rowan had been the guard to last the longest. After twenty-five years of trying to break his resolve, Rowan refused to budge. It had annoyed Julien that his usual tactics and hungry appetite hadn't been enough to push him away; even his more devious and often cruel methods weren't enough to sway him. 

As much as he hated to admit it, he was growing way too attached to the idea of having Rowan as a guard. Now that he knew Rowan was willing to stay at his side, Julien was finding it harder to detach his personal feelings. Despite all of Rowan's mysterious peculiarities, Julien enjoyed his presence far more than he probably should've, which only added to his current frustrations. 

Rowan finished folding the clothes Julien had thrown at him and set them on the foot of the bed.

"Get out," Julien said in a bitter tone, pushing them to the floor as a cat would. "I don't want to see your face."

Rowan froze, and for a moment, Julien wondered if he had finally struck a nerve with his guard. Instead, Rowan blinked unamused and quipped, "if that was your attempt at coercion, you've definitely regressed since our run-in with the Coalition."

"You're so annoying," Julien groaned. "I wouldn't coerce you—probably wouldn't even work on your stubborn ass. But I might have to try if you don't get out of my sight and at least wrap it correctly. You know, with an actual bandage. Suck the poison out of it or whatever."

Rowan narrowed his eyes at that. "If it's the skimpy clothing you're concerned about, I said I'd buy you another."

Julien scoffed. "Skimpy, he says. That's not why I'm mad."

Mad being an exaggeration, Rowan assumed. He had seen Julien mad a handful of times, and this was nothing more than a moody hot and cold that Julien was having more frequently as of late. "What is your concern?"

"None of your business," Julien snarked back. 

It had everything to do with his business as his guard, but Rowan wasn't about to antagonize him further. Instead, he picked up the toppled clothes and placed them back onto Julien's bed wordlessly. With no other side comment, Rowan stepped back and lowered his head. 

"I shall take my leave, then."

"Where are you going?" Julien asked as if he wasn't the very one asking Rowan to leave. Had Julien been able to shift like the werewolves and other shifters, Rowan would've bet Julien was a domestic house cat. A feisty, loud, and promiscuous cat that couldn't decide whether he wanted his guard's presence or not. 

"I should inform lord Ivan about the attack," Rowan stated. "In addition to getting this small cut inspected, as you wish."

"Good." Julien crossed his arms. "I'd hate for one of my guests to be distracted by the scent of your blood while I'm trying to feed. It's a real turn-off when they're trying to feed from you or sleep with you."

"Noted," Rowan deadpanned before making his way out of Julien's room. He could imagine the unpleasant faces Julien made behind him as he shut the door behind him and made his way to the main hall. 

The halls were fairly silent, sans the few servants with cleaning supplies or trays of food. Rowan nodded in acknowledgment to those who passed him on his way to the eastern wing, where the guest and guard's rooms and infirmary remained. It wouldn't take long to clean and bandage the wound he sustained, though it was likely beginning to heal already. It was probably best to get it taken care of first, in addition to his lack of decent attire.

The cool draft from the bay windows incentivized him to change his outfit first. He pulled the key from his pocket to open his nearly abandoned room, finding it to be in the same barren state it always was left in. He'd usually sleep on Julien's couch—if it was clean—rather than walk the distance to his room. And with the influx of people coming and going at night, it made little sense for Rowan to spend the nights here. 

Rowan pulled a black turtleneck off a hanger, one of many black or dark grey attire, and pulled a pair of sleek black pants from the shelf. He stripped whatever had remained from Julien's cropped shirt and instantly felt more comfortable with a longer and more covered top. He grabbed his spare knives and concealed them along his waist and pockets. 

Once content that he was fully equipped, he stepped out and headed down the hall to reach the infirmary. While most vampires could heal wounds through feeding, an infirmary was still necessary for severe injuries and the sake of human or dhampir workers. It was uncommon for Rosenthal staff to leave the premises—most lived in the servant quarters—and the nearest hospital was further in the city. Leaving the estate injured was just asking for trouble for a human working in a vampire clan.

It was no surprise to see a few servants already inside the infirmary, but Rowan wasn't expecting to see the first daughter of the Rosenthal clan, Lucy. He hadn't fully entered the room before Lucy was striding over to wrap him in her arms. Rowan stiffened as he always did from her hugs, but she long understood that he meant no offense by it. 

"Why, hello, Rowan. It's good to see you." She beamed before noticing the makeshift tourniquet. "Not in this circumstance."

Rowan watched as she pulled his arm toward her, inspecting the bandaged wound. The humans behind her kept their eyes downcast, all sporting what appeared to be minor injuries they were treating. "A run-in with the Coalition. Prince Julien has requested I have it looked at. He'd rather I not spill blood all over his carpets."

She laughed as she unwrapped the cloth, looking at the wound that was, as he expected, healing already. While it looked inflamed and red from the poison, it didn't appear to be throbbing or spreading. "Because he hasn't spilled blood everywhere from feeding before. So spiteful, that one. Luckily, this should heal nicely once the poison is properly flushed out. Have you been feeding as usual?"

Rowan nodded, adding as she guided him to one of the beds to sit, "I had a blood bag earlier today." He looked beside him, noticing her lady-in-waiting sitting on one of the patient beds. As Lucy returned with bandages and antiseptic, Rowan said, "you have not returned to your home. Is everything alright?"

She pursed her lips, yet the slight smile remained. She handed the bottle of antiseptic to Rowan, which he graciously took. "You've always been a clever one, haven't you? Hilda is experiencing abdominal pains consistent with those expecting."

Rowan got to work cleaning the wound and glanced between the two of them, watching as Hilda placed a hand against her abdomen. While most would be thrilled to be expecting, Hilda's furrowed brows and frown said quite the opposite. "Complications?"

"To be expected," she said. "As it is with a union between a dhampir and a vampire."

While Rowan knew Hilda was a dhampir and that a union between one with a vampire was often frowned upon in vampiric society, Rowan didn't imagine that a pregnancy would be medically complicated. He wasn't typically nosy, but Lucy was one of the few that Rowan enjoyed conversations with. "The father?"

The two looked away, almost immediately alerting that that was possibly the complicated part and not the pregnancy part at all. Lucy looked to Hilda for permission, which was offered as a stiff nod. "Solomon."

Rowan blinked, the image of the fifth son, that seemed to hate everybody flashing in his mind. It was comical—in the fact that it was Solomon, not because of the complications it would bring—and Rowan could imagine how amusing Julien would've found it had he been here. 

Hilda cleared her throat, speaking for the first time since Rowan arrived. "He is unaware, but I am certain; he is the only one I've been with in years. I don't know how he will react."

Rowan understood her silent plea. "Your secret remains safe with me."

"Thank you." 

Lucy rubbed her back. "In any case, Hilda will be in my care, and I will ensure that everything goes smoothly regardless. I don't care what they say about her or her child. We vampires and dhampirs are not that far unlike each other."

Rowan agreed as he held out his arm, the wound closing enough that a simple bandaid would suffice. He pulled one from the kit and placed it on. Lucy looked ready to say more, but Rowan stood from the bed and bowed. "I should report to Ivan over the incident with Coalition. Take care of yourself, "he told them. "I hope everything goes well with miss Hilda."

Lucy grasped his hands and squeezed. "Thank you, Rowan. I should be saying the same to you. After all, I don't know who's worse, dealing with Solomon or Julien."

Rowan gave her an amused smile before bowing once more and exiting the room. He headed back down the main hall, heading up the grand staircase that led to the lord and oldest children's quarters. 

But as he turned a corner to head down the hall that led to the throne room, a hand from the shadows emerged, wielding a knife that swiftly came right towards his throat. He hadn't heard, smelled, or even seen the person in the shadows, a spot so cleverly masked from plain sight that Rowan would've been impressed if there was not a threat of the Coalition or a potential ragtag team of vampires led by his father out there. 

The knife dug into his skin as the assailant's voice said accusatorily, "you're working for the Coalition, aren't you?"