When Rey was young, his organs had started failing.

At least, that was how it had been for the real him — not this body he’d snatched unconsciously from beyond the grave.

He’d spent decades as a walking, talking pharmacy. 

Now, Rey marveled at the feeling of waking up each morning. To just be able to open his eyes, stand up on legs free of pain and swelling, and exist.

There weren’t handfuls of pills to swallow. He didn’t have glasses to scramble for on his messy nightstand or sweaty sheets to haul to the washer. There were no nattering parents to worry over him with a trembling lip. There was only his personal Icarus, who waited patiently in the hallway each morning until he heard Rey begin to stir. Then, he would brush wordlessly through the door, tend the dredges of Rey’s fire, and lay out his clothes for the day.

And it was all…okay. But the renewed sense of vitality this new body gave him, and what was probably extra blood thanks to the King’s biweekly bite, made Rey feel…itchy.

There were still two weeks to go before Sophia’s elaborate birthday party. And though the tailors and the rotating crew of merchants visiting to seek the palace’s business brought a little life to the dreary castle, Rey still had long stretches — previously filled by the alluring glow of his phone or the necessity of acting as his own organs — that went silent and lonely.

It was on the second week since that initial outing to the Dondes’ that Rey — bored to tears as he’d become remarkably used to being — discovered the palace’s training grounds.

They weren’t easy to find. They’d been carefully tucked away behind a layer of thick, dark trees and dense fog that hugged the shore of the palace’s larger lake. Rey had been driven by some mysterious knowing feeling, like he’d walked this path before. A well-worn tread that reminded him of the walkway of his parents’ modest suburban home.

The facility was not modest. Half a dozen sizable barracks lined either side of a substantial field, several soldiers either working with a straw target or another recruit in the center. A smattering of fires, crackling in the frigid tundra air, played host to cloistered groups of officers and lower ranks alike.

It seemed to be a healthy mix of humans and vampires. Rey had learned how to most easily tell them apart in the intervening weeks. It was almost too easy now, revealed in a slightly pointed ear — a pupil shaped just a shade unnaturally — the feeling of being watched. 

“My Lord?” A voice behind him — familiar as it was — sounded confused. Rey glanced in the direction of the noise, meeting Calvin’s narrowed eyes. “Are you lost?”

Rey was struck suddenly by a crashing wave of embarrassment. Calvin had traded in the rakish court clothes from their trip to the Dondes’ for a starched uniform of navy blue. The chest of his jacket was a hard line of polished silver buttons, and Calvin’s entire manner had shed its relaxation from the carriage for a stern expression of patient expectation.

Right. Wasn’t Calvin the King’s most distinguished General? He probably couldn’t afford to goof off in front of his subordinates.

“General.” Rey said with a nod. “I, uh…I don’t mean to interrupt. Only, I’m going stiff reading in the library.”

Calvin quirked one brow, turning safely out of view of the other officers. His platinum hair was slicked back and stiff, even in the howling winds whipping at Rey’s fur-lined coat. “That’s probably a result of the engorging process. It can leave you energized if your body takes to it well.” He hummed. “Were you looking to channel that energy into something?”

Rey flushed. “I…well, if I wouldn’t be in the way, I think I could use some exercise. But if I’m interrupting…”

“Not in the least.” Some of the ease was returning to Calvin’s expression. “We’re in a fairly relaxed posture until our scouts return from the conflict zone, so you’ve picked a good time.” He gestured to what appeared to be an equipment shed. “Follow me.”

Rey had grown used to the eyes that trailed after him in the palace. Most, nearly all, were simply curious or friendly. The occasional few were full of jealousy. Rarer still was true malice, usually reserved for human servants — possibly forced to serve by circumstance — with deeply ingrained prejudice.

He felt none of that from the soldiers. Instead, there was an unusual solidarity reflecting back at him.

They weren’t obvious about it, but they sat a little straighter as he passed. Offered curt waves and aborted bows. 

“Do they know of me well?” Rey asked, standing back so Calvin could haul the shed door up and over the snowdrift. “I didn’t think they’d be super happy to see the King’s…uh, kept man?”

“You seem to know remarkably little of our culture for someone who approached the palace gates of his own volition.”

Calvin’s demeanor, even more relaxed, was still unsettling. Especially given their interactions in the carriage. Rey did his best to act like it didn’t bother him at all. “I was only asking.”

Calvin finally cleared the embankment, stomping into the shed with his heavy boots and lighting a lantern hanging in the center. “The soldiers are grateful to you. With Leo at full strength, the likelihood of an end to the conflict — or at least a ceasefire for negotiations — gets higher. No one down south wants to face someone of the royal bloodline with a dedicated concubine.”

“Why didn’t he take one before me, then?” Rey ducked into the structure, not quite used to his height. “I’m sure there were plenty of people who would’ve loved to take the job.”

“That’s…complicated.” Calvin said, and guided him to a wall over longswords. Wait, how did he know they were longswords? “And not my story to tell. 

“Right.”

Calvin ran his white, gloved fingers over the hilts where they were mounted to the wood. “Now, let’s see which of these suits you best. Start on the left here — I’ll show you what to look for.”