Rowan had been on the run for nearly half his life. Endured things Julien couldn’t even think of, and yet, Julien’s line of questioning was enough to send him back into a spiral. He had spent years pushing away and hiding his past under lock and key, and suddenly everything was being unraveled. 

Well, mostly everything.

He knew better than to divulge everything about Oscar or even brush upon the information Ivan had entrusted with him, especially about Marlon. While clumsy and mischievous to a fault, Julien was smarter than he looked. 

If he said too much, Julien could guess; said too little, and he’d grow suspicious. 

It was a careful line he needed to tread. 

Especially if Julien were to coerce the information out of him, Julien had told him that he wouldn’t cross that line, but it was still well within reason for a prince of the royal family to coerce a guard for information. It didn’t matter that Rowan was older; Julien’s social standing outranked him. 

“I ran into him the night I saved your siblings, the twins,” Rowan said once inside the privacy of his room, which was closer to the training ground than Julien’s. He didn’t intend to share everything, only the necessary bits and pieces to satisfy Julien, at least for now. 

A playful smirk danced on Julien’s face as Rowan released his grip on the prince’s wrist. 

“Had I known you were going to drag me back to your place, I would’ve worn something different,” Julien teased, daringly reaching his hand to Rowan’s chest. Though his guard wouldn’t harm him, Julien’s light tap to his chest was hesitant. He had already struck a nerve with Rowan on the training grounds; it was impossible to gauge when Rowan’s stoicism would dissipate. It only took his narrowed eyes for Julien to add, “Right, right. Spies could be anywhere.”

When Rowan said nothing, Julien fell back onto the bed, his arms outstretched, exposing his pale stomach. Though faint, he could almost smell his guard’s scent from the pristinely made bed. Julien hadn’t been in Rowan’s quarters long before; the lack of decor and clutter was shocking. The longer he stared around the room, it looked hardly lived in, as he had just moved in a month ago, not twenty and odd some years. 

He had almost forgotten what Rowan was trying to bring up. “During the parade, right? All they said was that you were some good samaritan that saved them from an attack.”

Rowan tilted his head. While it was a true summation, much had been omitted over the years.

Julien had likely heard the watered-down version, the events happening when he was younger. As an immature vampire, he likely hadn’t left the estate often, too sheltered from the outside world for his own benefit. After the death of Owain and increasing threats, Ivan had done everything in his power to keep his children safe—well, long enough to reach maturity and confidence in defending themselves. 

Julien likely had faced the same treatment, even as Ivan’s half-child. 

“Prince Laurent hosted a parade to honor a mortal’s holiday with your siblings. Mortals and creatures were all invited, a perfect breeding ground for trouble.” Rowan recounted the events that had led up to the event. Banners and parchment posters were hung all over Laurent’s region for months before it, marketed like a proud celebration. There was no building without some sort of infographic pasted to its walls. The city was known for accepting different species, hosting various events to encourage inter-species relations, and it’s center for trade—a perfect place for a rogue vampire to slip into the crowd and hide.

The perfect place for Rowan to survive while on his own. And yet, he had foolishly believed he’d be safe from his father’s reach. It seemed every city or village Rowan had found a semblance of a safe haven; Oscar was right around the corner, instilling the same fear from the night he left his childhood home. 

“Surely there were a lot of guards, though.” Julien’s curiosity brought Rowan back to the present. He sat up, clutching one of his pillows. “My family wouldn’t be that stupid.”

Rowan hadn’t recalled if there had been particularly more guards than normal for a parade—mainly because he had done his best to avoid such high-profile events. Still, he did remember the intensity of the guards he stumbled into during the parade, especially Lance. Lord Ivan’s personal guard had been in attendance, overseeing the safety of the lord and his royal children. 

“It’s impossible to predict everyone’s intentions in a public setting,” Rowan said. “Besides, they were probably focused on the humans, fae, or other creatures who loathed them. Not on their own kind, especially at such a public event.”

“They hadn’t told me about that,” Julien said. “I was told it had been a bunch of humans, most likely the Coalition before it was named that, who held a grudge over Ivan.”

“It wasn’t,” Rowan said. “It had been dhampirs and vampires amongst the crowd then—a vigilante group, or what they claimed. A clan of rogue vampires and other outcasts that held a grudge over the royal family.”

Julien whispered, “Oscar’s clan?”

Rowan nodded, even if it wasn’t the full truth. While Oscar likely loathed anyone with more power than his own, especially Ivan Rosenthal, there was still a layer of mystery behind that particular event. “Lord Ivan likely hid the truth from the public and his children all for a reason, the same reason you shouldn’t be saying his name so freely. It would’ve caused a frenzy. One that only would feed into Oscar’s thirst for bloodshed and death. It would feed his clan and encourage them to grow stronger.”

Julien cocked a brow. “And I’m supposed to believe you stopped a rogue vampire group alone?”

Rowan gritted his teeth, his face void of emotion. 

“No offense.” Julien held up his hands in surrender. “I just find it hard to believe that you managed to thwart them when you weren’t a trained guard then. And, if you’re this against drinking live blood, I’m certain you weren’t completely full and at full strength all the time either.”

“It was one of hundreds,” Rowan rectified, looking past the prince and towards the window. Some nights he could still picture the crazed dhampir he had struck down that night. He hadn’t known his name, but the desire for blood and chaos in his eyes reminded him so much of Oscar. Rowan had seen him in the crowds, tracking the royals in the parade keenly, his fangs flashing amongst the people. Behind him, he could spot the intimidating figure of Oscar in the crowd. Fear had washed over him, freezing him to the ground while the cacophony of the parade continued on, unaware that a murderous and insane vampire was there ready to hunt. 

He didn’t know why or how he had the courage to intervene, even as Oscar stared him down, obviously watching Rowan’s movements amusedly as his lackey waited for the right timing. As the parade turned down the narrow corridor, the dhampir advanced, pushing past the crowd with no remorse, his eyes set on the royal family. Despite the slew of guards and human police officers, no one had paid any mind to the one individual; after all, dhampirs were welcome here, easily blending in with the mortals. 

And then, chaos exploded. Parade watchers had watched in horror as other dhampirs emerged from the crowd, pushing the humans and police officers into the streets and throwing makeshift Molotov cocktails at businesses. Glass shattered, disrupting the pleasant sound of musicians and cheers from the crowds. 

A diversion, Rowan had realized, was slowly playing out—a distraction from the main event. Rowan turned back to the royal family, only to see the dhampir gaining on them, sneaking past the crowd’s roar as their guards scrambled to find the source of the chaos.

Rowan’s feet were moving toward the royal assembly as fast as he could, weaving through the relentless crowd. He was no vigilante, no hero in his mind, but it was possible his guilty conscience had told him to take action. He had let Oscar get away before, slipping past his fingers after burning his childhood home to the ground; it was only fair he tried to stop another bloodshed. 

Almost unnoticed, Rowan had managed to pry the dhampir away from the royal twins, only to find himself thrown into a tussle. The dhampir was much older and stronger, easily fueled by the blood Oscar had likely given him. While no one had gone unscathed, Rowan had struck down the crazed dhampir in the end. 

It had marked a turning point in Rowan’s life, yet it had been the endpoint for a poor soul that blindly followed after Oscar—a tough sentiment to accept at times. In another life, Rowan could imagine that could have easily been him, blindly following after his father and his ravenous appetite for blood and power. 

“He was a lone individual who decided to make his shot,” Rowan finally said, realizing he had gotten lost in the distant memory. “Likely an attempt that wouldn’t jeopardize them if the rest of the guards or Lord Ivan himself sought to seek them out and eradicate them completely.”

Julien mulled it over for a few pensive seconds. “A trial?”

“A scapegoat.” Rowan frowned. “Someone dispensable. If they succeed, good for them; fail, and they won’t lose the entire mission.”

Julien scowled. “Dispensable.” The word lingered like acid on his tongue; he knew a thing or two about what being dispensable felt like, especially being a younger prince. When all his older siblings and staff members—including his own guard—had a purpose and greater responsibilities than he did, he felt pretty dispensable to his family. Just another son with some fancy title. He wasn’t even fully related to Ivan Rosenthal. 

But he couldn’t imagine living to be one’s scapegoat, trial, or anything else. Living just to die for another person’s shitty cause, what kind of life was that?

“Oscar has always been greedy,” Rowan trod carefully after Julien’s silence. “For blood, money, power, you name it. He’d use or kill anyone if it meant getting what he wanted.”

Questions formed in Julien’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything, absorbing Rowan’s words like a sponge. It was rare to hear his guard speak this much, and Julien was intent on listening for once. 

“I had already failed in stopping him before,” Rowan’s solemn tone filled the room. Julien didn’t know what he was referring to now, but the distant look in Rowan’s dark eyes said there was something more. “I felt it was only fair I try to thwart him that time.”

Julien’s mind raced. Even this small fraction of Rowan’s past was stirring up unknowns after unknowns. It was easy to get lost in it all, distracted by even the smallest tangents; his brain wandered as it tried to fill in the missing gaps of Rowan’s cryptic tellings. He wanted to know more and needed it.

“What could you have possibly done to be running away from him and his clan?”

Rowan pursed his lips. “I was in his way. I know too much about him.”

Julien looked at his guard skeptically. There was more to it, but Julien had already asked too much from his guard. He was lucky Rowan was in a sharing mood. And yet, if only to ease the tension in the room, Julien mused, “What, were you a part of his clan? Kicked out of a band of outcasts?”

Julien’s tone had a tinge of teasing, but this wasn’t something to joke about. If someone other than Julien had known of Rowan’s connection to Oscar and had spread it around, it was likely Ivan would see Rowan as a liability, a threat to the Rosenthal family. Subsequently, Rowan would be fired, punished, or sentenced to death for such a thing. It was too dangerous for Rowan to say more.

“No,” Rowan said and left it at that. He was a Marlowe, not a Liszt. No one had to know about his familial connection. “I was never a part of his clan.”

Julien didn’t look convinced, but if he had something to say, he didn’t say it. 

Neither did Rowan, his mind still raw and reeling from the thought that Oscar could be at the center of the situation. It was bad enough that the Coalition was willing to take down the most powerful clans, but now Oscar?

In the back of his mind, Rowan knew it was inevitable. Oscar would do anything to tear anyone apart. It was just a matter of when. 

History had a knack for repeating itself. Rowan knew he was bound to run into him at some point, yet, he had assumed he’d been lucky the night Ivan had offered him a deal. Borrowed time, Oscar had sneered at him once before; that’s all his running and hiding were. Oscar would find him and kill Rowan as he had intended all those years ago. It wasn’t a matter of if but when.

For Julien and the Rosenthal’s sake, he hoped he had more time. 

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