Contrary to human belief, mirrors and other reflective surfaces had the same effectiveness with vampires as they did with humans. Rowan wished it hadn’t as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom. Despite the attempt to steel his fears in Julien’s room, even Rowan could tell he was failing. He looked weak. Harrowed. 

All because of a silly little flame. He could imagine how pathetic and comical it appeared, being petrified of a small candle. Julien was patient and understanding, but it raised a lot of unknowns. If Rowan couldn’t stand the look of a candle in a consenting scene like that, he couldn’t imagine how he’d react if they had been stuck in a burning building. He needed a clear mind, one not hung up on the past and debilitating thoughts associated with it. 

He stared back at the dark eyes in the mirror, breathing in and out heavily as he reminded himself why he was there. He was a bodyguard, one to a prince no less. Not the other way around; Julien shouldn’t have to protect him from such things as a candle. Showing any weakness was punishable; not only would it risk Julien or any of the Rosenthals, but it would risk the very security he’d found for himself in the estate, away from the very one who had marred his side with fire. 

He thought back to Julien’s concerns. While he was a guard who should be able to face anything and everything, considering the prince’s advice wouldn’t be a detriment. He had some control, some self-autonomy that wouldn’t completely conflict with his job. He could see himself slipping coercion with Julien’s partners, insisting that Rowan was not a participant. 

Or, in human terms, a safe word. He wasn’t sure how that would be more effective than coercion, but even Julien knew that Rowan’s skillset was not in coercion. He could manage the occasional commands, but nothing on par with other vampires his age. He attributed this to his life on the run, spending far more time alone and dependency on weapon skills and fighting rather than socializing. Attacking with knives and fists first was easier than attempting to initiate conversations with unknown parties. 

Maybe he’d never see the appeal of a safe word for himself, but he did see the power it held in Julien’s world. And Rowan would be lying if he said it didn’t at least interest him in the slightest. He’d seen the workings of saying a safe word and its effectiveness on Julien’s partners, even the more domineering and imposing ones. 

Rowan couldn’t deny that he wished he had that level of control when he was younger. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have been cowering from a flame. Maybe he wouldn’t have a marred side. 

Rowan peeled back his black shirt, revealing the damaged skin. He hated the permanent reminder, but he needed it; the scar would remind him of what he had set out to do—take down Oscar Liszt. 

Though the concept of taking him down was elusive and far-fetched, if there was one thing Rowan could allow himself to want, it would be that. 

His fingers trailed over the sensitive skin, feeling where the skin stretched and mangled while stitching itself back together. Burns were never easy wounds to recover, and for vampires, it took unbearably longer. Memories of the nights spent in wheat fields or abandoned vehicles, not knowing if the limited blood he consumed would be enough to heal, played over in his head. He could hear the sound of starving werewolves who had gotten a whiff of his scent, likely circling him as he attempted to nurse both the physical and the emotional wounds of losing his family. 

By all accounts, he knew he should’ve died that night—or any of those nights he spent alone. While in a city ruled by vampires, it was clear that there wasn’t a place for young rogue vampires to be strolling alone. They thrived in groups, similar to wolves and the other woodland creatures to the east. Alone, he was a target, an easy one. 

Rowan didn’t think he’d survive this long, and now, as a member of the Rosenthal clan, he didn’t want to take any chances. If it meant waiting for the right moment to strike Oscar down, Rowan would spend centuries as a bodyguard. 

But with every moment spent at Julien’s side, Rowan wasn’t sure it was possible. If Julien could manage to find his weak spots, it was clear that the others could surely follow suit. 

With another determined gaze at his reflection, Rowan set his shirt back down over the scar and decided he’d visit the training grounds. The prince would likely scold him for not resting, but Rowan wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he tried. If he were to take down Oscar or figure out who could be the spy, he’d need to get stronger. 

He gathered a few extra daggers, stashing them in the holsters at his side and chest before leaving his quarters. 

It was possibly foolish not to check on the prince, but Rowan trusted that Julien could entertain himself without causing much trouble. The other castle guards could find him if they suspected otherwise. As he crossed the threshold from the guard quarters to the main hallway, he could sense other vampires present, their auras intense as he followed the path to the training grounds. Neither appeared menacing, likely a few of the Rosenthal children or high-ranking officials on duty, which was a relief. 

Rowan knew he should be wary regardless, but all appeared calm and normal thus far. 

It wasn’t until he turned into a smaller corridor that he recognized the auras, the twins. Out of the siblings, they were closest to Rowan’s age, a mere fifty years older. 

“Prince Alexander,” he greeted, bending at the waist. He turned to Alexander’s sister. “Princess.”

“Oh please,” she bemused, approaching Rowan with enthusiasm. She gripped his shoulders, bringing him upright to meet his gaze. She glanced him over with a kind smile, refraining from her usual hugs. “You know to call me Lexi. It’s been a while, Ro.”

He blinked; it hadn’t been long since their father had summoned them to his chambers. In human terms, it was possibly a long time, but time moved differently for vampires like them. A week felt like half a day at times. 

“You know what I meant,” she said. “We hardly ever get to chat like this. We were talking with Julien earlier. How are things with you and him?”

“Lex,” her brother said in a warning tone before tilting his head in respect to Rowan. 

She grinned. “What? I can’t be concerned for our baby brother. It’s no secret that he’s a bit of a handful. Just curious what Rowan thinks of him.”

Alex rolled his eyes at her. Rowan didn’t understand the joke, if there was one. “Alright,” Rowan told Lexi. “His skills and training are improving.”

She groaned. “I don’t mean that. How do I put this? You two are very different; I was just curious if you’ve found some middle ground, maybe some form of connection?”

“Subtle,” Alex said under his breath, which earned an ill-aimed punch to his ribs from Lexi. 

Rowan glanced between the two, unsure what either of them implied. As some might say, he and the prince were drastically different, polar opposites. That was no surprise. Connection, though, Rowan seldom had an idea if there was one. “We work well together,” he hedged, remembering that Julien had helped him with coercing Bartholomew and the Coalition members. Then there was the case of the man Julien kicked out earlier. “There’s been multiple times in which Prince Julien assisted me.”

Lexi pinched the bridge of her nose, obviously displeased by his answer. 

Before Rowan could question her, he sensed a familiar presence clearing his throat behind him.

“Please tell me you’re not harassing my guard, Lexi,” Julien stood beside Rowan with crossed arms.

She straightened her back. “We were just catching up.”

Julien scowled. “Catch up later; this one was supposed to be resting.”

Rowan grunted. While expecting the dig at him, he was not expecting Julien’s attitude toward his sister. They were usually friendly, gossiping when they could. Though the twins were busy, they had always been fond of Julien, often sticking up for him and Felix when their older siblings picked on them. 

She smirked, linking an arm with her brother. “Fine, we should be returning to our estate anyway. It was a pleasure chatting, Ro.”

Alex opened his mouth to protest but she pulled him along, leaving Julien alone with his guard. 

“Ignore her,” Julien said under his breath. “She’s being ridiculous. I don’t know why I bother to tell her anything.”

Rowan didn’t respond, instead gauging Julien’s expression. His cheeks were flushed like he’d just fed or had been embarrassed by his twin siblings, likely a combination of both. Trying to understand Julien was a headache in and of itself, let alone the royal siblings’ relationships with each other. 

“I’m assuming you got little sleep.” The prince looked away, watching as the twins walked out of earshot. “You’re still wearing the same clothes.”

“I couldn’t rest; I was planning on training.” Rowan waited for the eye-roll or groan, but Julien acted as though he anticipated as much. 

“Maybe I’ll join you.”

“Join?”

“Might as well,” the prince said. “Still frustrated from last night, figured I could take it out on those targets.”

“I’ll rest when you hit a bullseye.”

Julien scoffed. “Oh, you have your snark back, I see. I’m not that bad at aim, thank you.”

Rowan shrugged, silently leading them toward the training grounds. 

Julien insisted on practicing with a dagger, stabbing the straw dummy a few times before setting his eyes on the targets across the room. Rowan flung his daggers at them, hitting their mark quickly and accurately. He could sense the prince’s gaze on him the entire time, likely waiting for the right moment to speak.

Like he anticipated, Julien asked, “Did you give what I said some thought?” 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Julien would rather chat than practice, but he’d give the prince credit for the few minutes he did practice his knife skills.

“Yes,” Rowan responded. 

“I know you probably think it’s silly, but I think it would be good to have.” Julien leaned against one of the pillars. “For anything. Even on me. I probably should’ve insisted on one earlier, but I know I’m not the best at reading you sometimes.”

Up until recently, Rowan would agree. “It was a candle. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Julien crossed his arms. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You could be scared of water and it would be valid.”

“I can’t avoid it forever.”

“Yes, but you can set boundaries. Practice distance to protect yourself.” Julien gulped, aware that Rowan wasn’t meeting his gaze. It was possible bringing it up was not what Rowan wanted, but Julien had to know. There had to be some way to help his guard. “Have you thought of a word? One that is uncommon that I would know to stop whatever I’m doing.”

Rowan looked past the prince and at the targets in front of them. “Yes.”

“Well?”

Rowan took a second to breathe, eyeing the target in front of him and slinging the dagger against the center of the target. He let the sound echo in the room for a moment before responding. “Callisto.”

The word tasted like dhampir blood on his tongue.

Julien whistled at the accuracy of Rowan’s throw before glancing at him. “Callisto?” 

“Yes,” Rowan said.

“Okay.” It was too easy, the sudden acceptance that Julien had toward such a random name. While it should have been a relief, Julien’s unusual silence and lack of silly remarks set him on edge. Admitting a part of his past like this was out of his realm; the less Julien knew, he assumed, the better. Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

“My birth name,” Rowan said if only to fill the silence between them. He didn’t owe Julien an explanation or even ask for one, but the words tumbled from his lips without thinking. “Given by my father. I hate it.”

Julien nodded. “Good. You say that name, and it all stops, alright?”

Rowan studied his face, the sincerity and honesty refreshing to see. He knew most guards wouldn’t trust a prince, but this was Julien. Julien put his whole trust in Rowan, not only because this was Rowan’s job, but because this was Rowan—someone who had proven to protect and listen to him when nobody else wanted to.

“Thank you.” It only felt appropriate to thank Julien.

He looked down at his dagger’s blade. “What made you decide on Rowan?”

“My mother,” Rowan muttered under his breath. Rowan couldn’t remember a morsel of what she looked like but remembered how her voice felt like silk against his skin.

“She used to call me that—wanted to name me that instead,” he explained. “When he wasn’t around, she and my sister would call me Rowan.”

“Are they…” Julien trailed.

Rowan pinched his bottom lip in between his teeth. “Dead.”

Julien pursed his lips. He knew Rowan’s backstory wasn’t opulent and as relaxed as his, but Julien wondered what it would have been like if he did have a home to go to, to a family. He had suspected there’d be death involved, but the finality of that word left the air stale and cold. Instead of a forced empathetic response, Julien’s lips pulled upwards. “You don’t peg me as a Callisto. I’d agree with your mother; Rowan suits you well.”

It was so unexpected Rowan nearly cracked a smile. His sister, Ruth, had said something like that when they were young. 

“Well, now that’s been established,” the prince said, flipping the dagger over and flung it into the target. By some luck, it had stuck at the border of the bullseye. Julien smirked, patting his guard’s chest. “Get some actual rest. I’ve got my work cut out for me. I’ve got some candles to dispose of; who knew I had a mighty collection.”

Before Rowan could respond—whether to say it was unnecessary or that he was serious about training, Julien winked, spun around, and walked out of the training grounds without another word.