The lack of protestors outside the Capillary should have been the dead giveaway. The stale air added to Rowan’s apprehension about going through Julien’s plan to investigate Anton. It wasn’t that Rowan disagreed with Julien’s suspicions, but he could tell when they were walking into a trap. The quiet and sour smell had all his senses on edge. He was glad they had enough time to grab Rowan’s complete set of knives before heading out into the city. 

Thankfully, Julien could also sense the danger and snuck around buildings surrounding the Capillary instead of charging in immediately. He thought of approaching the front door, but with the lack of humans and other civilians nearby, Julien didn’t know what to make of it. He led Rowan toward the back entrance, remaining in an alleyway to watch for movement. 

They waited for what felt like an hour, occasionally checking the other surrounding buildings for signs of life. 

It was a ghost town. Even with their advanced hearing, neither of them could sense anyone nearby. Julien was getting antsier by the minute, often running his fingers through his hair or picking at his fingernails in agitation. He was quiet, and that unnerved Rowan more than the silent town. 

Julien, however, was elsewhere. His mind wandered in the unusual silence, uncertainty and curiosity plaguing his thoughts. Had Anton murdered humans in there? Had he drained and disposed of the protestors? Was Julien wrong and the reports indeed were clean and accurate? Maybe he should’ve stayed put in the castle and done nothing—who was he to question someone who fed him and his family for centuries?

But as time passed, his thoughts strayed from Anton, and he focused on the man beside him. He knew Rowan was reserved and prided himself in his job as a guard, but there was more to him—he had shown that side of him briefly in private after the candle fiasco. His vulnerability, his desire to pretend and mask himself. To protect this hardened image of himself to forget his past. 

Julien may be younger but he’d seen what doing that does to people. He was never close to his eldest siblings, but he knows the repercussions grief and a troubled past can have. He’d seen it with Mikhail and Laurent. The stories of Owain’s death still haunted them. 

Julien may never uncover all of Rowan’s past, but he knew enough that his experiences had shaped him. From his family’s death to the way Rowan hated his birth name, Julien hoped there was at least some good in those memories. He hoped that whatever caused Rowan’s weird hangup over relationships wasn’t traumatic. Julien hoped maybe there was a chance that—

“You’re quiet,” Rowan finally broke the silence. His arms were crossed as he leaned against a building wall. “It is unlike you.”

Julien blinked. “Just thinking.”

Julien almost expected a smart-ass comment. Instead, Rowan tilted his head. “About?”

He could’ve lied and told him it was about Anton. It was the logical thing to say—most likely, the right thing. But Julien had a knack for not being rational at all. When else would he have the opportunity? “Have you ever considered being bloodsworn to someone?”

“No.”

Julien expected that from his guard, but it didn’t stop the slight disappointment in his chest. He forced a smile, looking out back to the street. 

“Is it because it’s an intimacy thing?” Julien hedged eventually. When Rowan didn’t respond, he sighed. “Look, in most instances, I’m sure that’s what most people engage in while becoming bloodsworn; I don’t think it’s a requirement. If I’m not mistaken, merely exchanging blood solidifies it.”

“So I’ve heard as well.”

“So,” Julien drawled. “Is it the idea of being stuck with a person? Or is it the drinking from a vein thing an issue? I’m sure there’s a way you could drain their blood and drink it from a glass or a bag like you’re horrid B+ blood. It’s not like you’d have to have sex with them, you know?”

“Why do you ask such a thing?”

“No reason,” Julien was quick to respond. “It’s just been on my mind recently. Something one of my siblings mentioned.”

Rowan paused to look at him. While he should be on the lookout, Julien’s line of questioning didn’t seem like his normal random topics. 

With a vulnerable tone Rowan rarely ever heard from him; Julien mumbled, “I think it would be a rather lonely existence without someone to call your own, that’s all.” 

He shook his head as if pretending he hadn’t said it loud enough for Rowan to hear, and said in a more chipper tone “I was actually thinking about Owain earlier in Ivan’s study. Father keeps a portrait of him in there. Did you know that they weren’t bloodsworn? Virion told me that Owain had this elaborate plan for him and Fabian to have a proper ceremony before becoming bloodsworn under a new moon. They barely made it halfway to the ceremony before their carriage was attacked.”

Rowan was vaguely aware of Owain and his lover. Although they had perished before Rowan had even been born, he knew that their coupling was taboo, even in a supernatural sense. Fabian had no elite social status—or none to compete with the power and expectations bestowed on the second—and more inclined to rule— son of the Rosenthal clan. Controversial, to say the least, but few had the guts to oppose their engagement openly.

“Did you know he was a guard too?” Julien’s tone softened, his eyes askance. He coughed twice before adding, “Not a personal attendant either like you, just an ordinary everyday guard at the estate. 

“I wonder if they had become bloodsworn earlier, and then maybe they’d have survived. Bloodsworn vampires are supposed to be stronger and more unified. Able to tune into the other’s emotions and understand them like no other.” Julien tilted his head, exposing his neck. “Just a thought. And it could explain all the fuss over this rival clan stirring up trouble with our family. Maybe someone in the estate is bloodsworn with one of their members. Or it’s quite possible that my father or someone else murdered one of theirs.” 

Rowan considered it. It would explain some of the vampire’s actions, but it was an unlikely case for Oscar. The man didn’t have a heart. 

But Rowan couldn’t imagine being bloodsworn could ever cause such foolishness of this caliber. Whatever Julien was getting at, he didn’t think Julien truly cared enough about what-if scenarios regarding a brother he hadn’t even met. Or whether Julien cared about staff members’ love lives. Knowing the prince, he was speaking in riddles that Rowan didn’t have the luxury of working out with everything else going on. 

Including whatever suspicious activity was happening at the back doors of the Capillary. Movement from the corner of his eye distracted from Julien’s cryptic analogies, if you could call it that.

With a dark hood and mask, someone stood at the end of the alleyway, just a few feet from the back entrance to the Capillary. Rowan’s eyes narrowed, his body stiff, as the two watched them approach the doors. Julien watched with a bated breath as the doors swung outwards, revealing Anton and two hooded people carrying a semi-conscious young male. Four other unidentifiable people followed close behind. 

“Don’t,” Rowan interjected, sensing Julien’s desired actions before sticking his arm out to block Julien from stepping away from the safety of the building alcove. Julien pursed his lips, peeking around Rowan’s forearm to spot what caught his eye. Julien sucked in a breath as they dropped the male to the ground. His head lolled back, just missing the curb. Blood dripped from his forehead. Even from this distance, he looked beaten within an inch of his life.

Julien reeled. “We should help him.”

Rowan shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“And let them get away with murder? Kidnapping? Whatever else they could be doing? There’s no way this isn’t some part of Anton’s nefarious schemes.”

“It’s too risky, and we don’t know anything about them. We’re outnumbered.”

Julian scoffed. “So we just stand here and let this happen?”

Rowan leaned in. “My job is to protect you from potential harm, not to rescue strangers.”

“As a prince, it’s my job to look out for our people.”

“And as your guard, it’s my job to look out for you. This is far too dangerous for you. You are not ready for something like this,” Rowan warned. 

Julien’s rage and frustrations from the past few days washed over him, as Rowan’s tone bordered belittlement. The dismissal of his siblings and father to the cryptic ways Rowan hid his past and the sheer disbelief and lack of trust that Ivan had in him looking into the Capillary only amplified his fury. 

He jabbed his pointer finger into his guard’s chest and sneered. “Fuck you.” 

If the insult had an impact on Rowan, Julien couldn’t tell. Stupid stone-cold oaf, he wanted to add. 

Julien didn’t know why he was so attached to taking down Anton Bartholomew’s nefarious transgressions toward his family. Well, alleged misdeeds, anyway. He knew inherently why—The massive trickle-down effect it would have on his family’s empire and, subsequently, the entire country and general population. Or his pride, knowing his intuition was correct no matter what anyone had to say. He knew those reports were wrong, and his stubborn self needed to know why.

Or the simple fact that Anton was a slimy and greedy bastard, and he didn’t think mistreating humans or any vampiric or non-vampiric kind should be warranted. 

Julien supposed that if he looked at it from a psychoanalytical standpoint, he knew exactly why he couldn’t let this go. 

He just wanted to be taken seriously. He was nearly the age of maturity, yet everyone treated him like an immature toddler. So what if he dabbled in some sexually taboo fun? He knew there was a time and place for it and never dared to cause non-consensual harm. How was he supposed to be anything like his older siblings, let alone a capable leader of even the smallest of territories, if no one took him seriously?

The simplicity of the implications of even an alleged and attempted coup in the works should warrant a proper and complete investigation. It was only common sense to keep the integrity of a powerful clan to turn over any loose stone, keeping a wary eye out for any possible threats, no matter how small. 

He could understand his father’s hesitation and even accept the wariness of his siblings and Jean. 

But Rowan? His own guard who’s seen him handle drunkards and pushy men twice his size with a mere slip of coercion. Who arguably knew him better than any of his siblings.

His lack of trust or faith in Julien was a betrayal he hadn’t realized could sting so much. 

“We should be helping him,” Julien seethed, pushing at Rowan’s shoulder. 

“We will observe,” he said, unfazed, watching as the three of them conversed over the unconscious male. Julien bristled beside him as one of them nudged the male with their foot, then pulled out a wad of cash from their coat pocket. The individual, besides the one with money, scooped up the male unceremoniously over his shoulder while his colleague shook hands with the original two that carried him out. 

“Rowan.” He could hear shrewd laughter coming from them in a brief moment before the two left, and the four headed back inside Anton’s building. 

“Observe,” he echoed, though his tone indicated he was just as upset at the ordeal. “It’s not worth the fight.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Julien hissed before stepping back. “I can’t just let this happen.”

Julien stormed off, away from the crime in front of him, and walked around the expansive building toward the front door. Rowan knew the best course of action was to walk away, return to the estate, mention their findings to Ivan, and avoid confrontation. It was the safest action, but Julien never made his job easy. 

There could have been numerous explanations for what they’ve witnessed. Anton hadn’t been spotted among them, but they all had left his premises. The human had been in Anton’s care regardless of who he was. There was no proof that Anton had directly drained him or abused him, but one could make assumptions. 

And Julien seemed hellbent on confronting Anton. 

Rowan followed him, taking inventory of his surroundings as they reached the front of the building. He hadn’t seen the hooded figures or anyone else.

Without warning, Julien pounded on the front door of the Capillary in thundering succession. “Anton, I know you’re there!”

So hellbent, Julien left his subtlety back at the estate. Rowan bit his bottom lip as they waited for Anton to open up. The door opened with a click. Instinctively, Rowan stepped closer to the prince, his stature hovering behind him in quiet foreboding. 

Anton Bartholomew stepped out with outstretched arms, unperturbed by the unamused look on Julien’s face. “Why, hello Your Highness. What do I owe this great pleasure of seeing you again so soon? And with such….hostility.”

“Cut the crap,” Julien snapped. “We’ve noticed something in those documents. What’s with the inconsistencies? Something to hide, perhaps?”

Rowan glanced between the two, watching the confusion and offended look flash across the gentlemen. Julien hadn’t mentioned finding anything—in fact, if he recalled, it was the lack of evidence that made Julien frustrated. 

But if this were Julien’s long game of uncovering Anton’s secrets by sheer tenacity and pestering, Rowan would give him credit. Julien’s stubborn badgering was a power in of itself, possibly even more potent than his coercion.

Anton scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m sure there’s no need for such accusations nor your vile attitude. I can assure you that our reports are always to your father’s standards. Maybe we should continue this inside? I’d hate to cause this town such a noisy disturbance. We just managed to keep those pesky protestors away. Do come in, and I’ll have a carafe of our finest you two may sip on. It’s from our latest batch. A fine specimen, I might say myself.”

Julien didn’t trust the man to bring him tap water, let alone blood, even if this man had supplied the estate for centuries. Whatever heinous things Anton had a part in behind closed doors ruined all trust. 

But to gain knowledge, Julien needed to reel it in. He couldn’t prove anything with accusations. This was like those chess games his brother Virion had attempted to get him interested all those years ago. He wasn’t the strategist his brother was, but he knew how to get under people’s skin.