“Please, right this way,” Anton Bartholomew said. “I’ll have Otto bring out refreshments.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Julien said as they followed him down the same hall. None of the rooms filled with anxious donors before were occupied. It was eerily quiet, considering most humans donated during the day. He followed Anton, slowly scoping out the rooms on his way, noting that they all seemed empty. 

“Have a seat,” Anton gestured as they reached his office. The interior was dark and looked nothing like the clinical interiors of the rooms they passed. An employee, Otto, as his name tag read, placed a set of chalices and a bottle between them on the coffee table. Anton sat in a plump chair, gesturing to the couch across from him. “You wished to talk about the reports.”

“Before I get into the finances,” Julien said as he sat beside Rowan on a leather couch. “Care to explain the injured male we saw leaving the backdoor of your premises?”

Anton leaned back in his chair. “Injured male? All my clients leave through the front door. Only personnel use the back door.”

“And how unconscious and pale he looked is just a coincidence?”

“I can assure you that I have no idea what you mean. My men escort our volunteers home safe and well. Whatever you saw, I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe a refreshment is what you need, my prince. Please, do help yourself.”

Anton uncrossed his legs to lean and gesture to the chalices his employee had brought on a platter. Neither Rowan nor Julien had made the effort to sample it. Julien pursed his lips, aware that Anton wouldn’t take no for an answer, and picked up the chalice. He sniffed it without looking away before wordlessly handing it to Rowan. Rowan eyed the contents, swirling it a few times like one would with wine. He smelled it before raising it to his lips. It was AB, and while not either of their favorites, it tasted like it should. 

“No slight to you,” Julien said after Rowan set the chalice down. “But my guard is required to taste everything first. Quality control, you understand?”

“Why, of course.” Anton tilted his head in Rowan’s direction. “It is his job, after all, to protect Your Highness.”

“Yes,” Julien said slowly, though Anton’s tone annoyed him. It was almost as if he insinuated that that was all Rowan was good for. “Which is why I am here. Ensuring the Capillary provides quality services and is transparent with everything, down to how this place is cleaned. Now, let’s start with the reports. Why the discrepancies?”

The corner of Anton’s lips raised as if amused. “What discrepancies have you noticed?”

“The lack of protestors outside, for one.” Julien narrowed his eyes, refusing to let Anton’s smirk get the best of him. “And this place looks dead, yet the profits appear to be moving steadily.”

“A slow day,” Anton stated, lifting one of the chalices to his lips. “It picks up during the night.”

“If I recall, the daily profits are steady. Surely slow days would reflect in the reports.”

“The reports that you didn’t bring in,” Anton pointed out. “It’s as if you are grabbing for straws, Princeling. How am I to believe your statements without proof?”

“And do those reports mention anything of those beaten and bruised humans escorted out the backdoor? Hooded strangers exchanging cash for a broken human? Don’t think I’m such a naive fool. I know there is something rotten amongst these walls.”

“You jest,” Anton said. “I can assure you that this is a respectable business. I’m sure your family wouldn’t appreciate the accusations you allege. I fear this would look embarrassing on your family’s behalf, accusing the enterprise that feeds most of the city without proof. How does that saying go? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.“

Julien wished to throw the tray of chalices in his face, but he knew Anton had a point. He couldn’t let it get to him, as much as he targeted his insecurities. 

“We’re watching you, Anton,” Julien seethed through his teeth, pinching his thigh to remain calm. “The Rosenthal’s won’t stand for injustices. I’ll be sure to touch base with you soon.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Anton stated before lowering his voice. “Maybe you should let your older siblings handle business matters. Wouldn’t want to make a fool out of yourself, now would you?”

Julien couldn’t hide his look of disgust and anger, his body tense and itching to fight. Anton rose, and before Julien could jump up, Rowan rested a hand on his shoulder. “Enough.”

Julien locked eyes with his guard, almost offended by the chiding voice. 

“Let’s go, my prince,” Rowan urged. Julien shrugged his hand away and stood. 

Anton turned with a smirk. “Best listen to your handler, princeling.”

Julien’s nostrils flared, but Rowan’s hand pressed his lower back, slightly pushing him toward the door before Julien could make a scene. Or worse than he already had. 

“Good day, Anton,” Julien all but spat, staring him down as they headed toward the office door. “We will be back.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” he said in that saccharin tone. “A shame you didn’t sample my finest pint. Next time, perhaps?” 

“Of course,” he echoed back before storming toward the building’s entrance, Rowan quickly behind.

“I’m still mad at you,” Julien said as they exited the building. “About earlier. Not just from holding me back from punching Anton in his ugly face for saying that shit. Who knows what happened to that guy they dragged out? I could’ve at least helped him, Ro. I’m no worse than a bystander who lets people pick on the misfortunate. I may not be as skilled as you or Jean with blades, but I could have at least helped. And now Anton thinks me a fool when I know what I saw! He thinks me weak and pathetic and—” He looked to Rowan. 

Rowan remained silent. 

“I’m not useless,” Julien snapped as if he had said something. “Or a fool. I’m not a naive little kid anymore. Let me fight my own battles. I could’ve helped that man—could’ve fought Anton right then and there.”

Rowan took a breath. “No, you’re not useless. But it is—”

“My duty, my duty. Yeah, I know.” The prince groaned. “But how am I expected to learn when you and everyone else tell me I’m incapable of anything? That I’m nothing but just a nympho who doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything? That male we saw? Whatever has happened to him falls on my conscience. Don’t you get that? I could have done something. We can’t just let Anton get away with this.”

“And if it had been Oscar behind the hood?”

Julien blinked, watching as dread crossed his face. He hadn’t thought of that. “At least it would have been the right thing to do,” he finally said. 

“At the cost of your life?”

“I don’t care!” Julien spat, stunning even himself. “At least it would mean I’ve done something good. That I’m not useless.”

“Julien—”

“No. I want to be left alone.” Rowan took a step closer, but Julien veered on him. “Don’t! Just leave me alone.”

Rowan hesitated, but it was clear Julien was not having it. He lowered his head. “As you wish, Prince Julien.”

Julien’s jaw ticked at the honorific, almost scolding his guard for it, but he turned on his heel. He stormed off, nearly disappointed that he didn’t hear Rowan’s footsteps following him. He did what he asked, but not having his guard at his heel was unusual. 

He continued walking almost aimlessly in the city streets. He knew most of these roads from excursions to the clubs, but he had never seen them so empty. The few people he did spot were quick to walk in the other direction, often avoiding facing his way as if scared he’d terrorize them. It was peculiar, but Julien’s residual resentment kept him walking. He’d glance back occasionally, spotting his guard dutifully following him from a hundred yards more than usual. 

It was a reminder that Ivan’s command and word were above him. It didn’t matter if Julien wanted to get rid of him; Ivan’s word was law. That thought upset him above all else, and he turned back to angrily pacing the sidewalks. 

He kicked a loose stone, knowing that he didn’t think Rowan could do anything ever to warrant him wanting to get rid of him for good. It was why he kept wondering about his past and if Rowan’s stance on being bloodsworn may change. Julien was already attached to the idea of Rowan remaining in his life.

But as Julien looked back again, he scowled. Rowan was bound to him for separate reasons. Mainly, Ivan. For employment. He had made it clear that this was just a job to him. 

He turned back around and paused. He stared off into the distance, watching as residents of his town went about their day, heading to work or simply walking. Unlike Rowan and Julien, they were free. They could do whatever they wished without much thought. They weren’t directly bound by Ivan’s command, nor expected to be a prince or anything more than an upstanding citizen.

It dawned on Julien that it may be Rowan’s job, but did he want to be there as his guard? If he had a choice, what would Rowan have wanted to become?

How was Julien any better than his father or people like Anton, holding power over someone?   

But as he turned to look back, Rowan was gone. 

—

In hindsight, Rowan should’ve guessed the “fine blood” Anton had provided would have been laced with something. He hadn’t smelled or tasted anything wrong with it at the time, and it would’ve been suspicious if he hadn’t sampled it for Julien’s sake, but now he regretted even putting his mouth near that chalice. His bones ached, the tiny blood in his system seeming to slowly pump through him at a rate that was not conducive to keeping him as alert as Julien needed him to be as a guard. 

He should have remained closer to the prince, regardless of his wish for space, but the distance was too great for him to catch up now. It was like quicksand under his feet, and not only were his legs holding him back, but his vision was starting to ebb. 

He blinked a few times, attempting to will the haziness away, at least enough for him to alert the prince. Instead, a gloved hand reached around him, covering his mouth, followed by a whispered command, “Silence.”

Coercion, Rowan recognized and could do little as his body failed him. Another set of hands was on him as a cloth bag was pulled over his head.  Blinded and pinned by grabby hands and the weight of his useless limbs, Rowan had little use in struggling, even if he could break free. His mind wandered to the prince before succumbing to the haziness. 

When Rowan came to, the bag had been removed, and he was on his knees in a dark alley with his wrists tied behind him. The rough hands from earlier held his shoulders forcibly as he faced three hooded figures. Likely the same ones from behind the Capillary. The shortest of the bunch leaned on the alley wall closer to the light source, distracted by the dagger in his hand. Either their leader or another lackey assigned to be the lookout. The other two stood together, watching him despite their hoods hiding their faces. 

His weapons were still on him, at least, but with the restraints and hazy mind, he’d be a fool to attempt to break free now. 

“We’ve been watching you, Rowan Marlowe,” one of the two closer hooded figures said. A male, based on the exposed Adam’s Apple. He wore a mask around his mouth and nose, likely reaching just under his eyes. He approached him with a knife in his hand, twirling it around. Even from this close, Rowan couldn’t make out any other discernible features. The grip on his shoulders tightened as the other stepped forward. One hand moved to his neck, preventing Rowan from looking anywhere but the male and his companion. 

The male handed the companion his blade, which they took, running their gloved hands over the edge. Rowan had been trained for almost any situation, including this one, but he knew his chances of getting out of there without injury were slim. 

The companion stepped forward, pointing the dagger blade under Rowan’s neck before bending down to meet Rowan’s knelt form. 

Their hand reached up to pull the mask down and hood away from their face slightly, revealing a sinister grin and a set of shoulder-length black hair.

He was glad for whatever had been in that blood because he feared what he would’ve done if he hadn’t upon seeing her. He almost stopped breathing as he looked into those familiar eyes he thought he’d never see again.

“Our father would be disappointed in you, Callisto.”