It was another two days before Rey was released from the dank, damp cell he’d been confined to beneath the palace.

And this was a palace. He didn’t know what else he could have possibly called it.

It was as grand a building as he’d ever seen, its corridors lined with iron lanterns and engraved black stone. Rey admired the runic etchings as he walked back to whatever cell he was being kept in, flanked on either side by the same two guards from the throne room.

He didn’t dare to look them in the eye, so he examined the scenery instead.

The looming facade of the castle outside was equally as harsh on the eye as its hallways, with ornate cages on the windows of the lower floors, and spiked fences twice Rey’s height encircling the entire withered courtyard.

Rey made special note of it all during that wretched walk back from his disorienting encounter.

He needed to, if he ever had any intention of leaving this place.

The soles of his feet were red and numb with the painful cold of the packed snowdrift. His hands had been re-shackled behind him, though the cuffs were loose enough that the cold metal didn’t sting his bare skin. Somehow, it was like his guards didn’t notice the cold at all. Perhaps another feature of their monstrous nature.

Rey had awoken in that throne room, unmoored and confused and helpless, but he had to start paying attention now. No excuses. There wasn’t time for them, if he wanted a chance in hell of making it out of here in one piece.

Was he reborn? Was he even on Earth? Could he get back?

Something told him this was the end of the line, that this strange place was where he’d been meant to end up, but that something was nameless and untrustworthy.

It didn’t matter, in any case. He could figure all of that out later, once he was away from the danger.

For now, he could only think of one thing. It was familiar, and all the more comforting for it.

Stay alive.

Whatever they had been expecting from him in the dungeon, it wasn’t what he delivered. Rather than pitching a riotous fit, or demanding answers, or any of the things they were likely used to, Rey slumped bonelessly against one of the cool stone walls and watched the slow drip of the dingy water from the roof into his chamberpot. After a few minutes of grunting effort from the guards, a small fire suffused his cell with desperately needed warmth.

What did he know?

Quite little, even now. It turned out that whoever Rey had—reincarnated?—into had seemingly wandered—woefully unprepared and unarmed—into a den of foreign monsters.

At least, that was what he’d pieced together during the snippets of conversation he could now understand between his minders. They seemed to have forgotten he could understand them now, content to spend their idle hours conversing about anything and everything.

They talked at length about the King, and how he’d starved and starved for too long. About the diminishing of his magic, and the danger of the invaders. Things that made no sense to Rey, outside of their most literal meanings.

Another inexplicable piece of the puzzle, slotting into place alongside the others. A handful among the thousands that were missing.

Still…

Starving?

Paired with the long teeth, the eerie grace, and the predatory gazes—it left only one impossible conclusion.

It didn’t feel as strange as it should have to Rey when he realized it. The unfamiliarity of this place had begun to settle and mold itself around him like a shawl. It all seemed so startlingly…normal, somehow.

Perhaps that was the nameless voice, again.

He realized not long after, with a start, that he knew the regal vampire’s name.

Leopold Fisk.

The Vampire King.

The name had come to him unbidden many hours after their initial meeting, like it had been buried deep in the annals of his memory for an eternity. That was the intimidating figure on the obsidian throne with hair darker and richer than ink. Once Rey’s fever—almost certainly born of the freezing cold and too little to eat—broke, his clearer head had prevailed upon him to believe his own “memory.”

Two days into his new reality, without an inkling that this would end any time soon, and without warning, the guards bundled him up and carted him elsewhere. They brought him unshackled this time.

No one acknowledged him during the transfer. Not the doorman, or the butler, or the maids. They all avoided his eyes as he marched, dirty and confused, to his new room inside the intimidating gothic Palace.

They dumped him wordlessly into a decadent chamber of crushed velvet and flickering candlelight, shutting the door behind him, and leaving him with only more questions.

He took the time alone, in better light, to examine his new body. He couldn’t exactly complain on that count: though this body had clearly seen better days, it was handsome and healthy. With a good wash his long, pale hair would be exquisite. And from what he could tell without stumbling over to the distant mirror, his fingers probing gently over his face, he possessed a strong jaw and regal nose.

The room he had been left in was impressive in its own right. Big and warm, with a roaring fire already going in the hearth. Beneath his feet, crusted with dirt and rock, a plush purple carpet soothed his angry skin. On a nearby desk, a plate of warm bread and colorful jams sat, seemingly for him.

Rey eyed the heavy door.

He wasn’t locked in here.

Somehow, that was scarier.

There was no point risking it. Not yet. He still didn’t know where he was, or who he could trust. If anyone. Escaping into a freezing tundra without a plan or supplies would only get him killed faster, and there was no guarantee dying here would bring him back home, anyway.

By the time the door opened some hours later, Rey had mostly made peace with being entirely at the mercy of his captors. At least temporarily. Or maybe he’d utterly dissociated, it was hard to tell which. He sat patiently on the opulent bed in the center of the wall, eyes blank and unseeing, trying his best to recall what exactly had happened back home that brought him here.

“I see you’re still here.”

It was that voice. Low and unsettling, making something inside of Rey want to slither away and hide. Rey snapped his eyes to the King where he hovered in the doorway, watching Rey carefully. “Yes…your Majesty.”

Rey didn’t know exactly what to make of the King.

He had been kind and cruel to Rey in equal measure. He had seemingly imprisoned him in the first place, but he had also apparently ordered him freshly fed, warmed, and left alone. The guards seemed unhappy with it all, which meant that perhaps that was abnormal.

The King seemed capable enough. In control. But there was hesitation in every line of his body now, like Rey was easy to scare, and delicate beyond measure.

The King swept into the room, leaving the door open behind him. A grand cape hung from his impressive shoulders, and he took the elegant crown from his head, setting it on the dresser. His regal face was impressive enough, but Rey couldn’t get past its preternatural perfection. “Excellent. Though you are no longer a prisoner here, I have a proposal for you.”

Rey scrunched his nose involuntarily. “Not…a prisoner?” He furrowed his brow. “You mean because the door is unlocked? I don’t even know where I am or how to leave.”

The King turned his bejeweled eyes on Rey. The intensity of his stare was almost mesmerizing.

“You were detained for questioning after trespassing on Palace property. While your identity has remained a mystery, we have determined you are not a threat. If you choose to do so, I will take you to the gates myself.”

“And if I have nowhere to go?”

The King paused.

“I would be pleased. You have something I want quite badly. And I am willing to compensate you handsomely should you agree.”

“I have a choice?”

The King’s expression flattened. It was weird, to see regret and upset in the eyes of a predator.

“Of course you have a choice. I am not in the business of coercing the unwilling.”

Rey tilted his head, making a face. “Sorry, but you don’t exactly strike me as someone who reacts well to hearing the word ‘no.’ Not long ago, I was at your mercy in the bowels of your castle.”

The King paused, running his fingers over the edge of the nightstand. “You’re right, of course. But I have ulterior motives for respecting your wishes beyond just doing the right thing.”

“Which would be?”

The King’s eyes flashed molten silver, licks of bright red around the rims. He looked…hungry. Like the tatters of his control were growing more and more frayed, the longer he stayed here.

“Coercion spoils the taste.”