Raven Nox Margrave, head of a vampire margrave house, has spent eight years burying every emotion behind a mask of ice. To him, a fiancée is nothing more than a contract—a blood-sealed arrangement for the sake of the house, renewable every three years, dissolvable only by the council of the Seven Blood Covenant families. Love has no place in it.
But on the night he rides out to receive his bride-to-be, an ancient contract vanishes from the archive without a trace of tampering. A wolf howls from
Fiancé Before Dawn - The Night Before the Pickup — The Vanished Contract and the Howl in the Fog
The curtain of night descended, soaking into the stone walls of the manor like rain.
The main residence of the Nox Margrave territory took the full brunt of the cold air flowing out from the mist-shrouded forest, and even by day it was chilly. At night, merely standing in the corridor was enough to drain the warmth from one's fingertips. Raven walked through that frigid hallway, his black high-collared coat swirling behind him. His footsteps echoed strangely loud on the polished stone. Clack, clack — the steady rhythm was swallowed into the depths of the mansion, where no one else stirred.
(I'll go to meet her tonight.)
He rehearsed the day's arrangements in his mind. The instructions to the Night Watch were done. The blood-dew inspection had turned up nothing unusual. All that remained was the carriage and a check of the gate. All of it — duties to be carried out calmly, as befitted the head of the house.
Raven raised his left hand and glanced at the old family crest carved into its back. His crimson-tinged eyes caught the pattern clearly even in the dim corridor. The Nightwarden's Eye — vision three times sharper than a human's under moonlight, a gift of the vampire blood in his veins. Through that eye, the mansion appeared sharper-edged than by day, colder, quieter.
Outside the window, the Night Watch retainers were tending the gate lanterns. Torch flames wavered, casting the shadows of old ivy clinging to the iron doors onto the walls.
(...That was twenty-three years ago now, wasn't it.)
Suddenly, he thought he heard voices from the depths of memory. His father's low tones. His mother's laughter. The two of them had gone out to patrol the mist-shrouded forest and never returned. On the night he inherited the household at twenty, Raven had walked this same corridor without shedding a tear.
He hadn't cried. He couldn't cry.
As head of the house, as its protector, he was permitted to show no emotion on his face. Eight years had passed since he'd told himself that. In that time, expression had faded from Raven's face little by little. Now every one of the Night Watch said behind his back that he was "like a statue."
But that was fine.
Emotion made people weak.
Raven kept his pace steady and headed deeper into the mansion. He stopped before the archive. Pushing open the heavy oak door, the smell of old paper and ink flowed out with the chill air.
Inside, the walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves. Generations of contracts, territorial records, correspondence with the Seven Blood Covenant families — this was where the history of the house slept, sealed in paper and leather bindings. Raven walked to the farthest shelf. The section reserved for contracts bearing the Covenant Seal — the very heart of the house's order.
And in one corner of that section, there was a gaping empty space.
Raven stopped.
(...It should be here.)
If his memory served, that spot had held an old contract his predecessor had concluded. Thick leather cover, silver clasp. A Covenant Seal — blood-sealing art that bound the signatory's blood — made it a document the house could not do without.
It was gone.
Raven didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow. He only reached the fingertips of his right hand toward the shelf's edge and traced it slowly, as if confirming something. A faint roughness met his fingertips. Something had certainly rested here. Over long years, the impression of a book had been pressed into the shelf board. And yet the book itself had vanished.
Covenant Seal and all, without a sound.
(That's impossible.)
A seal, if tampered with, would inevitably leave traces of the art. But around this shelf there was no sign of disturbed magic. No smell of blood, no scorch marks, nothing. As though it had never existed at all, that single volume was simply gone.
Raven drew his fingers back from the shelf.
This was an anomaly touching the order of the house. Ordinarily he would summon the Night Watch at once, seal the archive, and investigate who had last opened it. But tonight he had a duty of reception. An appointment the house could not avoid — going to meet his fiancée.
(I won't pursue this deeply. Tonight, my duty comes first.)
Raven decided so. Having decided, he closed the archive door. Locked it. The cold feel of the metal lingered on his fingertips.
Back in the corridor, he heard the distant creak of the gate's iron fittings. The pre-dawn inspection. That gate opened only at night. As dawn approached, it had to be closed. In this mansion, the sound of the gate closing was fixed as the signal that the contract was ended.
(Before dawn, it closes.)
He turned that law over in his chest. The light of dawn rapidly weakened vampires. Bathed in direct sunlight, their skin would burn, their bodies grow heavy, and soon they could not move at all. That was precisely why this house's gate closed before dawn. As a vampire house, all things were finished within the night. That was the law that had held for hundreds of years in the Nox Margrave territory.
Raven headed for the entrance hall.
In the broad entryway, a single elderly Night Watch retainer stood waiting for the carriage's arrival. When Raven appeared, he bowed deeply.
"My lord. The carriage is ready. The gate inspection is also without issue."
"Good."
He answered briefly. The retainer said nothing more and withdrew.
Raven pushed open the entrance door and stepped outside. The night air stung his skin. The moon hung in the sky, a thin cloud blurring its light. The lanterns set on either side of the gate swayed in the wind, casting long shadows across the flagstones.
The heavy iron doors were still open. A gate that opened only at night. For now, it was open.
Raven stood beside the gate and looked up at the iron doors. A black mass of iron towered against the night sky. Tonight, he would pass through this gate with the carriage. To receive a human fiancée. For the sake of the house's interests.
(For the sake of the house's interests.)
He told himself again.
A sworn engagement. A system in which ties between houses were guaranteed by contract. The term was three years, renewable. The contract required a blood seal, and its annulment required the approval of the council of the Seven Blood Covenant family heads. The interests of the house took precedence over personal love. That was the common sense of the Kingdom of Vermilion.
The Ash War, six hundred years ago. Those three years of full-scale conflict between humans and vampires. The coexistence treaty concluded at its end was the foundation of present society. The Seven Blood Covenant families kept the order; humans received the protection of a house through contract. Providing blood as a blood-medium, accompanying the night's social functions. That was what it meant to live in this country.
Raven unconsciously stroked the back of his left hand. The old family crest pressed against his fingertips.
(To protect is to keep one's distance.)
The creed he had set for himself the night he lost his parents. If you never draw close, you never lose. It was because you wanted to protect that you grew weak. So keep your distance. That, he had believed, was the correct way to be as head of the house.
Receiving a fiancée, too, was for the house's interests. Nothing more, nothing less.
...So he told himself.
And yet, deep in his chest, something stirred faintly. A small ripple he could not name. A premonition, perhaps, that he could not put into words.
(What is this?)
Raven nearly furrowed his brow, then stopped himself.
The carriage drew up alongside the entrance. Its black-lacquered body bore a lantern with the family crest, swaying. The coachman held the reins, waiting for Raven.
"It is the hour of departure."
"I know."
Raven started toward the gate. The hem of his coat fluttered in the night wind. It was then — just as he laid his hand on the carriage door.
Far off, from the direction of the mist-shrouded forest, came the howl of a wolf.
A long, low cry that seemed to make the night air tremble. A mist wolf. A beast roughly two meters long that inhabited the forests of the Nox Margrave territory. Low in danger, but in packs they sometimes attacked night travelers.
Raven sharpened the Nightwarden's Eye. The road under the moonlight stood out as clearly as by day. The seams of the flagstones, each blade of grass by the roadside, even the gradations of darkness beyond.
(...Something's there.)
At the far end of the road, beyond a low hill wreathed in mist, there was a faint presence. A pack of mist wolves, or something else. Under the moonlight, that presence swayed and drifted, watching him without taking any definite shape.
Raven's expression did not change. But he felt something cold run down his spine.
(Tonight is strangely quiet.)
The wind died, and the gate lanterns flared once, violently.
"Pick up speed. Once we're on the road, don't stop."
The coachman nodded and gripped the reins anew. Raven opened the carriage door and climbed in. The leather seat was cold against him. Outside the window, the iron gate slowly swung open.
The carriage began to move.
The sound of wheels biting into the flagstones, the beat of hooves, and the gate lanterns receding behind them. Raven sat still, gazing out the window. Once more he traced the crest on the back of his left hand with his fingertips.
(To protect is to keep one's distance.)
But tonight, he was going to receive a human fiancée. For the sake of the house's interests.
What kind of person was she, this other party?
For the first time, Raven thought about the one he was about to meet. He didn't know her name. He didn't know her face. All he had in hand was the family name written on the contract and her role as blood-medium.
(She is the party to a contract. Nothing more.)
So he thought.
And yet the wavering deep in his chest, from a moment ago, would not go away.
The carriage swung out onto the night road and gathered speed. From the direction of the mist-shrouded forest came the mist wolf's howl again. Closer this time than before.
Raven peered out the window. Under the moonlight, the mist hanging over the road ahead slowly changed shape. Something was moving through that mist.
(...Don't come.)
He murmured it in his mind.
The carriage did not stop, racing northeast along the night road. Its destination: a human house. The place where his fiancée waited.
Dawn was still far off.
But it was certainly drawing nearer.
Raven leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. In the darkness, he thought he heard, far away, the sound of the gate closing.
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