The summons came at dawn.
Maryna hadn't slept.
She had paced the cold floor of her chambers for hours, heart hammering, waiting for the inevitable fallout.
It didn't come with chains.
It didn't come with guards dragging her by force.
It came in the form of a soft knock at her door and a single message:
"He requests your presence."
Request.
Not demand.
Which made it somehow worse.
Maryna followed the servant through twisting hallways until they reached a door she hadn't seen before—smaller, carved with delicate symbols, almost… reverent.
The servant bowed once, then fled.
Maryna hesitated.
Whatever was behind that door, it would not be forgiveness.
She pressed her hand to the wood. It swung open soundlessly.
Inside was a room unlike any other she had seen in the estate.
No cold stone.
No high ceilings.
No torches.
Just soft golden light spilling from sconces, velvet drapes, low couches, and a fireplace that cast long shadows across the plush carpet.
At the center of it all, Vasilios sat in a high-backed chair, legs sprawled casually, one arm resting on the carved armrest.
Waiting.
Maryna stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind her, sealing her fate.
"You disobeyed," Vasilios said without preamble, his voice quiet, even.
Maryna crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you going to beat me now? Like a proper monster?"
The ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"No, Mariposa," he said, and that cursed name slid into her skin like a blade.
"You want me to hurt you. You expect it. That would be too easy."
He rose from the chair in a slow, deliberate movement.
Maryna tensed, her muscles coiling to run—but he didn't come closer.
Instead, he walked to a small table by the fire and lifted a single object.
A book.
Leather-bound. Old. Worn at the edges.
He held it out to her.
"Read," he said.
Maryna blinked.
Of all the punishments she had braced for, this was not it.
She stepped forward warily, taking the book from his hands.
Their fingers brushed—barely—but it sent a shiver racing up her arm.
Maryna glanced at the title, confusion knotting in her chest.
It was a history book.
Old vampire laws, traditions, bloodline treaties.
She looked up sharply.
"What is this?"
"Knowledge," he said simply. "Power."
He returned to his chair, sprawling out lazily.
"You will memorize it. All of it. Chapter by chapter. Name by name. Blood by blood."
Maryna's fingers tightened around the leather binding.
"Why?"
His smile sharpened.
"Because when the time comes, you will need to know exactly which monsters you must destroy."
The fire cracked, casting his face in flickering shadow.
"And because you will understand," he continued, "that there are worse cages than this one."
Maryna's throat tightened.
This wasn't punishment through pain.
It was punishment through preparation.
Through burden.
Through forcing her to carry the weight of a world she had no part in building—but would be crushed by if she didn't learn fast enough.
She hated him for it.
She hated the part of her that understood why he was doing it.
"Begin," Vasilios said, his voice brooking no argument.
Maryna sat, the heavy book open in her lap, the words blurring as anger, grief, and confusion waged war inside her.
And Vasilios watched her.
Silent.
Patient.
Like a man waiting for a flower to bloom—or a blade to sharpen.
To be continued…