Chapter 4: Roses

War had a way of making the world feel smaller.

Even inside Rose Manor, I could feel it.

News arrived in fragments.

A territory had fallen.

A noble family had been attacked.

The eastern border was becoming unstable.

The Vampire King had sent more soldiers toward the northern territories.

And somewhere beyond those walls, vampires were turning against vampires.

The kingdom was drowning in conflict.

But Rose Manor remained untouched.

It was as if the chaos couldn't cross its gates.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

And my life became strangely simple.

Wake.

Eat what little food they gave me.

Tend to the roses.

Feed the little wolf.

Sleep.

Repeat.

At first, I hated it.

I hated the silence.

I hated the routine.

Most of all, I hated that no one came for me.

No messenger.

No soldier.

Not even my father.

Nothing.

So I stopped waiting.

If Rose Manor wanted to swallow me whole, I would at least make sure it looked beautiful while doing it.

Every morning, I walked through the gardens.

The roses were everywhere.

Red.

White.

Pink.

Deep crimson.

Some climbed the walls while others grew around the stone paths.

Edmund had shown me how to care for them after catching me nearly destroying one of the bushes.

"You're pulling too hard," he had said.

"I've never cared for flowers."

"I can tell."

I had glared at him.

He simply handed me the pruning shears.

Now, somehow, I had become good at it.

I trimmed the dead petals.

Removed the weeds.

Loosened the soil.

Watered the roots.

There was something calming about it.

The roses didn't ask questions.

They didn't care that I was no longer a prince.

They didn't whisper about my betrayal.

They simply grew.

And perhaps that was why I liked them.

One morning, I was cutting away a cluster of dead leaves when I heard a familiar sound behind me.

Chains.

I turned.

The little wolf was being led into the garden.

He looked considerably better than when he'd first arrived.

The wounds on his face had healed.

His clothes were still worn, but he no longer looked half-dead.

His attitude, unfortunately, had not improved.

He stopped a few feet away from me.

"You."

I looked at him.

"Me."

He glanced around the garden.

"Why am I here?"

"You're asking me?"

"You brought me here."

"I did."

"Then answer."

I smiled.

"You talk too much."

"And you don't talk enough."

I returned my attention to the rose in front of me.

"Good. Then we're balanced."

He scoffed.

I heard the chains drag against the ground as he moved closer.

"What are you doing?"

"Tending the roses."

"Why?"

I looked at him.

"Because someone has to."

He frowned as if that wasn't the answer he wanted.

Then his gaze dropped to the rose bush.

He reached toward one of the flowers.

"Don't."

He froze.

"The thorns."

He looked at me.

"You care about me getting scratched?"

"I care about my roses."

His lips twitched.

I pretended not to notice.

That became our routine.

He would appear in the garden.

I would tend to the roses.

He would complain.

I would ignore him.

And eventually, somehow, we would end up talking.

Not about anything important.

He never told me where he came from.

I never asked.

He never asked about the kingdom.

I never told him about Silas.

It was easier that way.

Some things were better left untouched.

But there was one thing he couldn't avoid.

My feeding.

Every few days, the guards would bring him to me.

At first, he fought.

Every single time.

He would glare at me, curse under his breath, and insist he didn't belong to me.

I would remind him that he was chained inside a vampire manor.

That usually ended the argument.

But something strange happened after the first few times.

I started noticing things.

He would become pale after I fed.

His breathing would slow.

His body would grow heavy.

And sometimes, before the guards could even take him back to his room, his eyes would close.

He would collapse.

The first time it happened, I caught him before he hit the floor.

I stared down at him.

"Little wolf?"

Nothing.

I tapped his cheek lightly.

"Wake up."

Nothing.

My stomach twisted.

"Guards!"

Two guards rushed into the room.

"Take him."

They lifted him from my arms.

I watched as they carried him away.

I told myself I didn't care.

He was a blood slave.

Nothing more.

The next time it happened, I caught him again.

And the time after that.

Eventually, I stopped calling the guards immediately.

I would simply carry him to the bed.

At first, I blamed it on convenience.

Then I began noticing how peaceful he looked when he slept.

It was strange.

When awake, he was all sharp eyes and stubborn words.

But asleep...

He looked young.

Too young to have been dragged into a war.

Too young to have so many scars.

I wondered what had happened to him.

I wondered who had hurt him.

Then I would remind myself that curiosity was dangerous.

So I never asked.

One evening, after feeding, I carried him toward the bed.

His head rested against my shoulder.

His breathing was warm against my neck.

I lowered him carefully.

But before I could step away, his fingers caught the fabric of my shirt.

I froze.

His eyes remained closed.

"Don't..."

His voice was barely a whisper.

I looked down.

"Don't what?"

He didn't answer.

His grip loosened.

I gently pulled my shirt free.

For some reason, I stood there longer than I needed to.

Then I turned away.

Outside, the wind moved through the roses.

Their petals trembled against the darkening sky.

The kingdom was still at war.

My brother was still wearing the crown that should have been mine.

My father still hadn't come.

And I was still a prisoner.

Yet somehow, inside this forgotten manor, my world had begun to change.

It wasn't because of the roses.

It was because of the little wolf.

And I wasn't ready to admit that yet.