Chapter 65The mountains of Transylvania were covered in a white mantle of fine snow. Darkmoor Castle, restored in all its somber grandeur, stood imposing against the night sky, its towers illuminated by eternal torches that never went out.In the great main hall, three figures stood before the enormous window overlooking the valley.Vlad Darkmoor, the Absolute Prince of Darkness, was exactly as always: tall, imposing, dressed in black with elegant precision. At his side, Elena, his wife, wore a long deep wine-colored dress that enhanced her eternal beauty. Her hair fell in soft waves, and her hand rested lovingly on her husband’s arm.Between them stood Lucian—tall, noble in bearing, with a piercing gaze. The young vampire had grown handsome and strong. He had his father’s sharp features and his mother’s eyes. At an apparent twenty-eight years of age, he was already respected by many clans, yet carried that restless unease typical of one who bears blood far too ancient for such a you
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