The Vampyr Prince

Vampires. Vampyrus. Vampiro. Vampyr.

Names whispered in the dead of night, etched into the fear-soaked pages of human history. The Rulers of the Night, the Masters of Twilight, the Lords of Blood. Beings of legend and nightmare, their existence bound to the shadows, immortal and unyielding.

We are not creatures of myth. We are predators. We are the superior race.

Born under dark circumstances, we were blessed with supernatural strength, heightened senses, and an insatiable hunger—a hunger that demands blood.

And so, we ruled the night.

We were once noble, divine in origin, watching over the lesser beings like gods among mortals. Humans were nothing more than prey—a source of sustenance, a fleeting whisper in the grand eternity of our existence.

But every kingdom must have its king. And we had ours.

The First of Our Kind, the Blodkonung, the Konung, was perfect in every way. He was blessed by Lilith herself, the Mother of Night, and through his will, he forged our lineage—the Kunglig, the Royal Family of Vampires.

The Kunglig were superior to all, supreme beings unlike any other, blessed with unique abilities that made them rulers over the supernatural world. The blood of the Blodkonung was absolute, meant to create a dynasty that would never fall.

But perfection demands refinement. The Kunglig were not the only attempt.

Through dark rituals, the Sanguis were born—the First Superior Vampires, created by fusing the blood of the Blodkonung with that of witches steeped in darkness. The Sanguis were not true royals, but they were powerful, good vessels—a term given to those capable of bearing Kunglig offspring. They became the sacred bearers of the royal bloodline, second only to the pureborn themselves.

And then came the Upyr—humans turned into vampires, converted by the Blodkonung himself. The Upyr were our first experiment with mortality, and from them came the Vampyrs, their direct descendants. Together, they built the empire of blood, expanding our reach beyond what even the First King could have foreseen.

But time is a cruel force, even for the eternal.

Decades passed, then centuries. Turned vampires became weaker, unable to conceive new life as easily as before. Bloodlines became controlled, carefully bred, ensuring only the strongest continued to thrive.

Yet, as the world changed, so did some of us.

The Sanguis, ever seekers of evolution, discovered a forbidden truth—they could impregnate humans. From these unions came something new, something… unwanted.

Dhampirs.

Half-human, half-vampire. A stain on our lineage, a smear on our history.

The elders reviled them. Many were cast out, abandoned at birth, left for the elements to decide their fate. A half-blood was an abomination, they said.

But we failed to realize that in our arrogance, we had created something dangerous. A weapon.

Dhampirs, if left in the wrong hands, could become the perfect vampire hunters.

I remember the day I was sent to collect one.

A Dhampir child, abandoned in a human hospital, her existence concealed in fragile paper records.

A child born of a vampire and a witch.

A child that—according to those records—displayed powers.

My father, always one to eliminate loose ends or control them, sent me to retrieve her. Because unlike most vampires, I could do something others could not.

I could copy abilities. Manipulate them. Seal them away.

That day, I met her.

Elira.

She was the best of what humanity had to offer. She saw the good in everyone, even in creatures like me. And if you refused to see it, she'd smack it out of you until you did.

Fierce. Yet gentle. Unshaken. Unyielding.

Elira saw something in me—something beyond the darkness I carried. And against all odds, she became the only light in my existence.

She gave me meaning. Purpose. Life.

But Elira…

Elira was something more.

Something I had spent years—decades—studying, searching for, hoping to understand.

She was Fae.

And Fae…

Fae were a drug to Vampires.

They were intoxicating. Deliciously dangerous. Their very existence was a temptation no vampire could truly resist.

And I was no exception.

Except, unlike others, my curse was far worse.

My abilities—my inheritance—were a full-blown casino slot hitting the jackpot every time I was near her.

With her, my power surged, expanded, became uncontrollable.

But every happiness comes to an end.

And mine…

Mine ended in the worst way possible.

I remember it every day.

I relive it every night.

And when the memories threaten to drown me, I clutch the small vial around my neck, my last reminder of her, my greatest regret, my greatest sin.

A fragment of what once was.

A token of my mistakes.

________________

The grand study hall pressed down with the weight of ages, a space where the very air hummed with the echoes of history. It was a library, a classroom, a theater of power, where the past wasn't just recounted, but felt—in the musty scent of ancient parchment, in the faint, metallic tang of blood that clung to the stone walls, a scent no amount of incense could ever truly banish. Towering shelves, laden with leather-bound tomes, lined the chamber, each volume a chronicle of lineage, law, and legend, the very foundation of our kind. Flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows, turning the familiar room into a realm of shifting phantoms, illuminating the eager, youthful faces turned toward me.

The murmur of children, a soft, eager hum, filled the space, their minds like sponges, absorbing the knowledge I offered. I, with my silver-blonde hair, a stark contrast to the dark hues that dominated the room, and amber eyes that held the weight of centuries, watched them. I was a Kunglig, a being of refined and terrible beauty, and power.

Then, a small voice broke through the quiet.

"Can we have the same power?"

I lifted my gaze, my lips twitching in amusement. Nyx, his amber eyes wide with innocent curiosity, stared at me with an intensity that only the young possessed. His short, spiked brown hair was a messy halo around his pale, round face.

Before I could answer, Damien scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Only those of royal blood can, you idiot."

I suppressed a sigh, the familiar tension already coiling in the air.

Damien, ever the embodiment of arrogant privilege, sat with his arms crossed, his wine-colored eyes gleaming with condescension. His dark, messy hair fell across his forehead, a deliberate affectation of superiority. He was a Sanguis, and he carried himself as if that single fact made him untouchable.

The tension between them, as predictable as the rising sun, thickened, fueled by the ever-present shadow of caste.

I set my tome down, the ancient leather whispering against the polished wood of the table, and surveyed the children. This space, meant for enlightenment, for understanding the intricate tapestry of our culture, was already being tainted by the ingrained hierarchy that poisoned our society.

"Now, Damien," I said, my voice calm but firm, a silken thread of authority. "There's no need to speak that way to Nyx. We are all here to learn. Even the simplest questions hold the most valuable answers."

Damien frowned, his gaze still sharp, but he remained silent.

"He always asks stupid questions," he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

I arched a brow. "And yet, his 'stupid' question is the reason we are discussing this now. A question you should understand just as well, Damien."

His scowl deepened, but he didn't argue further. I turned back to Nyx.

"No," I answered, my voice steady. "Only those of Kunglig blood—royal blood—are born with abilities unique to our lineage. However, that does not mean power is beyond your reach."

Nyx blinked, his curiosity undimmed. "How? Through training?"

I nodded. "Through proving oneself. Climbing the ranks. Some can reach high enough to serve as royal guardians—though they will never be true Kunglig."

My gaze swept across the table, letting the weight of my words settle.

"Do we know the ranks?" I asked.

The children shifted, a few fidgeting with their pencils, others tapping their notebooks, lost in thought. Then, a small hand shot up from the far end of the table.

Umbra.

Her golden curls bounced as she straightened, her bright yellow eyes gleaming with eager anticipation. "Upyr, Dhampir, Vampyr, Sanguis, and Kunglig!" she recited, her voice filled with pride.

I inclined my head. "Thank you, Umbra."

She smiled brightly, her enthusiasm unwavering.

Damien rolled his eyes. "Such a bookworm."

Umbra didn't even flinch. Instead, she smirked. "For someone who's a Sanguis, you don't seem to know much about our history, Damien."

His wine-colored eyes flashed with irritation. "And for a Dhampir, you look very out of place here."

Their voices sharpened, the air crackling with hostility.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Hey, hey! No discrimination in my class. We are all equals here."

The tension didn't dissipate immediately, but after a moment, Damien leaned back, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Umbra, though still watching him like a predator, relented.

Then, a quiet voice spoke up.

"We can't be equals."

I turned my attention to Orlok.

The pale-haired boy beside Umbra had remained silent until now, his long silver hair neatly tied back. His eyes—a pale, almost ghostly blue in the candlelight—remained fixed on the table, avoiding mine.

"Orlok?" I encouraged. "Do you want to say something?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "You're a Kunglig, sir. You're different. You walk in the sunlight while we remain in the dark."

Umbra added softly, "We'll never stand under the sun like you do."

A beat of silence followed.

"No," I admitted. "But you can rise. You can reach as high as Sanguis. You can hold power. Command respect. Even bear children of your own."

Damien scoffed, a low, derisive sound.

I shot him a warning look before he could voice his thoughts.

Then, Nyx, ever the curious one, asked a question I hadn't been prepared for.

"Is it true you married a Fae?"

The words froze me, a shard of ice piercing my heart.

The memories flooded back, unbidden—soft laughter, whispered secrets, the warmth of another's skin against mine, the scent of wildflowers and magic.

I forced my expression to remain neutral, but the weight in my chest was undeniable.

The room fell silent, the children waiting, expectant.

Damien, ever the self-appointed protector, turned on Nyx with a glare. "Show some respect! We don't question our Kunglig, least of all our Prince."

The title, like a poisoned barb, made my skin prickle.

"I am no Prince."

A chuckle echoed from the doorway.

"Only because you try so hard to believe that."

Sebastian.

My longtime friend, my knight, my shadow, stood at the entrance, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement. His presence, as always, was a comforting, infuriating constant. His dark, messy black hair shook as he walked toward the table.

"Class dismissed." His grin was wolfish, his voice carrying an easy authority that had the children scattering from their seats, their excitement spilling into the halls.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. "Why are you so stubborn?" Seb asked.

I didn't look at him. "Because I am not fit to be Prince."

He scoffed. "Your father favored you since birth. More so when you wielded three abilities at once."

I slammed the books onto the desk, hissing under my breath. "Shut up. They are not supposed to know that."

Seb's expression darkened. "You are more of a King than the madman who wears the crown now."

I turned to the shelves, unwilling to meet his gaze. "I can't."

Seb exhaled. "Because your mother was human? A human who somehow bore a Kunglig?"

I clenched my jaw. "Because no one will ever see me as Konung."

Seb's voice softened. "Times have changed. Dhampir can rise now. You know that."

I shook my head, refusing to indulge the conversation further.

"Why did you interrupt my class?" I asked instead.

Seb sighed, rubbing his face. "We received survivors from South Dakota."

I stilled. "Some from Rose Bud."

My stomach twisted. "That's werewolf territory."

Seb nodded grimly. "Cerberus is tearing packs apart. Forcing them to kneel. Most of the survivors are women and children."

I exhaled sharply. "We take in everyone. You know that."

Seb nodded. "But they speak of a rumor."

I felt it before he even said it.

"A Fae."

Silence.

Seb's eyes flickered to the vial around my neck.

"And he's coming closer."

I gripped the vial tightly, the smooth glass a cold comfort against my skin.

"Double the defenses."

If a Fae was nearby…He will be looking for me.