It had been five years since they heard that the silver moon had returned to the werewolf territory.
Prince Conifer had been under the blood-red moon that night with his brothers. They had been preparing to descend to the mortal realm when the moon suddenly dipped toward the eastern sky and then rose back instantly.
Until then, they were unaware that the moon could shine with resplendence.
Distracted by their marvel, the door to the mortal realm closed and would not open again until the seventh year. This inevitably postponed the official coupling rites for vampires.
Despite the ascent of a glorious moon, the brothers were punished severely for failing to to retrieve the staff of limerence and mortal blood supply, and for being the perpetrators who lost it in the first place.
Mornings and evenings rolled. Five years passed. So, two years were left to strategize, study and train harder. The brothers never slacked off despite the known inherent weakness of the humans of the mortal realm.
During the past five years, Conifer saw a werewolf for the first time.
Some of these creatures having regained their vitality, began ambushing and kidnapping vampires.
Hence, the vampires of Viteka had another problem to deal with.
The action of these werewolves brought about this reaction...
Conifer hunched slightly, studying the true forms of the newest werewolves in their custody.
With the claws in his right hand drenched in mucous poison, he sank them in different body parts. His brothers were ever watchful of the reaction of each, noting down the speed, intensity and manner by which they were affected.
After they were satisfied, Conifer pulled away. He wiped his hands with a towel soaked in neutralizer and threw it into a bin by the corner.
He stepped back, and glanced at the beasts now marred with a hundred pinpoint wounds and scorched flesh.
They were spread eagle, suspended by silver chains which burned with movement.
One of them, bleary-eyed cursed, "bloodsucking bastards," and spat with all his strength yet misfired and decorated his nakedness with a glob of spit.
Desmier, the youngest brother, perked up in mischief and grinned wickedly. "Shame, shame," he teased, raised a hand, about to do something rash when he was stopped by a pat by his second older brother.
"Let's get out of this dingy place."
Desmier hesitated, sparing the ugly werewolf one equally ugly look but agreed since he had been the one complaining and squeezing his face the most.
He glanced around. To no surprise, Conifer had abandoned them without a word.
Once out, the door slid shut behind them and both brothers exhaled the breaths they weren't aware that they'd been holding. The air was humid as they were dozens of feet underground, but it was cooler than that dingy place.
"Ugh! Should we direct someone to clean them up? It is for our own sake," Desmier said, dragged two long breaths and wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Lenard hummed. "You'll discuss that with Conifer." Subsequently, he slipped the yellow paper scroll in which he'd taken notes with into the pocket of his red gown and began to walk away from the dungeon.
Desmier shrank in fear, shook his head fervently and grabbed Lenard by the hand. "He's too powerful. If I offend him, he might ki- kill me."
Laughing with disbelief over what he had just heard, Lenard pulled their youngest brother forward to face him.
They were almost matching in heights, Lenard realised with a start.
Pushing down his displeasure before Desmier could catch on, he asked, "why do you think Conifer left so quickly?"
"Because he had something to do."
"No," Lenard furrowed his brows, glanced straight ahead, and zeroed into a spot hidden from the glow of the lanterns on the wall.
"Why do you think he does not like to speak there?"
"What?" Desmier pulled away from him forcefully, disturbing Lenard's concentration.
"He doesn't like to speak at all," he gesticulated with his body. Lenard could not prevent the soft laughter that came out. "If I didn't know him, I would have thought him to be mute."
"Who would have been thought to be mute?" A chilly, quiet voice came from before them.
Desmier quivered.
"Con- Conifer." Desmier scurried behind Lenard.
"Yes," he answered, materialising from the spot that Lenard had been staring intently at, standing tall.
You have been there all along. Desmier blanched and Lenard flashed a sweet smile.
"We were talking about someone," Desmier managed to say.
"Nonsense," Lenard scoffed and told Conifer, "we were just talking about you."
"Brother!" Desmier wailed, "you have betrayed me again."
Before Desmier could go on, Conifer commanded, "End it".
Lenard also turned on him, "come here. Stand in the midst."
With a galloping heart, the youngest brother did as he was told.
After that, Lenard slid an arm behind his waist. Posture mirroring Conifer. Unconsciously so.
"The werewolves should be bathed," the second older prince spoke and began to lead.
Yay! Desmier internally whooped with joy.
"I agree," Conifer responded.
"Perhaps one or two of them are from a higher rank."
They reached a staircase that looped high and disappeared into a speck of light.
Desmier looked up at it and fought back a smile. Through his periphery, he skimmed the faces of his brothers one after the other. Taking a huge breath, he dashed up.
Lenard followed. Then, Conifer. At the end of the stairs, the path forked in two opposite directions. They took the left.
The air grew lighter with the lingering scent of orchids and the path began to narrow, stone walls closing in.
"I hoped that the werewolves would have the same constitution." Conifer picked up from where they had left off.
"I hoped so too." The disappointment was evident.
Like that, both brothers talked over the head of their youngest. And Demier finally relaxed, glad that he didn't have to contribute to the conversation because he hadn't been paying attention back there.
In no time, they emerged from a stone door and stepped into a hot afternoon.
An umbrella appeared in Conifer's palm. He snapped it open, a burst of red coming into view.
The rustle of fabric was a gentle whisper as it settled above his head, just large enough to shield him from the intense rays of the sun.
A floral scent spread out, distinct from the aroma of orchids.
Below, the umbrella was an intricate shadow, a splash of black ink on caramel earth.
Above, Conifer's eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light.
His hair was bare and braided singly to the waist, streaks of black and silver behind ears that pulled back at the tip as of their kind, and adorned with a single jet-black hoop respectively.
His brows were sharp and thin, a sharp line cutting across the left one. It framed eyes which could give nightmares, a high nose, high cheekbones, lips pink and full.
The canvas that was his skin was reminiscent of the finest jade, pale-like and shone a creamy hue which invited light touches.
Conifer's tall, imposing figure was draped in a flowing gown that was dyed in midnight blue. It dipped from the collar in a v-shaped slit that revealed a blood-red tunic. The intricate folds and creases were accentuated by a red sash that cinched his small waist. The gown's hem was an inch above the floor, partly concealing the black leather boots beneath its dark, billowing folds.
At the far end, Lenard looked alike. Howbeit, his lips were thin, his nose, soft. He was almost the same height as Desmier. His gown was burgundy-red, sash and tunic, jet-black. There were also red beads in his braid. A thin sash with Viteka's sigil embossed on the centre, wrapped his head just above the glabella.
His forehead was creased slightly, struggling without an umbrella.
Ahead, Zachary, Demier's friend was there, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other.
On seeing them, he shrieked and ran forward.
"Greetings, Princes of Viteka," he bowed his head, with a hand on his chest and righted himself without waiting for a response.
Conifer had no expression but felt the warmth of Lenard's smooth stroke through the material on his back.
They won't escape punishment, he thought.
Without a care in the world, their youngest brother dashed away with Zachary and did not look back.
"How old is he again?" Lenard asked wearily, trying and failing to keep up with the movements of the young lads in the distance. Their destination was no doubt the nearest market to squander money.
"Twenty," Conifer replied. Nonetheless, something in his brother's voice made Conifer glance down at him.
His features etched slightly in worry.
"He is going to surpass me in height before thirty," Lenard voiced his concerns.
Conifer chuckled. He decided to let Lenard be, and remarked, "Might or might not be taller than I."
Conifer inched closer while talking, and shielded Lenard from the sun.
Lenard scowled and flicked his sleeves. His sheen was dulled by the shade. A twinkle flashed in his eyes and he faced him.
"My room," he winked at his brother, "race me there."
"Sure! At my count..." Conifer trailed off, his hair flowing forward by Lenard's wind.
Well, well. His lips curved up in a smirk as his brother became a blur in the distance.
Don't blame me.
Lenard burst into the room, doubled over to catch his breath. "I won! "I wo- brother!" He reeled, and straightened.
"You..." he blinked incredulously.