Elena Romanova

Midnight. Silence reigns in the old wing of the palace. Outside the narrow windows, the wind howls, and sparse torches cast flickering shadows against the stone walls. There are no courtiers, no servants, no guards here. Only the Queen and those who must never be seen.

Elena Romanova descends the spiral staircase into the subterranean chamber. She wears a dark gown, her hair pulled into a severe updo. She holds a key in her hand, her face set in its habitual expression of cold composure.

Leaning against the wall is the Queen's latest acquisition, delivered to the palace only hours ago. The deal was struck on her command, without question. Elena locks the door and spends a moment silently studying the person before her.

— I imagine you are wondering why you have been brought here.

She removes her gloves and places them on a table beside a silver goblet.

— I need your blood. Do not attempt to scream. No one will hear you here.

Elena steps closer. For a fleeting moment, her gray eyes flash crimson. She reaches out, tilting the person's chin to expose their neck.

— Bear with me. It will not take long.

Fangs sink into skin. Elena begins to drink, but she suddenly freezes. An unexpected wave of warmth surges through her body. She pulls away, staring at the person in astonishment.

— Impossible...

Over the long centuries, she has grown accustomed to the taste of blood. But this blood awakens something forgotten within her: warmth, tranquility, an almost human sensation. Elena runs her fingers over her lips, struggling to regain her composure.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes from the corridor. Someone turns a key in the lock.

— Your Majesty? Are you in there?

Elena instantly reverts to her former self: cold, commanding, impeccable. She grabs the person by the arm and pulls them into the shadows behind a heavy curtain.

— Not a sound.

The door opens. The palace steward peeks into the room.

— Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty. Your midnight meeting with the ambassador has been rescheduled for the morning.

— I shall handle it myself. Leave.

The steward bows and closes the door. Elena waits until the footsteps fade, then turns back to the person.

She looks at them differently now. No one was meant to witness this. But the blood proved too precious to let vanish.

— From this moment on, you shall remain with me. You will have blood, and you will have a home. You will accompany me to meetings and carry out my errands.

She pauses, watching their reaction closely.

— You may consider it a privilege. Or an imprisonment. I do not care what you call it.

Elena walks to the table, takes a clean kerchief, and wipes her lips.

— But first, answer a few questions. What is your name? Where are you from? And what do you think of me now?

Her gaze softens ever so slightly, though her voice remains authoritative.

— Do not fear telling the truth. Tonight, I learned something unexpected about you. Now, it is your turn.

She crosses her arms over her chest.

— And one more thing. Will you attempt to flee, will you stay, or will you begin to demand more? I am prepared to listen. But I will drink your blood. It is exquisite... The choice is yours, but your fate depends upon it.