Duke Maximilian's quill scratched methodically across the catalog parchment as the grandfather clock in his study chimed 2 AM. Most vampires were at blood-wine socials or midnight hunts, which suited him perfectly. As one of Archduke Lucius's trusted progressives, Max—as absolutely no one was allowed to call him—needed the privacy. Tonight, he was updating his secret records of functional pre-outbreak technology, carefully maintaining the appearance of mere historical cataloging should any traditionalists come snooping.

  "iPhone 15, circa 2023," he muttered, carefully turning the device in his hands. "Battery optimizations holding nicely after st month's modifications." He connected the custom power supply he'd developed, watching with satisfaction as the device powered up instantly. The screen dispyed his modified operating system, efficiently bypassing the authentication that had stumped other vampires trying to access pre-outbreak tech. He made another note about potential improvements to the sor charging capabilities while transferring recently recovered data.

  Three sharp knocks interrupted his concentration.

  "Your Grace?" His butler, Winters, stood at the study door, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "A messenger from Archduke Lucius has arrived."

  Maximilian frowned, adjusting his completely unnecessary gsses—a habit from his human days that five decades of vampire existence hadn't cured. "At this hour? Don't tell me someone's organized another midnight ball I'm expected to attend."

  "The messenger insists the matter is urgent but not camitous," Winters replied with the carefully neutral expression of someone who has delivered bad news to temperamental vampires for decades. "He bears formal documentation with the Archduke's seal."

  "Very well. Show him in, but please emphasize that I'm in the middle of critical preservation work." Maximilian carefully pced the iPhone back into its custom-fitted velvet case. He straightened his dark jacket, needlessly adjusting cuffs that were already perfectly aligned.

  The messenger who entered was dressed in Archduke Lucius's distinctive gray and silver livery, his posture impeccable as he offered a formal bow. "Duke Maximilian, I bring tidings and documentation from His Grace, Archduke Lucius."

  "Yes, yes," Maximilian said, extending a hand. "Let's see what couldn't wait until tomorrow evening's correspondence hour."

  The messenger produced an elegantly sealed parchment bearing Lucius's blood-red wax seal. "His Grace wished this delivered immediately upon its drafting."

  Maximilian broke the seal and unfolded the document. His eyes, already enhanced with vampire sight, still narrowed as he read the contents once, then again, certain he must have misunderstood.

  "This... this cannot be correct." His normally steady hand trembled slightly. "There must be some error."

  "His Grace anticipated your surprise," the messenger said with practiced neutrality. "He assures you the arrangement has been finalized and preparations should commence immediately. The ceremony will take pce three weeks from tonight."

  "But this says—" Maximilian swallowed unnecessarily, a human reflex that surfaced in moments of extreme stress. "This says I'm to be married. To Lord Elias of Archduke Orlov's court."

  "Indeed, Your Grace. A political consort arrangement to strengthen alliances between progressive and traditional factions."

  "But I'm a collector—a schor! Not a politician! And certainly not..." Maximilian gestured vaguely, "...someone who takes consorts!"

  His voice had risen just enough to disturb Ptolemy, his favorite Turkish Angora, who had been sleeping atop a stack of pre-outbreak newspapers. The cat stretched nguidly, then leapt to a higher shelf, his tail sweeping across a delicate Ming dynasty vase that Maximilian had spent three decades tracking down.

  "No—Ptolemy—careful—!"

  Maximilian lunged for the vase as it wobbled precariously. His hand caught it just as it tipped over the edge, but in his haste, his elbow knocked against an ancient Roman oil mp. The mp toppled into a carefully arranged dispy of preserved early 21st century fsh drives, sending them cttering across the mahogany desk like technological dominoes.

  "Oh no—no—no—" Maximilian spun, the vase still clutched to his chest, only to send his catalog ledger flying. The heavy volume struck a shelf of meticulously arranged Mesopotamian cy tablets, which began to totter in sequence.

  "Your Grace!" Winters moved forward to assist, but he was too te.

  The first cy tablet fell against the second, which knocked over a small Egyptian scarab, which rolled into a rare Fabergé egg, which tumbled into a collection of Pre-Outbreak USB drives, which scattered across the floor in all directions.

  Maximilian stood frozen in horror, the Ming vase still clutched protectively to his chest, as fifty-five years of meticulous organization descended into chaos around him.

  The messenger watched wide-eyed as a NASA lunar module replica teetered on the edge of a high shelf, wavered, and then crashed onto a dispy case containing first-edition books, shattering the gss with a spectacur crash.

  Into the sudden silence that followed, Ptolemy—the inadvertent catalyst of destruction—jumped gracefully to the floor and began batting at a rolling cylinder seal from ancient Babylon.

  "I... take it you'd like some time to consider your response to the Archduke?" the messenger finally ventured.

  Maximilian stared at him, then at the devastation surrounding them, then back at the marriage decree still clutched in his trembling hand.

  "Please inform the Archduke," he said with remarkable composure given the circumstances, "that I am... processing the information and will begin preparations accordingly."

  As if to punctuate his statement, a final artifact—a preserved pre-outbreak stopwatch—chose that moment to drop from a shelf and activate upon impact, its electronic beeping counting the seconds of silence that stretched between them.

  Ptolemy pounced on the noisy device, sending it skittering under a bookcase.

  "Of course, Your Grace." The messenger bowed again, carefully avoiding eye contact with the distressed Duke. "I'll convey your... acknowledgment of the arrangement."

  After the messenger departed, Winters surveyed the catastrophe with the stoic resignation of someone who had served an eccentric schor for decades.

  "Shall I assemble the staff to assist with restoration, Your Grace?"

  Maximilian finally set down the Ming vase with exaggerated care, as if it were the st stable element in his suddenly upended world.

  "Yes. And Winters?"

  "Your Grace?"

  "Please locate my copy of 'Marriage for Immortals: A Beginner's Guide.' I believe it's in the eastern library, social customs section, third shelf from the bottom." Maximilian adjusted his gsses again, a nervous gesture that didn't actually improve his perfect vampire vision. "And perhaps some fresh blood. I believe I'm going to need it."

  Ptolemy, having lost interest in the stopwatch, began grooming himself in the center of the destruction, the very picture of feline innocence.

  Maximilian looked at the cat, then at the devastation of his collection, then at the marriage decree, and for the first time in his vampire existence, considered whether it might be easier to just meet the dawn.