_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5" style="border:0px solid">"'Marriage between vampires is not merely a union of bodies but an alliance of bloodlines that may persist for eternity,'" Duke Maximilian read aloud, his voice rising in pitch with each word. "'Choose wisely, as forever is a considerably longer commitment than it was during your human existence.'"

  The duke sat hunched in his study as the clock chimed 3 AM, surrounded by towering stacks of retionship manuals. After the catastrophic destruction of his collection the previous night, he'd retreated to the eastern library—the one dedicated to social sciences, a section he'd dutifully cataloged but rarely consulted. Three separate copies of "Marriage for Immortals: A Beginner's Guide" were spread open before him, along with "Eternal Vows: The Complete Compendium of Vampire Matrimonial Traditions" and the significantly more concerning "Blood Bonds and Bedroom Etiquette."

  "This is absurd," he muttered, adjusting his gsses. "I've lived for over half a century as a vampire. I've preserved technological innovations beyond what most of our kind comprehend. I catalog extinct civilizations. How difficult can a simple political union be?"

  He flipped frantically to Chapter Three: "Conversation Topics Suitable for Eternal Partners."

  Winters appeared at the study door with a silver tray bearing a crystal goblet of warmed blood. "Your nightly refreshment, Your Grace."

  Max barely gnced up. "Winters, listen to this: 'While discussing rare blood types may seem a natural conversation starter, such topics can be considered gauche during courtship.' Gauche! How is discussing blood composition gauche? We're vampires!"

  "Indeed, most perplexing, Your Grace," Winters replied with the carefully bnk expression of a butler who had mastered the art of not ughing at his employer. "Perhaps the weather might serve as a safer alternative topic."

  "The weather?" Max echoed, blinking owlishly behind his unnecessary gsses. "Yes, yes, that's in Chapter Four. 'Innocuous Observations on Atmospheric Conditions and Other Non-Contentious Exchanges.'" He cleared his throat. "Winters, I believe the night is... er... dark. Would you agree?"

  Winters paused mid-step. "Exceedingly astute observation, Your Grace."

  "Too obvious?" Max adjusted his cuffs nervously. "Perhaps something more specific? The moon appears particurly... moon-like this evening."

  "Perhaps noting the phase of the moon might lend more specificity, Your Grace."

  "Right. Excellent point." Max stood abruptly, knocking over a stack of etiquette manuals. "I should practice proper dinner conversation. The books emphasize the importance of shared meals in establishing rapport."

  "Shall I arrange a practice dinner setting, Your Grace?"

  "Yes, immediately! And... and bring Jenkins and Morris to serve as conversational partners." Max ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "And Ptolemy. The cat provides a potential shared interest topic."

  Twenty minutes ter, the duke sat at the end of his formal dining table, fnked by his increasingly uncomfortable night staff. Winters stood at attention behind Max's chair while Morris and Jenkins—the night groundskeeper and security chief, respectively—perched awkwardly on elegant chairs clearly not designed for burly vampire guards.

  "So," Max began, gncing surreptitiously at note cards hidden beneath his napkin, "how do you find the... atmospheric conditions this evening?"

  Jenkins and Morris exchanged gnces.

  "...Atmospheric, Your Grace?" Jenkins finally offered.

  "Excellent contribution to the discourse," Max said with excessive formality, then checked his cards again. "And what are your thoughts on... non-contentious current events?"

  Morris coughed. "The blood supply remains stable, Your Grace."

  "Ah! Blood supplies! No, wait—" Max frantically shuffled his cards. "That's listed under 'gauche topics to avoid.' Let me try again." He cleared his throat. "Do you have any... recreational pursuits that bring you satisfaction?"

  "I collect teeth from intruders, Your Grace," Jenkins said helpfully.

  Max's face fell. "Also on the 'avoid' list." He sighed and reached for his goblet of blood-wine, accidentally knocking it over in his nervousness. The deep crimson liquid spread across the ancestral ce tablecloth—a 17th-century piece he'd personally preserved from a French chateau.

  "The tablecloth!" Max gasped, jumping to his feet. "That's been perfectly preserved for three hundred years!"

  In his haste to blot the spill, he knocked over a candebra, which toppled into a vase of night-blooming flowers, which crashed into Jenkins, who lurched forward into the table, sending the remaining goblets of blood-wine cascading across the white ce like a crimson tidal wave.

  Winters observed the unfolding chaos with stoic professionalism, though the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

  "Perhaps we should resume practice tomorrow night, Your Grace?" he suggested as Max frantically tried to sop up centuries-old ce with his dinner napkin, succeeding only in spreading the stain further.

  "This is hopeless," Max moaned, sinking back into his chair and burying his face in his hands. "I've spent decades mastering the preservation of human knowledge and technology. I can rebuild a quantum hard drive from pre-outbreak components. I've transted forgotten nguages. But I can't manage a simple dinner conversation without creating disaster."

  From beneath the table, Ptolemy emerged, his white paws now stained a delicate pink as he pranced across the ruined tablecloth with apparent delight.

  "Your Grace," Winters said with uncharacteristic gentleness, "if I might offer an observation—you are approaching this union as you would a preservation project. Perhaps this consort arrangement requires less... cataloging and more authentic interaction."

  "Authentic interaction," Max repeated as if Winters had suggested he try flying. "With another vampire? How does one even begin?"

  "One typically starts with genuine curiosity about the other person," Winters suggested. "Rather than preparing scripted responses."

  Max looked thoughtful, then immediately reached for a bnk piece of parchment. "Excellent insight, Winters. I'll create a list of authentically curious questions organized by topic and probability of positive response!"

  The butler's sigh was almost imperceptible as the duke began frantically scribbling a new set of note cards, while behind him, the staff exchanged knowing gnces.

  From the doorway, unnoticed, a young housemaid whispered to the night cook, "Ten blood-credits says His Grace spills something on his consort within the first hour of meeting."

  "Twenty says he accidentally calls his consort by one of the cats' names," the cook whispered back.

  As the staff betting pool quietly expanded in the hallway, Duke Maximilian remained oblivious, muttering to himself as he wrote, "Authentic curiosity. Yes. I can master that. It's simply another preservation technique. Preserving conversation. Preserving social connection. Preserving dignity..."

  Ptolemy jumped onto the table, leaving tiny bloody paw prints across Max's freshly written note cards.

  "Dignity," Max sighed as he watched the cat's careful destruction of his work, "may be beyond salvation."