The grand ballroom of Duke Maximilian's estate gleamed under the soft glow of electric chandeliers designed to mimic medieval torches, their steady light creating an atmosphere of controlled elegance. While traditional vampire territories would have used actual candles and oil mps, Archduke Lucius's progressivism meant his vassals could openly use electricity, though still disguised with traditional aesthetics. Crystal and gold accents reflected the light across polished marble floors as servants made final preparations for the reception.

  Unlike the truly medieval appearances maintained in Archduke Orlov's court, here modern convenience blended seamlessly with vampire tradition—temperature controls hidden behind ornate wall panels, lighting systems designed to ftter immortal complexions, and discreet security measures ensuring the comfort of noble guests. This blend of old and new reflected Archduke Lucius's practical approach to vampire existence.

  In his private chambers, Duke Maximilian paced nervously, his normally precise movements jerky with anxiety. He adjusted his formal attire for the twelfth time, running a hand through his meticulously styled dark hair.

  "Everything must be perfect," he muttered to himself, checking his reflection in an antique mirror. "The traditional greeting circle properly pced, blood-wine at precisely 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, ceremonial daggers arranged by territorial origin rather than bde length—or was it the opposite? The Treatise on Formal Receptions from Year 15 specified bde length, but the revised edition from Year 42 clearly stated territorial significance takes precedence..."

  He turned suddenly, knocking over a small decorative box containing what appeared to be ancient manuscript fragments. The delicate pieces scattered across the floor with a rustling sound.

  "No, no, no," he groaned, dropping to his knees to gather the fragments. "Those were preserved texts from a pre-evolution alchemical treatise. Irrepceable! The parchment fibers are completely—"

  The door opened, and Elias entered, already dressed in his formal attire. He looked breathtaking in midnight blue ceremonial robes with subtle silver embroidery that caught the light as he moved. His dark hair with its distinctive blue highlights was artfully arranged, and his violet eyes widened at the scene before him.

  "Already causing chaos, and our guests haven't even arrived?" Elias asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he knelt beside his husband. "Here, let me help."

  "This reception is going to be a disaster," Maximilian said, carefully pcing the parchment fragments into a velvet pouch. "I haven't hosted a formal event in twenty-seven years, and that one ended with the Viscount of the Western Valley threatening to stake me for my 'insulting ck of proper blood-greeting etiquette.' Apparently, I used the wrong ceremonial dagger for his specific territorial origin."

  Elias smiled, taking the pouch from Maximilian's hands and setting it safely on a shelf. "You're overthinking this. It's just a gathering of nobles who want to assess our marriage and determine whether it's politically advantageous to align with us." He straightened Maximilian's colr with practiced hands. "Nothing stressful at all."

  Maximilian adjusted his unnecessary gsses, a human habit he'd never abandoned. "There will be twenty-three nobles of varying ranks, all with different expectations and ceremonial preferences. The Baroness of Silver Lake requires that specific vintage of blood-wine that I had to import from Count Dominic's territory, and—"

  "Max," Elias interrupted, using the private nickname he'd given his husband, "breathe. Remember what we practiced?"

  Maximilian took an unnecessary breath, a vampiric habit maintained from human days. "Greet each guest according to rank, offer the traditional blood welcome with the left hand while keeping the right over my heart, and avoid mentioning anything reted to my collection unless directly asked."

  "And if conversation falters?" Elias prompted, trying to recall the vampire etiquette lessons he'd hastily studied from books in Maximilian's library. In Orlov's court, as a vampire who needed food besides blood, he had been considered fwed and kept as decorative furniture rather than properly educated in noble protocols.

  "Comment on the perfect weather conditions for nighttime hunting, regardless of actual weather conditions," Maximilian recited. "Under no circumstances begin any sentence with 'This reminds me of an interesting artifact from the year...'"

  "Perfect. You'll be fine." Elias smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his husband's shoulder. "And I'll be right beside you the entire time."

  A servant knocked discreetly at the door. "Your Grace, the first guests have arrived."

  Maximilian straightened his posture, his face settling into what Elias had come to recognize as his "duke mask"—serious, composed, and thoroughly uncomfortable.

  "Shall we?" Elias asked, offering his arm in the traditional consort manner.

  "We shall," Maximilian replied with formal stiffness, taking a final deep breath before leaving the safety of his chambers.

  The reception hall buzzed with conversation as vampires of various ranks arrived in luxury vehicles, their modernized designs still maintaining aristocratic appearances—sleek bck exteriors with darkened windows, plush interiors decorated with traditional vampire symbols. Staff members directed the arriving nobles toward the ballroom while discreetly handling their transportation.

  Maximilian and Elias stood at the entrance to the ballroom, greeting each arrival according to proper protocol. To Maximilian's surprise, his husband was following the greeting ceremony with intense concentration, occasionally mouthing words to himself as if reciting from memory.

  "Viscount Harlow, welcome to our home," Maximilian said with a formal bow to a slender vampire with silver-streaked blonde hair. "May your hunger find satisfaction within these walls."

  "Duke Maximilian," the Viscount replied with equal formality. "Congratutions on your recent union. Lord Elias, I believe we met briefly at the Midsummer Blood Festival in Archduke Orlov's court three years ago?"

  Elias searched his memory frantically, having no recollection of this encounter but knowing the social consequences of admitting such a pse. He smiled with practiced court grace while panic fshed in his eyes. "Indeed, Viscount. Your presence honors our—" he hesitated, frantically trying to remember the proper phrase from the etiquette book he'd been studying, "—ancestral bloodline's eternal dwelling."

  A barely perceptible wince crossed Maximilian's face as several nearby vampires exchanged gnces. The correct phrase was "humble halls."

  The Viscount raised an eyebrow. "How... archaic. I wasn't aware Orlov's court still used such traditional phrasing."

  "My consort appreciates historical formalities," Maximilian interjected smoothly. "A schorly interest we share."

  "How fascinating," the Viscount replied, clearly unconvinced but too polite to press further. "You seemed quite interested in the ceremonial hunt that evening," he continued, watching Elias carefully.

  "How could one not be captivated by such a dispy of vampire..." Elias paused again, searching for the appropriate term, "...stabby skills?"

  Maximilian coughed suddenly to cover his shock, while the Viscount's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline.

  "Martial prowess," Elias corrected hastily, having finally remembered the proper term. "Vampire martial prowess."

  The Viscount seemed momentarily speechless before recovering. "Yes... quite." He moved into the ballroom after a final bemused nod to Duke Maximilian.

  "Stabby skills?" Maximilian whispered once the Viscount was out of earshot.

  "I panicked," Elias whispered back, mortified. "The etiquette book had fourteen different terms for combat abilities depending on the rank of the vampire being addressed and the phase of the moon. I couldn't remember which was appropriate!"

  "You're doing wonderfully otherwise," Maximilian assured him, touched by his consort's obvious efforts to learn vampire protocols that had never been properly taught to him. "The real challenge will be actual conversation."

  The next arrival caused Maximilian to stiffen further. "Baroness Lilith," he greeted, his voice slightly higher than normal. "Welcome to our humble—"

  "Duke Maximilian," the Baroness interrupted, her crimson dress matching her lips. "Still hiding among your dusty artifacts most nights? And this must be your political consort from Orlov's territory." She examined Elias with unabashed curiosity. "How... unexpected that you've taken a consort at all, let alone one from the traditional faction."

  Before Maximilian could stumble through a response, Elias stepped forward and attempted a formal aristocratic greeting. He extended his right hand with wrist upturned—only to freeze as he noticed the Baroness's shocked expression. With horror, he realized he'd used the wrong hand for the blood greeting. According to vampire tradition, offering the right wrist was a deeply intimate gesture reserved for consorts or blood-family.

  "How forward," the Baroness purred, her surprise transforming into predatory amusement. "I had no idea Orlov's court was so... progressive in its greetings."

  Elias quickly withdrew his hand, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Please forgive my error, Baroness. I've heard so much about you." He searched his limited knowledge of vampire nobility for something fttering to say. "Your collection of... ceremonial daggers is said to be unmatched in the southern territories."

  The Baroness looked momentarily startled, then pleased. "How surprising that someone from Orlov's court would know of such things. Indeed, my dagger collection spans several centuries, each piece with its own bloody history."

  "Fascinating," Elias replied, relieved his guess had been correct. "Perhaps you could tell me more about them during the reception?"

  "I look forward to it," the Baroness said with a predatory smile before sweeping into the ballroom.

  As she moved away, Maximilian gave Elias a sympathetic gnce. "The right wrist is for—"

  "I know," Elias whispered, mortified. "I mixed up left and right. I spent all night memorizing the Formal Greeting chapter from the etiquette book, but it all seems to be evaporating under pressure."

  "Your instincts about what to say are remarkably good," Maximilian offered encouragingly as the next guests approached. "Just... perhaps keep both hands behind your back for the remainder of the greetings."

  An hour ter, the reception was in full swing. Blood-wine flowed from crystal fountains into delicate gsses, and servants circuted with trays of rare delicacies—traditional blood-infused confections for the vampire guests, with one servant discreetly offering a small pte of actual food only to Elias, acknowledging his unique status as the only vampire who required sustenance beyond blood.

  Maximilian had managed to survive the greeting ceremony and now stood awkwardly near one of the ornate columns, clutching a gss of blood-wine he had barely touched. Elias circuted through the room, moving from group to group with what he hoped appeared as practiced ease rather than the nervous improvisation it actually was.

  He caught snippets of conversation as he moved—discussions of territory boundaries, hunting rights, blood farm yields, and the ever-present political tensions between Archduke Lucius's progressive faction and Archduke Orlov's traditionalists. He nodded and smiled at appropriate moments, offering bnd comments when directly addressed, all while searching his limited knowledge for appropriate responses.

  "Your consort moves through the room with remarkable confidence," observed Count Sebastian, approaching Maximilian by the column. "His etiquette may be... unconventional, but he certainly commands attention. I wouldn't have expected someone from Orlov's court to dispy such social boldness in a progressive household."

  "Yes, well..." Maximilian shifted uncomfortably. "Elias is... adaptable."

  "Indeed," the Count nodded thoughtfully. "Tell me, Duke Maximilian, how are your preservation efforts progressing? Archduke Lucius mentioned your collection during our st court gathering."

  Maximilian nearly choked on his blood-wine. The Archduke himself had mentioned his collection? "My historical artifacts are merely a schorly pursuit," he said carefully. "Nothing of particur significance."

  "No need for modesty among allies," Count Sebastian said in a lower voice. "Those of us who understand the importance of preserving pre-evolution knowledge appreciate your efforts. Particurly your work with mechanical innovations."

  "I... that is..." Maximilian felt a cold wave of panic. While electricity use was acceptable in Lucius's court, the preservation of advanced pre-evolution knowledge remained a sensitive topic even among progressives. "I maintain certain historical items for their cultural significance, of course, but—"

  "The preservation methods you've developed are particurly impressive," the Count continued. "Your techniques for maintaining delicate materials without degradation show remarkable ingenuity. Some might say almost... technological in their precision."

  Maximilian's eyes widened in horror. This wasn't casual conversation; this was either a test of loyalty or a dangerous provocation. Either way, discussing such specific preservation methods in a public setting vioted the careful bance Archduke Lucius maintained.

  "I believe you may have misunderstood the nature of my collection," Maximilian said stiffly. "I focus primarily on historical documentation rather than functional preservation of—"

  His nervous gesture sent his full gss of blood-wine cascading down the front of Count Sebastian's immacute evening attire.

  The rich crimson liquid spread across the Count's white ceremonial jacket, creating a stain that resembled a disturbingly realistic wound. The surrounding conversations faltered as nobles turned to observe the commotion.

  "I am so terribly sorry," Maximilian stammered, mortified. "Please allow me to—"

  He reached for his handkerchief and somehow managed to knock over a nearby serving tray, which cttered loudly against the marble floor.

  The room fell into uncomfortable silence as every aristocratic eye turned toward the disaster unfolding. Maximilian stood frozen, the epitome of social catastrophe, while Count Sebastian looked down at his ruined attire with an unreadable expression.

  Across the room, Elias noticed the sudden tension and the focus on his husband. Though he couldn't hear what had happened, Maximilian's distress was evident even from a distance. Excusing himself from his current conversation, he moved swiftly through the crowd toward the commotion.

  "Well," the Count said finally, "this is certainly a memorable reception."

  Before Maximilian could respond, Elias rushed to his husband's side, frantically trying to remember if the etiquette book had covered "catastrophic blood-wine spills on important guests." Finding no mental reference, he fell back on practical experience.

  "Count Sebastian, please accept our deepest apologies," Elias said with as much poise as he could muster. "Allow me to attend to this immediately."

  Elias quickly produced a handkerchief from his sleeve and, under the pretense of dabbing at the stain, subtly used his hidden abilities. His powers required only the slightest concentration, allowing him to create an illusion that made the stain appear to fade while his hand movements looked like ordinary cleaning. To onlookers, it simply seemed he was using a particurly effective technique.

  "How curious," the Count murmured, looking down at his apparently clean jacket. "I wasn't aware such efficient cleaning methods were employed in your household, Duke Maximilian."

  Remembering a passage from the etiquette book about how to respond to compliments regarding household practices, Elias replied, "The secret has been in my family for generations of eternal night." He immediately realized this made perfect sense for him as a born vampire, even if it was unintentionally revealing more than he meant to.

  The Count's eyebrow rose again. "Fascinating genealogy, Lord Elias. I wasn't aware vampire lineages passed down servant cleaning methods. Your bloodline must have some... unusual traditions."

  "That is to say," Elias fumbled, "the technique was taught to me by... the servants in Orlov's court."

  "A special cleaning solution," he added hastily, tucking the handkerchief away. "The servants in Orlov's court taught me a few practical tricks. When you're ignored most of the time, you pick up the most interesting skills."

  The surrounding nobles had varied reactions. Several aristocrats snickered at the mention of learning from servants, their expressions ranging from amusement to outright disdain. Others, who hadn't noticed Elias's unique need for actual food, exchanged puzzled gnces, clearly wondering why someone of noble birth would be "ignored" in Orlov's traditionally status-conscious court. The whispers began immediately—specutions about his mysterious parentage, his unusual abilities, and his questionable upbringing.

  Conversations gradually resumed, though with new undertones of gossip about the awkward Duke and his bizarrely unpredictable consort.

  "Thank you," Maximilian whispered to Elias when the Count had moved on to speak with other guests.

  "What happened?" Elias asked quietly, maintaining his pleasant expression for any observing eyes.

  "The Count was asking uncomfortable questions," Maximilian murmured vaguely, adjusting his gsses nervously. "I'm afraid I've made quite a mess of things."

  Elias didn't press for details, recognizing that his husband wasn't ready to share certain matters with him. "What would you like me to do? Should I stay close for the remainder of the evening?"

  "Yes, please," Maximilian responded with obvious relief. "And perhaps help me avoid any more full gsses of blood-wine."

  "I'll try, but first I should probably learn the difference between the 'please join me' gesture and the 'I challenge you to ritual combat' posture," Elias admitted sheepishly. "I believe I just inadvertently threatened three Counts and propositioned a Baroness on my way over here."

  Despite the stress of the situation, Maximilian's lips quirked in the closest thing to a genuine smile Elias had seen all evening. "Perhaps we should create our own simplified etiquette system for our household."

  "I would appreciate that immensely," Elias confessed. "The current etiquette book has seventeen chapters just on the proper way to hold a blood-wine gss depending on the age of the vampire you're addressing."

  "Technically, it's eighteen chapters," Maximilian corrected automatically, his schorly nature emerging despite the circumstances, "because the Year 33 revision added separate protocols for addressing vampires of indeterminate age."

  They shared a brief moment of quiet amusement before returning to circution among their guests, now sticking close together as they navigated the remainder of the evening.

  Maximilian nodded gratefully, allowing his consort to guide him back into circution among their guests. As they moved through the crowd together, Elias continued his valiant but fwed attempts to follow proper etiquette.

  When introduced to a senior Viscount, Elias tried to remember the proper greeting for early-turned vampires. The etiquette book had specified a particur formal address for those turned in the first wave after Subject 23.

  "Most esteemed early-blood, whose transformation predates the rise of our society," he intoned solemnly.

  The Viscount blinked in surprise while Maximilian seemed to be fighting the urge to disappear into the floor.

  "That form of address was invented only five years ago," the Viscount replied dryly. "And even then, only in certain theatrical vampire circles trying to create false traditions."

  "I appreciate forward-thinking innovations," Elias improvised, trying to salvage the situation. "They have such... historical resonance."

  "Indeed." The Viscount seemed amused rather than offended. "Though I prefer being addressed simply as 'Viscount Harrington.' Less pretentious for a society barely half a century old."

  Later, attempting to follow the proper protocol for accepting refreshments, Elias performed what he believed was the correct "gracious acceptance" gesture when offered blood-wine by a servant. The movement involved an eborate hand flourish that he'd practiced diligently.

  Unfortunately, what he executed was the signal used exclusively by blood farm administrators to indicate a resource should be processed for immediate consumption.

  The servant nearly dropped the tray in horror, while a nearby Baron choked on his drink. Maximilian quickly stepped in, accepting the blood-wine normally and whispering a hasty expnation to the shaken servant.

  "I'm making this infinitely worse, aren't I?" Elias murmured to Maximilian when they had a moment alone.

  "Not at all," Maximilian assured him, surprising Elias with his answer. "Actually, you've created the perfect distraction. Everyone's so fascinated by your unique interpretation of protocol that they've completely forgotten my social awkwardness. For the first time in years, I'm not the most uncomfortable vampire at a gathering."

  Elias ughed softly, genuinely touched by Maximilian's perspective. "Happy to be of service, then. Should I perhaps mix up a few more ceremonial greetings?"

  "Perhaps not intentionally," Maximilian suggested with a hint of humor. "Your natural approach is quite effective on its own."

  "You're remarkably good at this," Maximilian observed during a brief moment alone.

  "At what? Making a complete spectacle of myself?" Elias asked, accepting a small pte of actual food from a passing servant with a discreet nod of thanks.

  "All of it. The social maneuvering, the quick thinking. Even that cleaning trick with the wine stain—I've never seen anything remove blood-wine so effectively."

  Elias offered a modest smile. "When you're overlooked your entire life, you develop unexpected talents. In Orlov's court, I was nothing more than decorative furniture—something pretty to dispy at formal gatherings." He looked around the ballroom thoughtfully. "This is the first time anyone has actually valued my contributions, however unorthodox they might be."

  "You matter to me," Maximilian said suddenly, then looked startled at his own words.

  "Matters?" Elias repeated.

  Maximilian hesitated, then met his husband's eyes directly. "Yes. You matter to me."

  Before Elias could respond to this unexpected confession, they were interrupted by the arrival of more guests seeking to engage with the hosting couple.

  Across the room, Count Sebastian watched them with calcuting eyes, occasionally touching the spot where the blood-wine had spilled. Though it appeared clean to others, he could still feel a slight dampness beneath the fabric. He made a mental note to report this interesting evening to Archduke Lucius—particurly Lord Elias's apparent ability to create illusions and Duke Maximilian's surprising knowledge of advanced preservation methods.

  The midnight reception continued long into the night, a swirl of political currents beneath the veneer of aristocratic pleasantries. And at its center, the awkward schor and his etiquette-challenged consort moved through the carefully choreographed dance of vampire nobility, their arranged marriage increasingly looking like something neither of them had anticipated.