Zuona loathed the Black Tower from the bottom of her heart.

To her, this was an ominous place; unless absolutely necessary, she would never set foot inside the tower. Yet there are always exceptions.

Despite her deep reluctance, she had no choice but to come.

The alliance between the Kingdom and the Snow Domain was on the agenda, and the envoy’s entourage was ready to depart. As the central figure in the marriage alliance—the crucial gift to be presented—Cen Qing could not afford any missteps at this critical juncture.

He must be meticulously dressed, appearing noble and dignified, without losing the grace befitting royalty. Zuona scoffed at this, yet she could not voice any objection.

Arrogant and tyrannical by nature, her reputation for wickedness spread throughout the court; yet in Gorod’s presence, she was a different person—attentive, humble, and cautious.

Ever since she donned the crown, she had been constantly on her guard, maintaining a flawless facade.

This had allowed her to remain on the queen’s throne, avoiding the fate of her predecessors, who had either been cast aside for no reason or framed on trumped-up charges, thrown into prison, and ultimately met an untimely and mysterious death.

“The king will show no mercy; you must look out for yourself.”

These were the words Zax spoke to her on the eve of her wedding. Zuona had etched them deeply into her mind, and they remained vivid in her memory to this day. The Black Tower was not dim; all the niches were lit, and the path ahead was clearly visible.

The ladies-in-waiting could clearly see the moss in the corners and the thorn vines climbing up the outside of the windows. Shadows swayed in the breeze, constantly unsettling their nerves and making their faces appear even paler.

The seamstresses walked on tiptoe, clutching their tools. The attendants behind them carried or hoisted a vast quantity of precious fabrics—vibrant in color, with striking patterns, their exorbitant cost evident at a glance.

After entering the Black Tower, the group followed the goblin’s lead through the corridor and up the stone steps.

The lights at their sides flickered frequently, weaving light and shadow into a delicate rainbow that arched over the steps, extending step by step along the vaulted ceiling. At the corner of the staircase stood a figure—tall, graceful, and alluring.

She wore a dark red gown with a black sash tied at the waist. Her thick, long hair was pulled back, her forehead smooth and bare, not a single strand of hair falling across it.

She was a Black Thorn Vines Maiden, having emerged from the dungeon not long ago, yet no shadow of gloom lingered upon her. The ravages of time had left few marks—at least on the surface.

Upon seeing Zuona, Yuanwei bowed in greeting.

The two had met before in the palace. For Zuona, that encounter had been an absolute disaster, nearly causing her to lose all face. “His Highness the Prince is waiting for you,” Yuanwei said in a slightly hoarse voice, then turned and walked away. The maid’s behavior greatly displeased Zuona.

The Black Tower truly is an ill-omened place!

Recalling Gorod’s orders, Zuona bit her lip, forcing down her anger, and lifted her chin haughtily: “Where is that good-for-nothing…First Prince?”

Hearing her epithet, the maid’s eyes flashed briefly before she turned on her heel and stepped aside, clearing the path to the end of the corridor.

The flickering light from the niche stretched the maid’s shadow, distorting it in the glow. A sense of dread permeated the silence, sending shivers down the spines of the ladies-in-waiting and seamstresses.

Zuona seemed unfazed.

She strode past the thorn vine maiden, her chin held high, as proud as a swan.

The ladies-in-waiting followed behind her; though they tried to remain composed, their slightly hurried footsteps betrayed the panic within.

The tailors made no pretense; they had no need to hide their emotions. Fear, suspicion, and dread were etched on their faces. They walked hunched over, their inner terror impossible to conceal, laid bare in that moment.

As they neared the end of the corridor, the group encountered two more maids.

They stood on either side, expressionless, their hands clasped in front of them, as lifeless as hard plaster statues.

“His Highness is waiting for you.”

Hearing those same words, Zuona paused slightly and looked ahead.

The door swung open of its own accord, the carvings on it shimmering with light as golden roses bloomed in the dimness. The hinges turned with agonizing slowness, and the oppressive atmosphere felt almost tangible, causing her to frown involuntarily.

A court lady stepped forward and whispered in Zuona’s ear, “Your Majesty, be careful.” All court ladies came from noble families and possessed special powers.

This lady-in-waiting possessed the gift of foresight; though her premonitions were often vague, they proved invaluable. By Zuona’s side, she consistently offered helpful warnings, earning her status as a trusted confidante.

“I will,” Zuona said, gazing straight ahead with her lips pressed tightly together—a sign that she was not as composed as she appeared. The door stood wide open, revealing a reception room beyond.

It had likely not been opened for years; even with the goblins cleaning, a faint whiff of dust lingered in the air. The interior decor was not opulent, yet it exuded a sense of solemnity through its simplicity.

The floor was polished to a mirror-like shine, with no carpet laid upon it.

The walls were sparsely decorated, featuring only a series of candelabras. The candelabras stood in neat rows, their gilded bases supporting burning candles. The flickering candlelight cast a soft glow, and smoke flowed through ducts into the interior of the fixtures, leaving not a trace of acrid odor in the air.

In the center of the room stands a round table, with only a single high-backed chair beside it.

The table stood near the fireplace, and behind the high-backed chair was a floor-to-ceiling window. The curtains were drawn, blocking out everything outside the tower, making it impossible to tell whether it was day or night.

Cen Qing sat in the only chair, his long legs crossed, the cuffs of his trousers resting on his calves, revealing a gemstone chain wrapped around his ankle—an exceptionally alluring sight.

He held a hardcover book, its cover and spine completely blank—neither text nor illustrations were visible. Hearing footsteps, he closed the book with one hand and lifted his head from the pages.

His black hair, falling past his waist like a waterfall, complemented his snow-white shirt and black jacket perfectly, matching his hair color and eyes as if bestowed by the god of the dark night.

Or perhaps a curse.

For a moment, Zuona’s expression grew dazed.

For a split second, she felt as though she had seen an old acquaintance—the late Queen Yin.

The most beautiful woman among the vampire clan, possessing noble lineage and supreme status. For her, power was within easy reach. She could have held the throne, yet…

Zuona lowered her eyelids, hiding the sudden turmoil in her eyes.

While their appearances were similar, their personalities and conduct were worlds apart.

Based on her past experiences, she was certain that Cen Qing was nothing like his birth mother. He was not the least bit delicate, nor did he possess a compassionate heart. His character was more like Gorod’s.

How ironic—a father and son destined to be enemies yet share more similarities than the King’s other children. Zuona fell deep in thought, standing motionless for a long time, saying nothing.

Cen Qing made no move to rise, nor did he intend to invite her to sit. There was simply no chair in the room for her.

He leaned lazily back against the chair, a hardcover book resting on his lap. His right palm cupped the cover, his fingertips tracing the surface, the scratching sound slightly grating. The thorn vines Maids stood guard outside the door; without Cen Qing’s command, they remained motionless.

The Queen’s lady-in-waiting remained silent; without explicit instructions, she dared not break the silence.

In the stifling atmosphere, the tailors trembled, each of them drenched in sweat.

They longed to make a break for it, even if it meant jumping out the window. Unfortunately, such thoughts remained mere fantasies; in reality, they were trapped. Under the oppressive gaze of the powerful vampire clan, they bowed their heads lower and lower, shoulders hunched, looking just like a flock of quails.

Finally, Zuona broke the silence.

“His Majesty the King has bestowed honor upon you. Your future husband is the Witch Spirit King, ruler of the Snow Domain.” She lifted her chin, her tone arrogant and her words laced with malice. “As a member of the vampire clan royal family, you must conduct yourself with dignity—in appearance, speech, and etiquette.”

These words were by no means a gesture of goodwill; they were nothing short of a provocation. Cen Qing gazed at her, his true emotions hidden in the darkness, making him impossible to read.

He picked up the hardcover book and set it casually on the table, making a soft thud. Then, leaning on the high-backed chair, he rose to his feet with an elegant, slow motion; the hem of his coat fell gracefully, its jeweled buttons glistening.

His fingers brushed the edge of the table as Cen Qing began to step forward.

He hadn’t actually done anything—he’d merely closed the distance—yet Zuona and the ladies-in-waiting immediately felt a sense of urgency. As for the tailors, they had already given up struggling.

Even if the two sides came to blows, they wouldn’t be the main targets; at most, they’d suffer collateral damage. They wouldn’t die.

They were absolutely certain of this.

Cen Qing moved with the lightness of a nimble feline, making not a sound. About three steps from Zuona, he suddenly stopped and let out a cough.

The turn of events was sudden and caught everyone off guard.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Moli swept into the room like a gust of wind, holding a crystal vial containing a dark red potion.

“Your Highness, you’ll need this.” Cen Qing did not refuse.

He unscrewed the cap, tilted his head back, and drank half the bottle, which eased his coughing.

Watching the entire scene, Zuona’s expression shifted slightly. So, the sole heir of Queen Yin really is in poor health?

When Cen Qing first appeared at the palace, he had shown not the slightest sign of weakness, leading her to believe that everything she had heard before was a lie. But seeing him today, his health was indeed poor.

He had no reason to put on a show in front of her. It could only mean his illness was incurable, and the symptoms could no longer be suppressed.

“Your illness…” Zuona hadn’t yet found the right words.

“Illness?” Cen Qing screwed the cap back on the bottle, ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and let a playful smile curve his lips. “What makes you think I’m ill?”

His words were laden with meaning, clearly implying something.

Zuona’s brow furrowed deeply; her intuition told her to stop there, that it would be best not to probe any further. However…

“As your stepmother, I care about your health. As queen, I believe you have responsibilities you must fulfill. You are central to the peace talks with the Snow Domain—this is no trivial matter, and I hope you understand.”

“Of course I understand.” Cen Qing pushed away Moli’s supporting hand, his voice trailing off. He continued to approach Zuona; a court lady attempted to block him, but was seized by the arms by a thorn vine maidservant.

In the blink of an eye, several maids appeared in the room, forming a circle to trap the Queen and her entourage. “Your Highness, what are you doing?”

“You must not be disrespectful to Her Majesty the Queen!” 

“Let me go!”

Faced with this sudden turn of events, the court ladies were horrified, their words becoming frantic.

“Prince, I am your stepmother.” Cen Qing stepped forward. Zuona did not flinch, nor did she back away. Her alluring eyes met his gaze directly, as if certain that Cen Qing would not dare harm her. Yet her clenched fists betrayed the truth—she was far from as composed as she appeared.

“Of course I know.”

Cen Qing smiled as he bent down; he was a head taller than the Queen.

Perhaps because of his slender build, it was easy to overlook his height, which diminished his intimidating presence.

He did not touch Zuona, nor did he harm her.

He leaned close to Zuona’s ear, his tone soft and gentle, as if whispering sweet nothings, yet revealing a chilling secret: “The poison of the Flaming Realm comes from the great king.”

Zuona’s face betrayed her terror; the panic in her heart was impossible to hide. “You’re lying!” she shrieked, losing her composure. “That’s impossible!”

If this were proven true, it would deal a fatal blow to the royal family.

“Don’t be so quick to deny it. I am the proof.” Cen Qing slowly straightened up, watching Zuona’s loss of composure with unhurried satisfaction, savoring her expression. “As His Majesty’s consort, you should know his character well. To achieve his goals, he will stop at nothing, resorting to any means necessary. Just as he did with my mother, and with all his previous wives.”

Zuona froze in place.

She tried to refute it, but her words were feeble and hollow.

Just as Cen Qing had said, she knew Gorod well and understood just how terrifying this man was. For power and status, he would stop at nothing, betraying everyone—even selling his own soul.

Killing his wife or poisoning his son would be no surprise to him.

But that was the Flaming Realm—the vampire clan’s sworn enemy!

“Why are you telling me this?” Zuona suddenly raised her gaze, glaring furiously at Cen Qing as she forced herself to speak. “You’re trying to slander His Majesty the King! I won’t fall for it—you’re wasting your time!”

“Slander? No, I have no such intention.” Cen Qing shook his head and chuckled. His beautiful eyes brimmed with amusement, the corners of his eyes drooping slightly, making him appear both gentle and innocent. “I’m just acting out of good intentions.”

“Good intentions?”

“Yes, good intentions.” Cen Qing’s tone grew even softer, his voice filled with a seductive charm. “The vampire clan lives for a long time, and His Majesty the King has an extreme desire to control power. He will not tolerate anyone coveting his throne.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Zuona suddenly grew irritable.

Cen Qing’s smile deepened, her words transforming into a poisonous web that tightly ensnared Zuona, trapping her very heart: “Count Zax strongly advocated for peace talks, sending me to the Snow Domain out of a sense of royal duty. His Majesty was only too happy to go along with it. But he has also revealed his ambition for the throne—yours, his, and that of your young child.”

Zuona’s pupils contracted as a terrifying thought struck her mind, turning her face deathly pale.

“You are coveting the throne, coveting the power in his hands,” Cen Qing said. 

“No, we aren’t! You’re talking nonsense!” Zuona denied it vehemently.

“No? Don’t you want your son to be the heir to the throne, to ascend to the throne one day? Don’t you want to become the Dowager Queen and hold the kingdom’s reins in your hands? Don’t deny it—your actions are proof of what I’m saying.” Cen Qing’s eyes crinkled in a smile, yet it left Zuona struggling to breathe.

The room was deathly silent; you could hear a pin drop.

The court ladies froze in their tracks, wishing they could cover their ears. The group of tailors was absolutely terrified.

Good heavens, what had they just heard?!

After a long silence, Zuona managed to speak with great difficulty: “It’s all a slander against him. I believe in His Majesty!”

“Believe?” Cen Qing burst into loud laughter, mocking her foolishness, her willful blindness, and her attempts to gloss over the truth. “Do you think His Majesty the King, when he allowed you into the Black Tower, could have foreseen any of this?”

“What did you say?!” Zuona was horrified, her face turning ashen.

“Only the dead can keep secrets,” Cen Qing said, enunciating each word clearly, his smile never wavering. “Perhaps he’s been planning to eliminate you all along, but lacked an excuse. Or maybe he wanted to observe your reaction to help him decide how best to deal with you.”

Zuona looked up at Cen Qing, her fangs piercing her gums in terror.

She took a huge step back, her face contorted, her voice trembling: “You’re a devil! You’re a devil!”

“No, I am a member of the vampire clan,” Cen Qing said, wagging a finger to correct Zuona. He spoke as if discussing the weather rather than a matter of life and death. “Think of my mother and the other queens. The lessons of the past are right before your eyes; to pretend ignorance is foolish.”

He stared at Zuona, a storm brewing in his eyes—yet it vanished in an instant, as if it had never existed, as if it were all an illusion.

“My mother had everything taken from her. What became of her?”

“Many of the King’s wives have met untimely deaths. Whether they were truly guilty or merely slandered, I think you know the answer well.” 

“Peaceful days are but an illusion.”

“You have worn the crown long enough—far too long. You should understand what I mean.”

Hearing these words, Zuona felt as if she had fallen into an ice cellar; a chill rose from the soles of her feet, rapidly filling every fiber of her being.

“I will leave the Royal Capital and distance myself from the Vampire Kingdom.” Cen Qing changed the subject abruptly, stepping forward to close the distance between them once more. “I shall journey to the Kingdom of the Wraiths and devote myself to the Snow Domain.”

He bent slightly, taking Zuona’s right hand in his, his gaze fixed on the ring on her index finger. His words, half-true and half-false, were as cold as his body temperature: “Count Zax attempted to expel me, but he also indirectly helped me by granting me my freedom. In return, I am willing to offer you a warning.”

His voice lingered in her ear as his icy lips brushed lightly against the ring’s surface.

As his grip on her right hand loosened, Zuona immediately clenched her fingers and looked at Cen Qing warily. “Why are you making overtures to me? I will not agree to any of your terms!”

“Courting your favor? No, I never intended to do that.” Cen Qing denied the suggestion. He took a step back to look at Zuona; his smile was blurred by the candlelight, and his voice was soft, making it difficult to discern the truth in his words.

“As I said before, it’s a form of repayment. Besides, I don’t want His Majesty the King to get his way. It’s as simple as that.” Once the seeds of doubt are sown, they will eventually take root and sprout.

He didn’t need Zuona to believe him completely; as long as she harbored doubts and refused to sit idly by, Gorod would inevitably have a headache for some time. Stirring up the waters, making the pond even murkier.

He had achieved his goal.