The Banquet Hall had changed its mood as the night deepened.

  What had begun as a formal welcome slowly loosened into something warmer—laughter growing louder, music swelling richer, goblets refilled without question. Chandeliers glimmered like captive constellations above, their light reflecting off polished marble floors and embroidered gowns.

  Joseph stood among it all, surrounded by sound and motion, yet strangely distant from it.

  He watched nobles’ dance. He watched servants move gracefully between guests. He watched smiles—some genuine, some rehearsed.

  And for the first time since returning to the Vampire Kingdom, he allowed himself to… breathe.

  Amayra laughed softly beside him as Thomas attempted—poorly—to follow the rhythm of the orchestra as they danced together.

  “This is not combat,” she teased. “You don’t need to analyze every step.”

  “I am not analyzing,” Thomas muttered. “I am adjusting.”

  David snorted. “You look like you’re preparing to wrestle the music. Let me dance—I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

  Thomas shot David a sharp look. “You are not dancing with my daughter.”

  David placed a hand on his waist in mock offense. “Hey—what’s wrong with me dancing with her?”

  Thomas huffed. “Just a father’s instinct.”

  They continued arguing in low, exaggerated whispers.

  Joseph let out a quiet chuckle.

  The tension that had coiled inside his chest since entering the hall loosened, just a little. Not gone—but softened. He took a sip from his goblet, the rich crimson liquid warm against his throat.

  For a moment—

  Just a moment—

  It felt almost normal.

  Almost like a family gathering.

  Almost like peace.

  The orchestra shifted to a slower melody, strings humming low and intimate. Couples moved closer. Conversations softened.

  Joseph glanced at David, noticing the way his expression had changed—not relaxed, exactly, but thoughtful. Guarded.

  “David,” Joseph said quietly, stepping aside from the main crowd. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  David met his gaze. The humor in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something older.

  “…I figured you would,” he replied.

  They moved further from the music, the glow of chandeliers fading into shadow as the noise dulled behind them. They were outside of the main castle.

  Joseph hesitated only a second.

  “Why are vampires and werewolves on such bitter terms?” he asked.

  David stopped walking.

  The silence stretched.

  “That,” David said slowly, “is not a short story.”

  Joseph nodded. “I don’t want a short one.”

  David exhaled through his nose, eyes drifting toward the high arches above the hall.

  “Then we need to go back,” he said. “Far back.”

  YEARS AGO...

  Young Joseph had not left his room in days.

  The heavy curtains remained drawn, shutting out the sun. Food trays were brought in and taken away untouched. The once lively chamber felt hollow now—too large, too quiet.

  Too empty.

  Joseph sat on the bed, knees pulled to his chest, fingers clenched into the fabric of his sheets. His chest ached constantly, like something had been torn out and left a wound that refused to close.

  His mother was gone.

  And everyone whispered it was his fault.

  A soft sound broke the silence.

  TAP.

  Joseph flinched.

  Another sound—scraping.

  TAP. SCRAPE.

  His head snapped up.

  The window.

  Before he could react, the latch shifted, and a dark figure clumsily squeezed through, landing inside the room with a muffled THUD.

  Joseph jumped to his feet.

  “WHO—”

  “Whoa—wait—don’t scream!”

  The boy straightened quickly, hands raised. He had messy hair, dirt on his expensive cloth’s sleeves, and eyes far too curious for someone breaking into a prince’s room.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” the boy said quickly. “I just… wanted to see.”

  Joseph stared at him, heart pounding.

  “See what?” he demanded.

  The boy hesitated.

  “The prince everyone says is cursed.”

  Silence.

  Joseph’s throat tightened.

  The boy immediately winced. “That sounded bad. I meant—everyone keeps whispering about you. And you never come out. So I—”

  Joseph turned away sharply.

  “…Go,” he muttered. “Just leave.”

  But the boy didn’t.

  Instead, he took a careful step closer.

  “You’re crying,” he said quietly.

  Joseph’s control shattered.

  “My mother died because of me,” he snapped, spinning around. His voice broke mid-sentence. “They say I brought bad luck. That everything started going wrong because I was born. And I—”

  He choked.

  The boy listened. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t flinch.

  When Joseph finished—breathing uneven, eyes burning—the boy shook his head.

  “No,” he said firmly.

  Joseph blinked.

  “What?”

  “That’s not how death works,” the boy said. “My father says blame is what people use when they’re afraid.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Joseph stared at him.

  “You didn’t kill your mother,” the boy continued. “People just needed someone small enough to blame.”

  Something inside Joseph cracked open.

  “…Who are you?” he whispered.

  The boy smiled, small and honest.

  “David,” he said. “My father’s the head of the werewolf clan.”

  “Werewolves?” young Joseph asked, startled. “What are you doing here?”

  David scratched the back of his head. “I told you—I came to see you.”

  “Not that!” Joseph said quickly. “What are werewolves doing in our kingdom?”

  “Ohhh… that,” David replied, puffing his cheeks in mild frustration. “My father said they have some serious matters to discuss with your father. They didn’t tell me much either.”

  It was the first time someone had told Joseph that it was not his fault.

  A small push—gentle, unexpected—pulling him away from false guilt.

  And that night—

  Joseph slept peacefully for the first time since Aria’s death.

  The Meeting was begun the next day.

  The werewolves had come to the castle for peace talks.

  Demons had vanished from the borders—but not naturally. Something felt wrong. Lord William had called for counsel, inviting the werewolf clan to discuss the shifting balance.

  David’s father spoke of signs in the forests.

  Lord William spoke of sealed gates and unstable magic.

  They spoke of unity.

  Of vigilance.

  Of the future.

  But beneath the diplomacy, something darker brewed.

  Young Joseph rarely attended those meetings. He stayed hidden. Still somewhat Broken.

  And then—

  One day—

  Everything shattered.

  Joseph wandered the castle grounds alone.

  He heard them before he saw them.

  “…That’s him.”

  “The cursed one.”

  “The one whose mother died because she gave birth to him.”

  Joseph stopped.

  Blood roared in his ears.

  He turned slowly.

  Three boys stood near the outer courtyard—older than him, braver because they weren’t alone.

  “Say that again,” Joseph said, voice trembling.

  One of them laughed nervously. “Everyone knows it. The kingdom’s been falling apart since you were born.”

  Joseph’s heart slammed painfully.

  “Stop,” he said, stepping toward them. “That’s not true.”

  The boys laughed.

  “The more you deny it, the more cursed you sound.”

  Something inside Joseph snapped.

  The shouting blurred. The insults became noise. His vision burned.

  He picked up a stone.

  He didn’t think.

  He threw it.

  The sound was sickening.

  The boy fell.

  Silence.

  Blood.

  Joseph froze, the stone slipping from his fingers.

  “I—” His knees buckled. “I didn’t—”

  Guards arrived.

  Shouts followed.

  The narrative was decided before Joseph could speak.

  The Queen’s voice cut through the court that night—measured, controlled, echoing off stone like a verdict already decided.

  “This,” she declared, her gaze sweeping over the nobles, unblinking, “is what the influence of the werewolves has done to our kingdom.”

  Murmurs rippled through the hall as her words settled like poison.

  “They have corrupted our children.”

  The werewolf clan erupted in fury.

  They argued with Lord William that night.

  Voices thundered through stone halls.

  And when they left—

  the treaty shattered with them.

  Vampires and werewolves stood divided.

  David’s voice pulled Joseph back into the present.

  “…That,” he said quietly, “is where it all broke.”

  Joseph’s hands trembled slightly.

  “I killed him,” Joseph whispered.

  David shook his head. “You were a child pushed too far.”

  Joseph swallowed.

  “And yet,” he murmured, “blood doesn’t care about reasons.”

  David placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “You weren’t abandoned,” he said. “You were buried.”

  Joseph closed his eyes.

  The music from the banquet drifted faintly in the distance.

  And somewhere deep inside him—

  Something old stirred.

  He and David walked away from the noise, footsteps echoing softly as the castle grew quieter with every turn. The air felt cooler here, older—heavy with stone and memory.

  Joseph’s thoughts wouldn’t settle.

  “So…” he finally spoke, breaking the silence, “after that night… how did you stay with me?”

  David glanced sideways, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  “I didn’t,” he admitted. “Not at first.”

  Joseph frowned.

  “When you were sent to the human world,” David continued, voice lowering, “I found out the same way everyone else did. Whispers. Rumors. ‘The cursed prince has been removed.’”

  David’s jaw tightened.

  “I argued. I demanded answers. I was told to stay out of vampire politics.”

  Joseph scoffed softly. “Sounds familiar.”

  David nodded. “I left shortly after.”

  Joseph stopped walking.

  “You left… because of me?”

  David turned to face him fully.

  “I left because the truth was being buried,” he said firmly. “And because someone had to make sure you weren’t alone.”

  Joseph stared at him.

  “And Lazarus?” he asked quietly.

  David smiled faintly. “He already knew.”

  Of course he did.

  “He helped me move between territories,” David continued. “Helped me watch from the shadows. When you grew older… when you began forming memories in the human world…”

  David met his gaze.

  “I stayed close. Always.”

  Something tight in Joseph’s chest loosened—not fully, but enough to breathe.

  “…Thank you,” he said softly.

  David shrugged. “You would’ve done the same.”

  They resumed walking.

  The corridor curved—and then opened.

  Joseph stopped.

  The garden lay before them.

  Moonlight spilled across pale stone paths, silvering the leaves of ancient trees. Flowers bloomed quietly, their petals glowing faintly in the night. A soft breeze carried the scent of night-blooming lilies and something older—earth, memory, magic.

  Joseph’s breath caught.

  He had never been here before… at least, not in the memories he carried now.

  And yet—

  His feet felt heavy, as if the ground itself recognized him.

  “…Why does this place feel—” he began.

  David had already stepped inside.

  “Familiar?” he offered.

  Joseph nodded slowly.

  They walked deeper into the garden.

  An old man straightened from where he had been trimming a hedge, lantern hanging from his hand. His weathered face softened immediately.

  “Long live the young prince,” he said, bowing deeply. “And welcome, guest of the Vampire Kingdom.”

  David raised a brow. “That’s a pretty old-fashioned greeting.”

  The old man chuckled. “I am also a very old man, sir.”

  Joseph smiled faintly.

  “This garden is beautiful,” he said. “Do you take care of it alone?”

  The old man shook his head gently.

  “No, my Prince. I only oversee its care,” the old man replied gently. “The one who built this garden entrusted it to me.”

  Joseph’s brows knit together. “The one who built it?”

  The old man’s eyes softened, lantern light reflecting in them as his voice lowered.

  “…Lord William himself tended this garden from the very beginning.”

  The words settled deep inside Joseph.

  Heavy.

  The father Joseph remembered had been distant—burdened, conflicted, carrying a weight Joseph never understood.

  And yet… he was also the one who sealed his memories and sent him away.

  Protection—or rejection?

  Joseph didn’t know which hurt more.

  To be continued…

  “curse” was never real?

  What if Joseph was never abandoned… only hidden?

  exile punishment—or protection?

  Was silence hatred… or love that couldn’t be spoken?

  And the truth about Joseph’s father is closer than it seems. ??