Night - Eastern Wing, Royal Pace, Year 950

  Lucius seated himself across from Cassandra at a simple wooden table, deliberately chosen to repce the ornate furnishings typically used for royal negotiations. Behind her, the tribe huddled together, still overwhelmed by their surroundings.

  "Tribe give blood," Cassandra began, raising her arm to demonstrate. "How much blood for food?"

  Lucius nodded, his expression revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. "Each person give small blood, two times each moon." He indicated with his fingers the modest amount required. "Not big pain. Not make weak."

  Cassandra's brow furrowed as she attempted to comprehend the implications. By her tribe's desperate calcutions, they had expected to surrender far more—perhaps even sacrifice lives for the others to survive.

  "That all?" she asked, suspicion evident in her tone. "Small blood for food? For all tribe?"

  "For food. For warm sleep pce. For healing when sick," Lucius confirmed, his simplified speech effectively conveying the terms. "When tribe stronger, do small work too."

  Cassandra gnced back at her people—their gaunt faces and tattered appearance testament to their desperate state. The offer seemed impossibly generous, particurly from creatures their ancestral stories had portrayed as merciless predators.

  "Why so good trade?" she asked directly.

  Lucius's expression remained unreadable. "Blood farm humans weak. Scared. Your tribe different. Free choice make better blood."

  This expnation, though simplified for her understanding, contained enough truth to satisfy Cassandra's immediate concern. She didn't need to know the complex motivations behind his interest in these st descendants of organized vampire hunters.

  "Tribe agree," she decred, drawing her stone knife across her palm in the traditional way of sealing agreements. "Blood promise."

  Lucius made no move to reciprocate the ritual bloodletting, instead rising to his feet. "Now see sleep pce. Then food. Then healers look at tribe."

  This st point caused visible confusion among the tribal members, who recognized the word "healers" but couldn't comprehend why seemingly healthy blood-drinkers would need such specialists.

  "Why healers? Tribe not for eating?" one elderly man asked fearfully.

  "Healers make sure tribe healthy," Lucius expined patiently. "Find sickness. Fix body hurts. Make stronger."

  The concept of preventative medicine was entirely foreign to people who had only ever treated injuries and illnesses after they became severe. Cassandra attempted to transte this strange idea into terms her people could understand.

  "Blood-drinkers want make sure blood good," she told her tribe. "Make us strong for better blood."

  Though this expnation wasn't entirely accurate, it provided a framework her tribe could comprehend. The blood-drinkers wanted to maintain their resources in peak condition—a pragmatic approach that made sense even to their primitive understanding.

  Lucius led them through discreet corridors to their designated living area—a space clearly modified in haste but with careful attention to their needs. Simple but clean bedding repced the luxurious appointments that would have normally occupied these chambers. Basic furniture, sturdy and functional rather than ornate, filled spaces designed for human comfort rather than vampire aesthetics.

  Most notably, a rge communal area contained tables den with food—simple but nutritious meals prepared in quantities that seemed extravagant to the starving tribe. Clean water, fresh vegetables, and cooked meats arranged on ptters represented more abundance than they had seen in generations.

  Cassandra froze in the doorway, momentarily overwhelmed by the sight. Behind her, tribal members gasped and murmured in disbelief.

  "All this... for small blood?" she whispered, her hard-won composure temporarily shaken.

  "Yes," Lucius confirmed. "Eat. Rest. Healers come when sun sleep tomorrow."

  He departed without ceremony, leaving the stunned tribe to their unprecedented feast. As hunger overcame their suspicion, they fell upon the food with the desperation of the truly starving, their stone-age manners forgotten in the face of such abundance.

  Outside in the corridor, Lord Vexrin, Lucius's senior advisor, awaited with barely concealed curiosity.

  "Your Majesty," he began carefully as they walked away from the tribal quarters. "The court understands your instruction to maintain absolute discretion regarding our... unusual guests."

  "Yet questions persist," Lucius noted, his formal speech returning now that he no longer needed to simplify for tribal understanding.

  "Naturally, Your Majesty. Such unprecedented acquisition requires expnation. The senior blood resources administrator has already inquired about proper registration protocols."

  "They will not be registered as standard resources," Lucius stated, offering no further expnation.

  This deviation from centuries of established procedure left Vexrin momentarily speechless. All humans within vampire territory were meticulously catalogued and processed—their absence from official records would create administrative complications throughout the system.

  "As you command, Your Majesty," he recovered smoothly. "Might I inquire as to their designation, if not as standard resources?"

  "They will be cssified as private royal acquisition. No documentation beyond that is required."

  By the following evening, specution had spread through the upper echelons of the court despite Lucius's instructions for discretion. Senior advisors gathered in private chambers, exchanging theories about these primitive humans who had somehow captured the King's personal attention.

  "Their blood must possess unique properties," suggested Lady Cartha, the blood purity assessor. "Perhaps rare antibodies or exceptional regenerative qualities."

  "More likely a political strategy," countered Lord Damorin, Lucius's military advisor. "The King has always taken unexpected approaches to security matters. Perhaps these primitives have valuable intelligence about territories beyond our boundaries."

  "You overthink the matter," dismissed Lord Raven with aristocratic disdain. "His Majesty has ruled for three centuries. Even immortals seek occasional diversion. These primitives are simply a novel curiosity—a royal whim that will pass once their novelty fades."

  As days passed into weeks, the theories grew increasingly eborate, particurly when observers noted Lucius's continued personal involvement with the tribe. He visited their quarters regurly, spent hours in private conversation with their leader, and issued increasingly specific instructions regarding their care and accommodation.

  "Perhaps they possess some ancient magic from before the Evolution," whispered one courtier, reference to their crude bone decorations and stone tools. "Primitive does not necessarily mean powerless."

  "More likely they're subjects for experimental blood farming techniques," suggested another. "The King has always embraced innovation."

  Some even specuted about potential breeding programs to enhance blood quality through genetic diversity—a theory that gained traction when the royal physician began conducting thorough examinations of each tribal member.

  Meanwhile, the tribe slowly adjusted to their new surroundings. Regur meals, clean water, and proper shelter had immediate effects on their physical condition. Skin infections cleared, persistent coughs diminished, and hollow cheeks gradually filled out as adequate nutrition restored their health.

  The medical examinations initially terrified them. Cassandra required significant persuasion to convince her people to comply with procedures they didn't understand. The concept of blood tests seemed particurly arming—blood was precious life essence, not something to be taken in small vials and examined in mysterious devices.

  "Why healers take blood not for drinking?" Cassandra asked Lucius during one of his visits.

  "Blood tells healers about inside body," he expined, simplifying complex hematological testing. "Shows sickness before pain comes."

  Such preventative care was entirely foreign to people who had only ever treated symptoms after they became debilitating. Yet despite their fear, the tribe gradually adapted to these strange customs—particurly as they witnessed the positive effects of treatment on chronic ailments several members had suffered for years.

  Three weeks after their arrival, Cassandra stood in the central chamber of their living quarters, watching her people with quiet amazement. Children who had been listless and sickly now pyed simple games with energy she hadn't seen in years. Elders whose persistent coughs had suggested approaching death now sat comfortably by warm heating vents, sharing tribal stories with renewed strength.

  "So much... for so little," she murmured when Lucius arrived for his regur visit.

  "Fair trade," he replied simply.

  But his continued personal attention had not gone unnoticed. Pace staff observed with increasing curiosity as the Vampire King—who typically delegated even important matters to appropriate administrators—personally oversaw details of the tribe's accommodation and integration.

  When he spent an entire evening listening to Cassandra's fragmented tribal histories, sitting across from her with an attention typically reserved for matters of state, even his most loyal attendants exchanged meaningful gnces. When he arranged for specific foods mentioned in her stories to be prepared despite their obscurity, the kitchen staff's whispers grew from puzzled to specutive.

  "His interest seems... particur to their leader," noted the royal chamberin to Vexrin after observing yet another private conversation between Lucius and Cassandra.

  "The King's priorities are his own," Vexrin responded firmly, though his own curiosity had grown with each passing night. "Our duty is to execute his instructions, not question their purpose."