Mourners stood dozens thick outside the looming iron gates of the ancient royal castle as Christopher’s car approached. Black flags bearing the family crest hung from the castle's Gothic turrets at half-mast, and the grounds felt strangely quiet, like even the birds who lived in the gardens knew death hung in the air.
Christopher had passed through these same gates regularly for centuries, and it never felt like this. He instinctively began to rehearse what to say to the king to try and knock him from the dark ages, but then Christopher remembered that there would be no arguments this time. His sire was dead.
Christopher rubbed a hand across his forehead. There hadn't been a new vampire king in over two millennia, but his sire's advisors would probably insist on following the rarely-used
