Her smile never falters even though her stomach is doing acrobatics. She has long ago rehearsed her story, has made notes of every contact that she should offer as a reference if need be. But if she knows her story by heart–that false story–why is she so nervous? She chalks it up to anxiety while being in the company of a man so powerful that he is known as king.
She reaches for the paperwork and takes the pen, moving the chair closer to the desk as she begins to write in the spaces given. Name? Iris Prosper. Birthdate? Iris struggles to remember. The seasons blurred after awhile and birthdays were no longer important, but she would always remember the year. 1849. As she works through the paperwork, she looks towards the man leaning on his desk, the god over the few in Covaire. “How is it that you become King of a place like this?” she asks, tone good-humoured, but cautious, as to not give offense.
He will know if she is lying. This, is a practice, discovering the truth, a thousand year old process. Darius made sure to investigate the residents of his city, who did what when they thought they were not being watched. It was with his authority to maintain his people, keep the order, weed out those that disrupted it. He watches quietly, patiently, as the vampire continues to fill out the work he’s assigned her, it will be later he will discover if she is telling the truth or not.
“I heard of this city overseas,” he begins calmly, the string of facts leaving him evenly, “when I arrived to see it for myself the former alpha was leaving, both of them were. The city was either going to fall to chaos, or someone was going to rebuild it. I saw the potential, and chose the later.”















