Chapter 3 The Chosen Offering

No one moved.

The words spoken by the Council envoy seemed to drain every sound from the courtyard.

Jameson remained on his knees, staring at the stone beneath him. His mind refused to accept what he had heard. He had witnessed three Blood Moon ceremonies during his years in Blackstone Manor. Every servant chosen for the ritual had disappeared through the manor gates under heavy guard, and none had ever returned.

He had never imagined the next name would be his.

The envoy rolled the scroll shut with deliberate care.

"Thrall Seven Hundred and Forty-One will be presented at the Blood Altar on the third night from today. Until then, he is to remain under the protection of House Valerius. Any harm that befalls the offering before the ceremony will be answered by the High Council."

His calm voice carried no emotion. To him, Jameson was neither fortunate nor unfortunate. He was simply the chosen sacrifice.

Lord Magnus bowed again.

"House Valerius accepts the Council's decree."

The envoy gave a slight nod.

"See that you do."

Without another word, the three figures turned and walked toward the gates.

The Blood Guards stationed throughout the courtyard remained perfectly still until the envoys disappeared beyond the walls. Only then did the tension ease, though no one dared speak above a whisper.

Lord Magnus swept his gaze across the gathered servants.

"Return to your duties."

The order was simple, yet it carried the weight of absolute authority.

The crowd dispersed immediately.

Servants hurried away with lowered heads, careful not to look at Jameson as they passed. Some feared being associated with the chosen offering, while others simply pitied him.

Neither reaction changed his fate.

Jameson slowly rose to his feet.

The wound on his forearm still ached where Adrian had fed from him, but he scarcely noticed it anymore.

Rowan stepped beside him.

"I'll help you carry your bucket."

Jameson looked at the old man.

"I can still carry it myself."

"I know that alright?"

Rowan picked it up anyway.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way back toward the Hall of Ancestors.

The corridors that had bustled with servants only an hour earlier now felt strangely empty. Even the noble attendants walked with unusual restraint, their conversations reduced to hushed murmurs.

News of the Council's decree had already spread through the manor.

When Jameson entered the hall, he found the bloodstained handkerchief Adrian had discarded still lying on the marble floor.

He bent down, picked it up, and carried it to the furnace used to destroy anything stained with noble blood.

The cloth curled into black ash as the flames consumed it.

Rowan stood watching him.

"You don't have to finish today's work."

Jameson looked around the vast chamber.

The polished floor reflected the towering statues with perfect clarity.

"There isn't much left."

"There will always be more cleaning."

Jameson dipped a cloth into the basin and continued wiping the base of the nearest pillar.

"I've done this every day for six years."

Rowan sighed quietly.

"And in three days, someone else will take my place."

Jameson's hand paused for the briefest moment before continuing.

The words stung because they were true.

Before long, another servant would inherit his duties, sleep in his bed, wear his number, and scrub these same marble floors until the Dominion demanded their life as well.

The manor would continue exactly as it always had.

As though he had never existed.

The thought settled heavily in his chest, but he forced himself to keep working.

He had spent twenty years obeying orders.

He saw no reason to stop now.

A pair of Blood Guards entered the hall shortly before sunset.

"Thrall Seven Hundred and Forty-One."

Jameson set the cloth aside.

"Yes."

"You are to be moved to the eastern quarters."

He frowned slightly.

"The eastern quarters are reserved for guests."

"Not anymore."

One of the guards stepped forward.

"From this moment until the ceremony, you are forbidden from leaving your assigned room unless escorted."

Jameson glanced toward Rowan.

The old servant lowered his eyes.

There was nothing either of them could say.

Jameson followed the guards out of the hall.

As they walked through the manor, he noticed something he had never seen before.

Every intersection was guarded.

Patrols had doubled.

Archers stood upon the walls overlooking the estate.

Even the gates separating the inner manor from the gardens had been sealed.

It looked less like preparations for a ceremony and more like a fortress expecting an attack.

Jameson silently wondered who the guards were trying to keep out.

Or who they were trying to keep in.