Chapter 4 The Eastern Quarters

The eastern quarters of Blackstone Manor were unlike any place Jameson had ever seen.

For twenty years, he had lived beneath the manor in damp stone chambers where dozens of servants slept side by side on thin straw mattresses. The air below was always cold, the walls were stained with moisture, and privacy did not exist. The room he had been brought to now belonged to an entirely different world. Polished wooden floors reflected the glow of crystal lamps, thick carpets softened every step, and a fire burned steadily inside a marble fireplace, filling the room with a comforting warmth.

One of the Blood Guards pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped aside.

"You will remain here until the ceremony," he said.

Jameson walked inside slowly, taking in every detail. The chamber was large enough to house several servants comfortably. A wide bed covered with crisp white linen stood beside a tall window, while a finely carved wooden table had been prepared with roasted meat, freshly baked bread, ripe fruit, cheese, and a crystal pitcher filled with dark red wine. The aroma drifting from the table was enough to make anyone hungry, yet Jameson felt nothing.

The guard noticed where his eyes had settled.

"Eat," he ordered.

Jameson remained standing near the entrance.

"I've never been allowed to enter this part of the manor before."

The guard regarded him without emotion.

"That is because you are no longer an ordinary servant."

Jameson gave a faint, almost bitter smile.

"I suppose becoming a sacrifice has its privileges."

The guard neither smiled nor frowned.

"You belong to the High Council now. Until the ritual is complete, House Valerius is responsible for delivering you to the Blood Altar alive. Your comfort is no longer a matter of kindness. It is an obligation."

Jameson lowered his head slightly.

"So that's why I'm being treated differently."

The guard offered no reply. He simply stepped outside, pulled the heavy door shut, and locked it from the other side. The sharp click echoed through the silent room.

Jameson stood still for several moments before slowly walking farther inside.

Everything around him felt unfamiliar.

The polished furniture looked untouched by age. The clean white sheets were softer than anything he had ever imagined. Even the warmth from the fireplace felt strange against his skin after years of living in cold underground chambers.

As a child, he had often dreamed about living in a room like this. He had believed that if he worked hard enough, obeyed every order, and never complained, one day he might earn a better life.

It had taken years for him to understand how foolish that dream had been.

No amount of hard work could erase the blood flowing through his veins. A half-blood servant would always remain exactly that, no matter how loyal or obedient he became.

He wandered toward the window and looked out over the courtyard.

The sight waiting outside erased any lingering illusion of freedom.

Blood Guards stood at every entrance to the manor with weapons already drawn. More guards patrolled the walls with loaded crossbows resting in their hands, while others watched from the rooftops. Every possible path leading away from the eastern quarters was heavily guarded.

Blackstone Manor had become a fortress overnight.

They were not protecting him.

They were making certain their sacrifice did not escape.

A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts.

Jameson turned toward the door just as the lock clicked open.

An elderly servant stepped inside carrying a polished brass basin filled with warm water and a neatly folded towel draped across one arm.

Unlike the Blood Guards, there was kindness in the old man's tired eyes. His movements were careful and respectful, as though he understood exactly what Jameson was facing.

He placed the basin beside the bed before looking at him.

"I've brought warm water so you can wash."

"Thank you," Jameson replied quietly.

The old servant glanced toward the untouched meal on the table.

"The food will grow cold if you leave it much longer."

Jameson shook his head.

"I'm not hungry."

The servant nodded slowly.

"I thought that might be your answer."

For a few moments, silence filled the room. The crackling fire was the only sound either of them could hear.

Finally, the old man spoke again.

"I've served in this manor for longer than I care to remember."

Jameson looked at him with quiet curiosity.

"I've seen many offerings brought to this room over the years. Every one of them looked at these walls the same way you are looking at them now."

A knot tightened inside Jameson's chest.

He already knew the answer, but he forced himself to ask anyway.

"Did any of them ever return?"

The old servant lowered his eyes to the floor.

"No."

Neither man spoke after that.

The silence between them seemed heavier than any words either of them could have offered.

The servant finally bowed his head before walking toward the door.

Just before leaving, he stopped with one hand resting on the handle.

"Try to get some rest if you can. Tomorrow will be a long day."

Without waiting for a reply, he quietly closed the door behind him.

Jameson remained standing in the middle of the room before slowly lowering himself into one of the chairs beside the untouched meal.

His stomach was painfully empty.

He could smell the roasted meat and the fresh bread only a few steps away, but every trace of hunger had disappeared. Eating suddenly felt meaningless.

As evening settled over Blackstone Manor, the distant ringing of bells drifted through the quiet corridors. Their slow rhythm echoed across the estate, reminding everyone that the Blood Moon ceremony was drawing closer.

Jameson leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

For the first time in years, no one had ordered him to scrub floors, carry heavy loads, or serve noble families without raising his head.

Everything he had once dreamed of had been placed before him.

Yet none of it brought him peace. Comfort meant nothing when it had been given to a man already marked for death.

Outside the room, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the corridor.

They were slow, heavy, and deliberate.

Jameson opened his eyes as the footsteps stopped outside his door.

A moment later, the lock turned.

One of the Blood Guards stepped inside and looked directly at him.

"The Lord of House Valerius wishes to see the offering."

Jameson slowly rose to his feet.

There was no fear left on his face, only quiet acceptance.

Without speaking another word, he followed the guard out of the room, knowing that whatever awaited him next would bring him one step closer to the Blood Altar.