Chapter one

Chapter two

I kick my feet in frustration, stirring up the blankets, hunger gnawing at my belly.

“What’s the matter, love?” Zia asks, patting my foot.

“Mmm!” I groan petulantly.

“You must be getting restless. Would you like to tour the grounds? I can push you in the wheelchair.”

I glance at the chair disdainfully. What I want…I think I want to run, to be free and one with the night, howl at the moon, as it were.

“Yes, I can show you the manner and maybe introduce you to some of the other serviles, maybe some of your siblings. Would that help?”

I kick my right foot sharply, arms crossed over my chest.

“Yes, we’ll go for a stroll, I think.”

Zia pulls me up and guides me into the chair. I’m feeling less dizzy, but still unsteady. Still, I blank at her help and attempt to walk to the chair on my own, painfully slamming my knees into the black rug for my trouble, grunting from the impact.

“Willful pup,” Zia growls, helping me back up. “Be patient with yourself. You’ve had a rough few days.”
I snap at her fingers, barely missing them.

“No, Master! Do you want to wear a bit like some common-blooded feral?”

Once I’m in the chair, she fetches a black blanket from the wardrobe and drapes it over me. My teeth don’t feel right, and my mouth throbs with pain. I’m missing three more fingernails across both hands.

“Alright, love. Let’s go for a walk.”

She pushes me out of the bedroom and into a vast hallway overlooking a room below. Women in similar maid dresses dust or sweep, each one curtsying as we pass, with pleasant, affectionate smiles.

“This is the offspring wing,” Zia explains. “Your brothers and sisters stay here when they’re in town. Aren’t you lucky the mistress built extra?”

The hall is decorated in black and roses, with somber oil paintings of pale men and women in antiquated styles of dress. There are decorative vases with dark red roses, with strong fragrance. The windows are covered by heavy blackout curtains, making it pleasantly dark.

From the hall we enter into a grand room like a foyer or entrance hall, with white marble floors. There’s a heavy, ornate wooden door that must be the entrance to my right, and a similar, but smaller, door to the left.

“That’s the mistress’s rooms,” Zia explains. “Offspring are not allowed in her private chambers.”

We’re on the second floor, overlooking the entrance, which has a black and gold strip leading to the grand staircase.

“Below is the kitchens and the grand ballroom. You’ll see that at your name day ball. Ahead is the gallery, conservatory, studio, and the like. Mistress Léontine likes her offspring to have a craft. When you’re feeling stronger, you’ll be taught singing, instruments, painting, and many other valuable skills.”

I frown. Don’t I have a say in this? I’m a grown man…why am I being treated like some sort of…trust fund neppo-baby?

Zia proceeds into the art hall, where the sounds of violins and cellos can be heard.

“Some of your siblings must be more,” Zia smiles. “Must be here in advance of your name day ball.”

Weird, don’t I have a name of my own? It’s…it’s…

Black forms at the edge of my vision, narrowing my field of view. My heart pounds in my chest, my palms sweaty.

What’s my name…?

It’s…

What’s my name?

I fling myself out of the chair, landing onto the hardwood floor gracelessly and painfully, hands shaking.

What’s my name?

“Calm down, love. What’s the matter?”

I’m on all fours, gagging. My eyeteeth feel unpleasantly loose, my fingertips throbbing. Whats happening to me?
Zia rubs my back.

“Just breathe, Young Master,” she soothes. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

What’s my name?

“My…name,” I whimper, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I don’t…my name.”

“Oh, love,” she breathes, pulling me into her arms and rocking me like a child. “That’s normal. That’s why your progenitor gives you a new one.”

“But I have…what’s happening?”

“You’re a newborn pup, love. Don’t fret yourself. You’re safe. You’re among family and household. The mistress won’t let anything happen to you, and neither will I.”

I’m trembling. I can’t stop. My lower back pulses with dull pain, like growing pains. Zia strokes my hair softly, quietly singing in her native tongue.

Slowly, the trembling stops, but I can tell another fingernail is ready to go. My teeth wiggle under my tongue.

“Servile Zinovia?” a male voice asks.

I look up to see a tall man in an elegant black suit, with a gold on black brocade waistcoat and black tie. His blond hair is cut short and spiked slightly, an earring with a fang dangling from his left ear. Like Zia—Zinovia—his longer fingernails taper to points and are painted black.

“Master Cabernet! All is well. Your newest sibling is just…coming to terms with his situation.”

That might almost be true if I had any idea what my situation is.

“Oh, is that you, pup?” the pale man asks, smiling wide enough to show elongated canines and leaning forward, hands braced on his knees, like one might do to speak to a child. “I’m Mother Léontine’s firstborn and heir. It is very nice to meet you.”

There’s something of a familial resemblance I can’t quite put my finger on, but…this man is at least twenty. How can his mother be so young?

“Is he speaking yet?” Cabernet asks Zia.

“Fragments,” she answers, still rocking me.

“It’ll come back to you in time, pupling. Would you like me to help you back in the chair?”

The back of my throat rumbles, causing Cabernet to take a step back, looking surprised.

“He’s very willful,” Zia says apologetically.

“Yes, so is Mother,” the man replies dryly. “Come, little brother. You’ll feel much more comfortable off that cold floor.”

My throat rumbles again, loose teeth exposed.
“Careful, Master, he bites.”

“Oh, do you, pupling?” Cabernet laughs. “That is most unbecoming. Mother won’t stand for it, and she’ll be most displeased to see you wearing a bit.”

Zia stirs beneath me, helping me stand. I lean on her for stability, still shaking, back facing Cabernet, this man that I don’t know that calls me his brother. Her fingers trail through my hair.

“What’s wrong with his fingers?” Cabernet asks.

“His…fingernails are falling out. I’ve brought it up to the mistress and she has me monitoring the situation.”

Cabernet frowns. “Are you feeding him well?”

“He is insatiable, Master,” she replies submissively.

My stomach growls as if to emphasize her point.

“Has Mother called for a doctor to see him?” he inquires.

“Not as of yet, Master. The mistress is…very prideful.”

“She is indeed,” Cabernet smiles. “But if he is well for it, don’t allow me to stop the tour. We’ll see each other again, soon, pupling. I am to be your cello instructor.”
“Yes, Master. I shan’t keep you longer.”

“Of course, servile. You are dismissed.”

She curtsies politely before guiding me into the chair.

“The mistress generally chooses her offspring well,” Zia smiles. “Cabernet is a kind man. He’ll take you under his wing, no doubt.”

Through the hall I can still hear classical music, smell fresh flowers and fresh paint, which makes me gag.

“The mistress takes pride in all of her offspring’s appearance, manners, and education,” Zia explains. “You’ll be a worthy groom to any well-bred bride.”

I start, looking up at Zia, shocked. Am I to be auctioned off to the highest bidder? Are arranged marriages even a thing anymore?

And who is this Léontine mother-woman to even have the authority to do such a thing?

“You’re the proud youngest son of a respectable family of good lineage,” Zia continues, sniffing.

“I…am?” I ask softly.

“Of course, love,” she replies gently. “Your progenitor, Mistress Léontine is a respected elder from a strong line.”

I look down at the lightly blood-soaked bandages tied around three fingertips on my right hand and one on the left, feeling the left pinky nail about to come loose. I don’t understand…What is happening to me, inside and out?

“Progenitor,” I mumble softly.

“Yes, Young Master. Do you remember the ship that brought her here?”

“Belle Nuit, 1678,” I answer.

“Very good, love,” Zia beams. “Before she was a newborn pup, herself, she was the daughter of a minor noble and already very wealthy. She invested her money quite wisely in a number of New World ventures. That’s how she rose to power.”

I feel a headache coming on. My belly rumbles.

“Servile, here!” a female voice demands, causing Zia to stop short. “I demand…oh, my mistake.”

“It’s no trouble, Mistress Devereaux,” Zia replies. “What did you need?”

She’s oddly calm, almost chipper, about being spoken to in such a manner.

The woman in question is to the short end of average, with platinum blond hair done up in royal braids, studded through with deep green gems with red flecks like blood. Her dress is a similar color, like something out of a Victorian romance novel, and very low-cut in the front.

“No, servile, Mother wouldn’t appreciate me interrupting your newborn pup-rearing,” she sighs, looking down at me. I wither under her gaze. “Mother’s new baby, I suppose?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The woman purses her lips, looking unimpressed. “I was enjoying a lovely time in the arctic circle before I received word to come home for your name day. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to arrange a flight from the Alaskan wilderness? And Mother insisted on no delays!”

And, any of this is my fault…how?

“Not even speaking yet,” she scoffs. “I hope Mother isn’t losing her edge.”

The back of my throat rumbles, making Devereaux look both affronted and disgusted.

“Well, off with you, servile,” Devereaux sniffs. “Best teach the little pup some manners.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Zia says to Deveraux’s back as she returns to the room, closing the door.

“Don’t like,” I mutter darkly.

“Don’t be that way, love,” Zia smiles. “Mistress Deveraux is one of your older sisters. She’ll warm up to you, in time.”

“She talks to you.”

“Mistress Deveraux is the daughter of my patron mistress,” Zia explains. “I am hers to command, so long is Mistress Léontine’s orders are dealt with first.” She seems a bit offended that I would be offended on her behalf.

After a few steps, she seems to notice my sullenness and pats my shoulder.

“I am from a low family of neither wealth nor breeding,” she tells me, bordering on prideful. “Therefore very lucky to work for a great house such as this one.

Mistress Léontine pays me very well and protects me from the common rabble.”

“A person, Zia,” I answer. “Worthy of respect.”

“I’m glad you think s…Zia? That’s very sweet.”

“Zia,” I repeat.

“Alright, we’ll do thirty minutes of French lessons, and then you can return to your room for a feeding.”