Chapter 158: A national Treasure !
The resemblance to Argy's bedroom was unmistakable.
The same taste for noble materials.
The same understated elegance.
The same need to control every detail of his surroundings.
With one difference.
Where Argy's room still felt like that of a young man finding his place in the world, Sebastian's told the story of a man who had long since figured out exactly who he was.
And then there were the other objects...
Completely out of place in a bedroom.
Weapons.
A war hammer, a spear, a sword, a shield—all arranged according to a logic known only to their owner.
The spear, resting beside the imposing bed, bore a banner emblazoned with the same coat of arms as the shield propped against the footboard, beside an antique chest.
The sword lay across the perfectly made bed as though Sebastian slept with it.
Then again... vampires didn't sleep.
Blanche stepped closer, recognizing at once the magic radiating from the blade.
Her magic.
Another weapon she had forged.
Did he know?
The war hammer rested atop the dresser like an ordinary paperweight.
Authentic.
Still stained with dried blood.
Weathered by time.
It had seen war.
Real war.
Argy nudged his mother, caught her hand, and before she could understand what he was doing, they both toppled backward onto the enormous bed.
When Blanche looked up...
She froze.
Mounted on the ceiling inside a vast frame of intricately carved dark wood, an enormous oil portrait watched over the entire room.
The painted woman's gaze pierced straight through her.
Her blazing crimson eyes seemed to capture every glimmer of light, creating the unsettling illusion that they were alive.
It was the same disturbing sensation she had experienced before Saphir's portrait.
Wherever she stood, it felt as though the painting refused to let her out of its sight.
She recognized her own face immediately.
Or rather...
A version of herself from another lifetime.
Her long auburn hair was gone.
In its place cascaded a thick mane of glossy black hair that flowed all the way to her waist like polished obsidian.
Her skin, even paler than she remembered, contrasted beautifully with the sumptuous garments she wore.
Seated with regal grace upon an ornate ceremonial chair, she was dressed in an opulent period gown embroidered with gold and garnet thread, its countless layers rendered with such exquisite detail that the fabric almost seemed to spill out of the canvas.
And yet she recognized herself without the slightest hesitation.
It wasn't merely her face.
It was her eyes.
The same blend of kindness and stubborn resolve.
The same subtle tilt of her chin.
The same serene expression concealing an unbreakable will.
Three other figures surrounded her.
To her right stood Sebastian.
He wore a magnificent crimson doublet embroidered with golden thread, its richly decorated sleeves proclaiming his high rank.
His posture was straight, almost protective, one hand resting casually upon the back of Blanche's chair.
His face looked younger than the Sebastian she knew today, yet it already possessed the severe elegance that defined him.
To her left stood Winter.
Dressed entirely in white.
His attire, almost impossibly pure, seemed to gather the painting's own light.
The immaculate fabrics, adorned with delicate silver embroidery, gave him an almost celestial appearance.
His pale eyes, calm yet watchful, rested upon Blanche with quiet affection, as though he had been watching over her long before she was ever born.
Then there was her grandmother.
Dignified.
Elegant.
Majestic.
She wore a gown of deep midnight blue and silver, richly embroidered like a sky scattered with stars.
Her perfectly styled auburn hair framed noble features illuminated by the faintest of smiles—so subtle one could almost miss it.
Yet every inch of her radiated the quiet authority of a woman who had never needed to raise her voice to be obeyed.
The portrait formed a genuine family scene.
Not a stiff, official composition.
No.
Something far more intimate.
The glances they exchanged.
The closeness of their bodies.
Their hands resting almost imperceptibly near one another.
Together, they told a story words could never fully capture.
Blanche stood there for a long time, unable to tear her eyes away.
The painter hadn't merely immortalized four people.
He had preserved a single moment of their lives.
A moment when, despite crowns, politics, and impossible responsibilities...
They had simply been a family.
"Read the inscription," Argy murmured.
Reluctantly, Blanche lowered her gaze, still caught by the melancholy emanating from the painting.
"The Investiture of Prince Mircea II the Younger with Lady Lili, Princess Elizabeth III, and Prince William. Winter, 1646."
Blanche stared in stunned silence.
The Prince of Wallachia.
Dracula.
Vlad the Impaler.
Dead at twenty-one...
And yet undeniably alive in the painting, fully human, as evidenced by his deep blue eyes.
And her.
Lady Lili.
Standing beside her grandparents at a time when Sebastian was not yet king.
Apparently, her journeys through time were far from finished.
Argy then opened the doors to Sebastian's dressing room.
Or rather...
To an entire room masquerading as one.
Blanche remained rooted to the threshold for several seconds, unable to decide where to look first.
Towering black wooden bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling, their shelves crammed with ancient leather-bound grimoires, some of which appeared to have survived centuries.
Their covers were engraved with forgotten symbols, secured by silver or oxidized bronze clasps, and several radiated such dense magical power that Blanche instinctively felt dark magic humming against her skin.
"You'll want to avoid opening one at random," Argy said with a smile. "Some of them... are temperamental."
She believed him instantly.
Even closed, the books gave the impression of watching anyone who approached, as though the spells contained within had never truly fallen asleep.
Beside the grimoires, wide illuminated display cases revealed an utterly staggering collection of jewelry.
Sapphire necklaces whose gemstones were as large as pigeon's eggs.
Intricately engraved gold bracelets.
Rings set with emeralds, rubies, black diamonds, and shimmering opals.
And farther still...
Diadems.
Tiaras.
Entire crowns.
Some delicate and almost weightless.
Others massive, encrusted with so many precious stones they seemed to capture every ray of light in the room.
What astonished Blanche most, however, was the way they were displayed.
Where a museum would have locked them behind layers of bulletproof glass, Sebastian had simply placed them on stands—or even directly on shelves—as though they were ordinary decorative objects.
Trinkets.
Trinkets probably worth more than entire kingdoms.