As for Thorne and Cyril, they swore they would die fighting Kapetria and the Replimoids before they’d give him up. But Lestat gave them the same order nightly: When the moment comes, stand down.

“I do not want anyone burned,” said Lestat as he reiterated his wishes. “I do not want anyone thrown through a wall. I won’t have bloodshed, no matter what kind of blood it is. I won’t have any creature dying because of this except me.”

As for the ever-changing crowds that filled the Château, all knew about this to some extent, but no consensus as to what to do about it had ever formed. Each individual was glad to be untethered from the vital Core. And many a blood drinker, young or old, swore they would die to protect the Prince, but most sensed that they’d never be called on to prove it.

So when the music surged, and the dancers danced, and the audiences crowded the theater to watched vampire plays, or listen to vampire poetry, or see the films of all ages available through the video streaming of the mortal world, they seemed one and all to forget about the threat, and maybe some in their hearts wondered who the new monarch would be when the Prince disappeared.

Would it be Marius? Some said that it should have been Marius all along.

Fareed could not be aloof or indifferent or pragmatic about these matters. He loved the Prince too much, and had from the beginning. And Marius was in too much pain for anyone to make the slightest remark along these lines to him.

Marius was working on the constitution, and on the rules. Marius was making the code. Marius was devising a way to enforce the rules against those who broke the peace by seeking to move into another’s territory, or through the wanton killing of innocent mortals, or innocent blood drinkers. Marius had just about as much authority and responsibility as he had ever wanted. And sometimes, Fareed thought, Marius didn’t want any more at all.

Marius was weary. Marius was anguished. Marius was alone.