Chapter Text
The kingdom of Ferrari never slept.
Midnight Courts were proof of that.
Even at the darkest hour, the palace thrived beneath molten chandeliers and candlelight, as though dawn itself had long been forbidden from entering its walls.
Soft violin notes echoed through the huge hall, smoothly blurring with the murmurs of ministers gathered there. The air was thick with politics and evening wine. Servants carried not just chalices of crimson wine with them, but interesting gossip as they floated through the room like ghosts.
Nights like this in Ferrari were usual. The vampires preferred to work this way — not because they burned beneath the sun as some foolish legends loved to claim, but because the night belonged to them in ways daylight could never.
Tonight was no different. The ministers remained seated while awaiting the arrival of their King — Sebastian Vettel.
Except for the fact that the throne at the end of the grand hall stood untouched, draped in crimson and gold like a warning rather than a symbol of power. Though even in his absence, the king’s presence lingered across the court.
Yet none dared speak too loudly.
Whispers rose. Died. Rose again.
Because in Ferrari, a delayed king was rarely a good sign.
Soon, the whispers of anticipation came to an abrupt end as the grand doors of the hall opened, announcing the arrival of the king. Conversations died instantly while the ministers rose to their feet, in respect of their beloved king.
And then, he entered without haste.
Sebastian moved with quiet familiarity, as though the hall did not belong to him, and yet somehow naturally aligned itself around his presence. There was no need for ceremony in the way he carried himself—only a steady composure, measured and deliberate, like someone long accustomed to holding themselves still. His attire was refined but understated, dark fabric of his suit fitted cleanly in careful tailoring, shaped for function rather than display. Nothing about him demanded attention, and yet it came anyway.
His expression remained controlled, as was expected of his kind, but not empty. It softened at the edges in the smallest, almost unspoken way as his gaze passed over the court—an acknowledgment rather than a performance. He did not offer emotion openly, but neither did he withhold presence from those who looked to him.
In a court where feeling was rarely shown, even restraint carried meaning.
And his, as always, was precise.
Following a short step behind him was his royal personal guard, Sir Kimi Räikkönen. He did not announce himself. He never needed to. Where Sebastian carried quiet composure, Kimi carried stillness of a different kind—one that suggested readiness rather than restraint. His presence was sharp at the edges, observant, his attention never lingering too long on any single point yet never truly absent from anything in the room. He wore his duty lightly, as if it were something natural rather than imposed, standing just behind the king with an ease that came only from absolute trust between protector and protected.
His gaze swept the court once, briefly, assessing without expression, before settling into watchfulness again.
No one spoke of it, but everyone understood
If Sebastian was the crown, then Kimi was what ensured it never fell.
Sebastian took his seat upon the throne, gaze sweeping once across the gathered court.
“Proceed.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then one of the older ministers stepped forward carefully, as though testing ice too thin to trust.
“Your Majesty,” he began slowly, “two more vampires have gone missing within the last week.” The minister lowered his gaze briefly before continuing.
“The disappearances are no longer isolated.”
The words lingered unpleasantly through the hall.
“Four cases within a month,” another minister added, voice tighter than before. “All near the southern border.”
This time, the reaction was impossible to miss.
Unease did not spread through the court so much as sharpen it.
Several ministers straightened subtly in their seats, expressions tightening beneath practiced composure.
Because everyone knew who those borders belonged to.
Sebastian’s fingers stilled against the arm of the throne.
Not sharply. Not enough for most to notice.
But Kimi did.
Sebastian’s gaze lifted slowly toward the ministers below.
“And how certain are these reports?” he asked evenly.
“No bodies have been recovered yet, Your Majesty,” one minister answered carefully, “but none of them returned home.”
Sebastian leaned back slightly, expression unreadable. “And Red Bull?”
A hesitation.
“No confirmed involvement,” the older minister admitted. “Only… proximity.”
Something cold settled behind Sebastian’s eyes at that. “Proximity,” he repeated softly, as though testing whether the word deserved to exist at all.
“Your Majesty,” one minister said at last, “if Red Bull is involved in this somehow, Ferrari should remain alert.”
Red bull.
An empire ruled entirely by werewolves. Creatures far different from the likes of vampires. They answered only to instinct, wildness, and territory.
An Empire that carried too many old ghosts behind it.
They shared a history— one stained with war, betrayal, and a fragile agreement that was never truly peace.
“Careful,” another warned quietly. “We are speaking of an empire, not bandits.”
“And yet vampires are still vanishing.”
"Near their borders,” someone added.
“Circumstance is not proof,” a minister replied coolly.
“Ferrari does not throw accusations like frightened kingdoms.”
“No,” came the answer, sharper this time, “but neither does it ignore patterns.”
“Your Majesty… if this continues, fear will spread through the capital before truth ever does.”
“We should increase border patrols.”
“And make them think we suspect them already?” another snapped. “That is how wars begin.”
“Wars begin when kingdoms hesitate too long.”
Soon, the court began to shift against itself.
Voices overlapped beneath polished restraint, suspicion threading quietly through every argument that followed.
Accusations were never spoken directly — only implied, softened beneath diplomacy and careful wording. But the tension within the hall sharpened all the same.
Sebastian, who had observed the exchange with faint interest until now, finally intervened before the discussion could unravel further.
“Enough.”
The discussions fell away gradually after that, though the tension remained. A few ministers lowered their voices. Others leaned back into uneasy silence. No one looked entirely convinced, but no one interrupted again either. As if even tension itself knew when to obey its king. He leaned back slightly against the throne, his voice calm as he finally spoke.
“Let us not turn uncertainty into accusation.”
“Missing citizens are a matter of concern,” he continued evenly. “But concern is not permission to abandon reason.” His gaze moved briefly across the gathered ministers. “If something is moving near our borders, we will learn what it is before this court decides what it means.”
“Speculation will solve nothing.”
Because uncertainty itself was never the true danger.
It was what people did with it.
He had seen it before. A few conflicts. A handful of whispers. And then, slowly, certainty built itself out of nothing but repetition — until suspicion became policy, and policy became war.
Not because truth demanded it.
But because fear did.
Sebastian’s gaze lowered slightly, unreadable. He would not allow that pattern to form here. Not under his watch.
If Red Bull truly was acting, then truth would reveal itself soon enough. And if it was not… then the court would not be permitted to turn shadows into enemies.
Either way, guessing was weakness.
He did not deal in weakness.
His fingers rested lightly against the arm of the throne.
“Continue the investigation,” he said, his voice firm enough to leave no room for argument.“I will not allow rumors to decide the fate of Ferrari.”
The discussion had already reached its limit.
Sebastian rose from the throne.
Kimi Räikkönen followed immediately behind him. And just before the doors closed behind them, the king spoke once more—
“And about Red bull?”
His eyes lifted slightly.
“Bring me Sir Carlos Sainz.”
The court remained frozen until the doors closed behind them.
Only then did Ferrari exhale again —not in relief, but in continuation. And the next move had already begun. And somewhere beyond its borders, history stirred again quietly, carefully…
waiting to see who would blink first.
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