As night faded into day, Veylan barely had time to catch his breath before his bags were packed and the carriage was waiting. There was no adjustment period—just motion, just movement forward. Ironic, really. In most cases, it was banshees who were sold off to reinforce bloodlines. But now, a banshee had bought the heir of a noble vampire house.
Not that his title mattered much. His elder brother would inherit long before he ever had the chance to sit on any throne, unless tragedy struck—which it rarely did in ways that benefitted people like Veylan. Still, the whole thing sat wrong with him.
And Selene… she had always been cold, guarded. Politically sharp, dangerously opinionated. There was a hint of something unyielding about her even then, something that made others uncomfortable. Looking back, maybe he had this coming. Maybe being sold to her was a consequence. He’d pushed boundaries—joked too carelessly, kissed her once without thinking. After Kora’s death, they reconnected, found something fragile in the ashes. But he’d said those three words too soon, and she’d snapped.
She’d lectured him, talked down to him like he was a child, like he didn’t understand what love even was. Maybe she’d been scared. But now? Now she was something else entirely. Crueler. Colder. It was like every soft edge she’d once had had been sharpened to a blade. And he couldn’t help but wonder… was this the real Selene? Had she always been like this, hiding behind a smile?
He stared out the carriage window, the mountains of Drakmire rolling by in steep hills and jagged stone. The ride to Grasigna wasn’t especially long, but it felt endless with her sitting across from him.
“Stop being dramatic, Veylan,” Selene muttered, eyes never leaving the pages of her book. “You’re acting like I drowned your favorite pet.”
He glanced at the familiar cover in her hands, brow furrowed. The History of the Seven Kingdoms and Beyond. She’d read it so many times he’d lost count. Legacy. Tradition. All of it felt so pointless now.
“Maybe I wouldn’t be so upset if someone hadn’t forced a marriage contract on me without so much as a conversation,” he shot back.
She slowly looked up, silver eyes narrowing. “Maybe you shouldn’t have come onto me like you meant it,” she said sharply.
His jaw tightened. “So this is revenge? You thought I wanted you, so you bought me?”
“I thought you knew what you were doing,” she snapped. “You don’t get to play innocent now.”
He turned toward her, voice low and tense. “I don’t know who you are anymore, Selene. You’re not the girl I knew. I’m just a disgraced royal with nothing left to his name—and you’re the woman who bought me like I was nothing but a thing. Out of pity? Power?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line before she closed her book with a firm snap. Then, without a word, she shifted forward, climbing into his lap, her dark skirts falling around him like a shadow.
“You are pathetic, Veylan,” she said, tilting his chin up. “Because no matter what you say now, you’re not that arrogant, clever boy I met. You’re mine. A pawn in my game. My dog. You do what I say. You belong to me.”
He stared up at her, unflinching, even as the carriage jolted suddenly, knocking their heads together. He winced, grabbing his head—she grabbed his face again, dragging him close.
“I’m your wife now,” she said. “You answer to me.”
He didn’t respond, just rubbed his temple in silence. Her expression soured—and then she kissed him.
Hard.
Her tongue pushed against his lips, but he bit her instead. Hard enough to draw blood.
She cried out and pulled back, clutching her mouth. “Fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
He glared at her, blood staining his lips. His tongue flicked out instinctively to taste it, and for a moment she just stared.
Wasn’t he sick to blood?
Then he coughed and stumbled toward the window, hanging his head out as he vomited over the side.
Selene’s laughter rang out behind him, sharp and gleeful.
“Oh, gods,” she said. “You’re even more pathetic than I thought.”
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Veylan had gone back to sulking on his side of the carriage. The ride was quiet, his mind racing.
He was being tasked as a decorator for the Academy.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzLvbtcsPSA
A decorator, for gods’ sake.
What kind of fucking job was that? Going from heir, to council member, to a goddamn decorator.
He wasn’t the least bit ashamed of his actions, but he sure as hell was pissed about the outcome. This was outrageous. And he swore to the stars—if Oddfellow was alive and well, he was going to flip his shit. Because what kind of self-respecting friend lets the man who took the fall for him rot in a damned cell under his own palace?
He scowled in silence, staring out the window.
Despite Selene being a raging bitch—and now having assaulted him twice—she had cleaned him up after he vomited. That confused him. Irritated him, even. His eyes dragged to the book in her hands again, and he frowned.
The Seven Kingdoms...
He remembered reading about them when he was younger. There used to be eight kingdoms, until the Kingdom of the Banshees and Na'Vi was destroyed and left abandoned.
The Seven Kingdoms...
Drakmire sat at the top, boasting the biggest population—about 143 million dark beings. It had been ruled under a monarchy since it was born.
Grasigna came next, just beneath Drakmire with around 40 million beings—a true mixing pot. Its capital was chaotic, colorful, filled with just enough mystery to keep drawing people in, despite its odd ruling class.
Then came Veymara, a kingdom of angels, humans, satyrs, and elves.
Durnholde followed, mostly orcs, goblins, mercenaries, and beastskins. Most of their younger population got funneled into Drakmire’s military academies before returning home again.
Then there was Solmara—mages, wizards, elves, arcane scholars... blah blah blah. No one of much importance.
Nyxdrath, the Court of Twilight—Unseelie fae. No one dared visit them, and honestly? They were fine with that.
Then Seravelle, the Court of the Seelie. Not too different from Nyxdrath, just more “pure” and “loving.” Whatever that meant.
And lastly, the long-forgotten and abandoned Empire of Groyhola. Banshees, Na’Vi, poltergeists, and demons once flocked to it. It was... hellish. In a poetic kind of way.
He cleared his throat, breaking the silence.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaemN3Ql4gr
“Still obsessed with the same book, huh?” he muttered. He hated starting conversation, but the quiet was suffocating.
Selene glanced up, smirking slightly. “It’s interesting.”
He cocked an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “What could possibly be so interesting about history that you’ve reread it ‘til the binding’s fraying?”
She blinked and chuckled. “You’re telling me you’ve never found the history of Drakmire interesting?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not exactly. I grew up there. It’s the same thing every day. The population grows, kids are sent to the Academy, some are killed, some overdose and die, others get kidnapped and sold into slavery. Nothing interesting there.”
She pursed her lips, shrugged.
“What about the rumored King of Souls and Death?” she asked, offhanded.
His eyes lit up. Now that one… that was a story that had always interested him. Though it was more rumor than history, it still hooked him every time. There had only been one King of Souls to ever rule. Odd, really. Especially since no one ever confirmed if he died… or just vanished.
“Touche,” he sighed.
She nodded just as the carriage came to a halt. She knocked on the ceiling. “Everything alright?”
Then he heard it—that familiar French twang in her voice. He hadn’t heard it in years. It was the first thing he ever loved about her. That soft, silvery accent she tried so hard to hide.
“We’ve arrived,” the driver said.
She blinked. “Oh,” she said simply, then turned to Veylan, who was staring at her like he’d seen a ghost.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡASylnUtVF6
And maybe he had.
Because for the first time in forever, she looked exactly like the girl he remembered.
“Well? Are you going to help me out?” she asked, ignoring his stunned expression.
He snapped out of it, blinked, then sighed. He slipped out of the carriage and offered her a hand. She took it.
“Thank you, darling~” she cooed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
His brow twitched. Gross. That makes three times.
He turned to look at the estate they’d be staying at, and his breath caught.
It was… beautiful.
Nestled at the edge of the Whispering Vale in Grasigna’s countryside, the mansion stood like a relic from a forgotten age—its stately Victorian spires piercing the golden dusk. Vines of climbing roses wrapped around its weathered stone walls, as if the very flora revered its timeless beauty.
Ornate balconies shimmered with delicate gold leaf, catching the last light of day like threads of captured sunlight. Tall bay windows gleamed with secrets, offering fleeting glimpses of velvet-draped parlors and ancient chandeliers that danced with a warm, flickering glow.
Even the air felt enchanted—thick with the scent of blooming petals and an eerie hush, like the mansion was listening. Dreaming, even.
It was a house that remembered. That watched. And above all, that waited.
Veylan’s eyes shimmered in awe. It was so different from Drakmire’s palace of sorrow—no gloomy black spires or endless silver corridors. There, the only color had been the stained-glass windows.
But this place… this house glittered like gold.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0FTqJOILHV
And for the first time in a long while, he was utterly taken.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Selene murmured, that familiar accent slipping out again.
He glanced at her—and for once, he smiled. A small one. But real.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVUL9UMGndk
He nodded, agreeing. Finally.
She sighed, her gaze drifting to the mansion. “Looks like we have guests waiting for us,” she purred.
He raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in her tone but didn’t comment.
At the estate’s grand entrance stood two figures, speaking to what appeared to be a maid. He hummed, curious.
Then Selene’s hand slid into the crook of his arm.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡieKsbcWWR3
He froze.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy2Lm4a5Kdx
Four times now.
But he exhaled slowly and let it be.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRhjed8SI7R
Just this once, he’d play into the charade.
They didn’t love each other.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzJOB8rpX36
They were just obligated to tolerate each other.
And as long as they were in the public eye, he would respect that.
For now.
“Hello there~ Are you two from here?” Selene asked sweetly, catching the couple’s attention.
Veylan remained stone-faced, cold, his gaze flickering to the pair as they turned to face them.
“Oh! Hello~ no, not at all,” the woman laughed. She didn’t seem much older than them. “We’re actually just visiting for our honeymoon. We were on a walk and asking about this home—it’s quite beautiful. Does it belong to you two?”
Selene beamed. “It does~ And congrats on your merriment. We also just recently got married,” she chuckled, the words rolling off her tongue like honey. How convenient.
Veylan frowned slightly, eyes sweeping over the woman with quiet assessment.
She was average height with supple curves, dressed in a flowing lilac gown—clearly elvish in origin. Elves always adored their fine silks and layers of tulle. Her navy hair spilled in soft curls down her back, and her eyes gleamed a striking silver-blue. Her skin was lightly tanned, her every movement elegant and refined. Her husband, on the other hand, was exactly what Veylan expected from a bard.
Tall, with long, slightly unkempt dirty blonde hair—not quite as golden as Veylan’s own. Sharp features. Silver eyes. He wore a tailored coat embellished with threads of gold, and a shirt that looked like it lost the battle with his chest—barely buttoned just below the pecs. He had the air of someone who knew exactly how attractive he was. Confident. Comfortable. Flashy, but not unbearable.
It was an interesting dynamic between them—refined diplomat and wandering performer. But Veylan didn’t judge.
Not when he was stuck with a Banshee.
“Would you two like to accompany us for some tea?” Selene offered, her tone light and practiced.
The woman looked like she was about to decline—until her husband beat her to it.
“We’d be delighted. You may call me Lorandel. This is my wife, Drelissa.”
Veylan’s brow lifted. Ah. That explained the polish.
Lorandel—famous across several kingdoms for his music, especially among the court-goers. And Drelissa? The current ambassador to the Seelie Court. Important people.
Selene’s eyes gleamed with recognition. “Oh~ we’re in the presence of nobility. Excuse my informality,” she purred. “I’m Selene. This is my husband, Veylan~” she added with a coy smile.
Veylan’s jaw twitched. Husband. He hated that word more than he hated silence.
Drelissa’s gaze flicked to him sharply at the sound of his name. Her expression didn’t change much, but there was something in her eyes. A flicker of recognition.
“I see... how curious~” she said softly.
Veylan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hated meeting new people. Hated being recognized even more.
“Shall we go inside?” Selene prompted.
They agreed, and Veylan followed quietly, playing the part. The estate was grand—tall archways, gilded trims, soft light spilling from chandeliers overhead. It wasn’t too different from the home he grew up in. Which probably meant his mother paid for it.
As the trio disappeared into the parlor, Veylan peeled off from the group without a word, letting instinct and curiosity guide him through the corridors. He traced the smooth curve of a banister with his fingertips, paused in front of portraits with unfamiliar faces, until—
He found the study. Nestled on the top floor like a secret.
He pushed the door open and slipped inside, letting out a slow breath.
Quiet. Warm. Dimly lit. Shelves full of books. The faint smell of ink and parchment.
He crossed the room and sank into the leather chair at the desk, letting his body melt into the cushions.
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A place that felt like home.
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The allure and quiet familiarity of the new home didn’t last long. Of course it didn’t.
Veylan had just settled into their shared room, sitting on the edge of the bed in silence. The sun had long since slipped beneath the horizon, and their guests had departed. Selene had disappeared into the bath, and he—he had just been breathing. Trying to find a moment of peace.
He ran his hands down his face with a tired sigh.
He hated that they had to share a bed.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAb4qcUwidg
At one point, he wouldn’t have.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡInvzlKnIXb
At one point, he might have even wanted it.
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Now, he dreaded it.
And he was right to.
Just as he started to relax, Selene emerged—robe barely clinging to her slender form—and without a word, she crawled onto his lap.
He stiffened instantly, his jaw tightening. “What are you doing.”
His voice was low. Sharp. Eyes fixed on her face, refusing to drop lower.
Selene only smiled, elegant as always, pushing her ebon waves back over her shoulder, exposing her collarbones like a stage set for sin.
“You know what I’m doing, Veylan. We’re newlyweds, remember?” she purred. “We’re supposed to consummate the marriage~”
His eyes widened slightly. A flicker of something crossed his face—disgust, maybe—before he blinked, wordless. Then, without hesitation, he picked her up and set her aside on the bed, like she was nothing more than a coat he'd forgotten to hang.
“No.” He pointed at her, sharp as a dagger. “No. We are not doing that.”
Selene's smile soured. Her lips curled in disdain.
“I thought we’d gotten over this behavior, Veylan,” she said coldly. “You’re supposed to obey me.”
The rage in his chest ignited like wildfire. His face twisted, not with fear—but with fury.
“I am not fucking you, Selene.”
She blinked. Momentarily stunned. Then snarled.
With one quick, venomous movement, she grabbed his wrist and struck him across the face—hard.
His head snapped to the side, cheek stinging.
“Remember your place, Lord Veylan,” she growled. “You are my dog. Now act like it.”
He stared at the wall, unmoving. His nostrils flared. His hands clenched.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhGvJepRPlk
But he said nothing.
Selene sighed, as if he were the disappointment. Then, gracefully, almost theatrically, she turned to the nightstand, pulled a dagger from the drawer, and slashed her own wrist.
Blood welled, ruby and glistening, trailing down her arm.
“Drink.”
Her voice changed—warped. It carried an unnatural lilt. A command layered with magic.
Veylan froze.
He didn’t want to move. But his body betrayed him.
His knees hit the floor.
Hands trembling, he took her wrist into his grip. His lips hovered, quivering with resistance, then pressed against the wound.
He licked a stripe up her arm, the taste of her blood making him flinch. Metallic. Rotten sweet. Wrong.
But he couldn’t stop.
His fangs slid into her skin.
She gasped—almost a moan—and smiled, tilting his chin up with her free hand. Her fingers tangled gently in his hair.
“Good boy~” she whispered, tracing his jawline with a slow, deliberate caress as he drank from her wrist.
He hated how his body responded.
Hated how her blood—tainted with something bitter, something old—flooded his mouth and set his nerves alight with a low, burning fire. It was euphoric in a sick way. A drug he never asked for, never wanted, but couldn’t spit out now that it was in his veins.
Selene purred above him, wrist still offered, her other hand stroking through his hair with possessive tenderness. “See? That’s it. Just like that,” she whispered, her voice syrup-thick with delight. “You were made for this…”
He pulled back suddenly, fangs slipping free, blood trickling down his chin. His breath was ragged.
“Get off on it, do you?” he rasped, eyes hollow and furious. “Turning me into your pet?”
She just smiled, slow and wide, and cupped his face.
“Oh, my sweet, broken thing,” she murmured. “You were always mine. This…” she glanced down at her bleeding wrist, then back to his lips, “was just a reminder.”
He staggered to his feet, but Selene followed, robe parting further as she closed the space between them again. Her skin gleamed in the candlelight—bare, inviting, weaponized.
“You act like you hate it,” she whispered, pressing a blood-slick hand to his chest. “But your body’s honest. It remembers me.”
“No,” he breathed.
“Yes,” she countered.
She kissed him.
And he didn’t move. Not at first.
Her lips were soft and cold, tasting faintly of iron and lavender oil. She bit at his lower lip—just enough to draw blood—and kissed it away in the same breath. Her body pressed into his, a slow roll of heat against stone. She moved like she was casting a spell with every touch.
He let her. He loathed himself for letting her.
His hands clenched at his sides as her robe slipped, and she climbed him again, wrapping around him like a viper. His back hit the wall with a dull thud. Her nails dragged down his chest, catching the fabric of his shirt and tearing it open.
“You said you wouldn’t fuck me,” she whispered into his ear. “But you didn’t say I couldn’t fuck you.”
That broke him.
He grabbed her by the throat—not with malice, not quite with gentleness either—and slammed her against the wall instead. Her breath hitched, not from fear, but thrill.
“Is this what you want?” he growled. “To be treated like the monster you made me into?”
Selene laughed, soft and wicked, even as her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers. “Finally,” she whispered. “There you are.”
He kissed her then—not because he wanted to, but because he wanted to make her feel it. The rage. The contempt. The ache. It was bruising and bloodied and meant to punish. Their teeth clashed. Her laugh turned into a gasp.
It wasn’t passion. It was war.
A war fought in stolen touches and venomous moans. In every ripped seam, every broken gasp, every groan muffled against skin.
The room was too warm. The air, heavy. The chandelier flickered with their shadows as clothes hit the floor.
And through it all, Veylan didn’t know if he was trying to destroy her…18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx0uW4S3v7U
or himself.
Veylan despised the way her body pressed against his, the mingling of her warm blood with the wetness of her kiss—a sickly, overpowering blend that filled him with revulsion and nearly brought him to a scream.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYsJSpRd7av
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In that charged moment, he couldn’t help but wonder whether his abhorrence stemmed from her very presence or from the stark reality that their union was never meant to be.
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Tormented by these conflicting emotions, his hand clutched at her throat as he forced a kiss upon her, his mind tumbling between the urge to dominate and the desire to resist. In a sudden, unthinking motion, he spun them around and slammed her down onto the bed.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSieITolPgh
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Though dominance had never come naturally to him, he now employed all his force, his hand seizing the soft curve of her neck and compelling her into the tangled sheets. When a soft moan escaped her lips, his expression contorted in disgust, and, overwhelmed by repulsion, he released his hold and staggered away.
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“I’m not doing it,” he spat out in a low hiss, voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs6Q0KktfoY
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In response, she sat up abruptly, her eyes flashing with defiant fire as she glared at him.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOij9pTovcL
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“Fine,” she snarled.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTr9vTemPtT
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With a swift, determined tug at the belt of his trousers, she yanked him forward and, with surprising strength, forced him down onto the bed once more. Now in control, she straddled his hips, a quiet hum escaping her as the moonlight bathed her bare, paled body in an eerie glow.
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For an instant, his wide eyes and racing heart betrayed a terror not born of lust but of the overwhelming intensity of the moment.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHTYERCzEyk
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“Selene, stop,” he commanded, his voice raw with desperation. Unperturbed, she cupped his chin with meticulously manicured nails, her lips curving into a sadistic smile.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZGh6B01jB4
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“No~,” she purred in a teasing, almost mocking tone.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmygnekcjBf
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Her other hand glided behind him, eventually finding his most vulnerable spot—a length that was surprisingly ample and undeniably aroused despite everything. Even he knew that his body's natural reaction was not because of her influence.
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With deliberate care, she shifted her weight, positioning herself precisely over him. Slowly, she lowered herself, enveloping him and sending a shock of mixed sensations through his body. A startled gasp tore from his lips as he gritted his teeth; his head flopped back against the pillow while he clutched his eyes in a vain attempt to escape what was unfolding. Tears glimmered at the corners of his eyes, a silent testament to his inner torment.
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As she began to move with a practiced, rhythmic precision, a fragile whimper betrayed his discomfort. A mocking smile crept over her features as she grasped his hand, gently pulling it away from his face and chuckling softly.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdeMGQC90xU
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“Oh, Veylan… you poor puppy…” she cooed, methodically brushing away one solitary tear with her thumb while her tone mingled feigned tenderness with undeniable scorn.
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Even as she continued riding him, her soft moans interlaced with the charged atmosphere, Veylan’s breaths came in strangled bursts. His eyes were shut tight, tears flowing freely down his face as shame overtook him.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEKQupvRr8o
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In that oppressive cascade of conflicting sensations and forbidden desires, he was forced to confront the crushing self-loathing that had taken root—each moment of the encounter deepening his quiet, inescapable regret and the hatred he felt for himself.
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The room was still now.
Only the crackle of the fire and the uneven pattern of breathing filled the space. The chandelier above them swayed slightly, casting fractured gold light over a battlefield of discarded silk and torn cloth, the scent of blood still thick in the air.
Veylan stood by the window now, naked to the waist, his back turned to her. His knuckles were pressed white against the edge of the sill, as if he could anchor himself through sheer force of will. Moonlight spilled across his skin, pale and marked—faint scratches along his shoulder blades, a bite just under his collarbone.
He could still feel her on him. Around him. Under his skin like a curse.
Behind him, Selene shifted lazily in the bed, the blanket barely covering her, her skin flushed and lips bruised. She watched him with lidded eyes, the edge of a smile tugging at her mouth—not from satisfaction, but victory. A private triumph.
"You didn’t have to like it," she said finally, voice hoarse but pleased. "You just had to give in."
He didn't answer. His jaw clenched so tight he felt it crack.
"You’re quiet," she said again, softer now. “Was it that bad?”
Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t turn.
“I should’ve known better,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You never wanted a partner. You just wanted a leash around my neck.”
Selene didn’t deny it.
"You wear it well."
He let out a short, bitter laugh. "I pity you," he said. "You think power is love. You think control will make me stay."
"It has," she snapped, sitting up, voice sharp now. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this—need this. You would’ve run if you didn’t.”
"I have nowhere to run." He finally turned, and his face was bare—no mask, no cold composure. Just quiet, exhausted devastation. “You made sure of that.”
She faltered.
"You took everything from me,” he said. “Even the part of me that said no.” His hand lifted to his mouth where her blood still stained the corner. “And you wonder why I hate you.”
Selene’s expression shifted—less smug now, more searching. Almost...wounded. But only for a second. She pulled the blankets tighter around her, leaning back into the pillows like a queen upon her throne.
“Sleep it off, darling,” she murmured, letting the frost creep back into her voice. “You’ll come around in the morning.”
“I won’t,” he said flatly.
He reached for the shirt on the floor, shaking out the torn fabric with trembling hands, then stalked toward the door without looking back.
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere you’re not.”
She smirked faintly, watching him go. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
The door slammed behind him.
And for once, she didn’t smile. Silence followed. Heavy, biting silence.
Selene remained reclined against the headboard, eyes fixed on the doorway long after Veylan had disappeared through it. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, white-knuckled now. Her mouth, once curved in that victorious little smirk, had flattened into something unreadable.
She turned her head slightly, gaze drifting to the dagger she'd left on the nightstand. The blade still shimmered faintly, bloodstained, catching the firelight like a serpent’s tongue. It had been a tool. A trick. A test. She had used it without hesitation—but now it sat there, sharp and quiet and waiting, much like the silence in her chest.
She exhaled.
“Stupid,” she whispered, not to him—but to herself. “Too much. Too soon.”
The robe slipped down her shoulder as she pulled her knees up, hugging them beneath the blanket. Her glamour dimmed slightly—no longer radiant or otherworldly, just tired. Human, almost. A girl alone in a bed far too big.
Selene had always been good at playing the role. The temptress. The mistress. The queen. She knew how to make someone feel wanted—needed—until they were trapped under her thumb. It was the only way she’d ever known love.
Love.
Her expression twisted as the word echoed in her mind like a mocking bell.
She hadn’t lied, not entirely. She had wanted him. Not just his body. His presence. His power. His attention. And when he turned away, when he resisted, something ugly coiled in her chest—something that said, how dare he.
How dare he not choose her.
Not after all she had done for him. Freed him. Fought for him. Kept him.
She'd made him hers.
But he still looked at her like she was poison.
She glanced toward the mirror across the room. Her reflection stared back at her—a vision of beauty and control, dark hair spilling like ink down bare shoulders, skin flushed and glowing from the blood exchange. The image should’ve made her feel powerful. Instead, she felt... small.
She hated that she wanted him to want her.
Hated that somewhere between strategy and seduction, she'd gotten caught in her own web.
Selene reached for the wine glass at the bedside table, took a long sip, and exhaled through her nose. Her voice was soft, cold again, just loud enough for the empty room to hear.
“He’ll come back. They always do.”
But this time… she wasn’t sure if she believed it.
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The laughter downstairs had been muffled—just a hum behind the thick velvet curtains of the parlor.
Selene remembered how the warmth of candlelight played along the ornate walls, how the rose-colored glass goblets on the tray had trembled when her father raised his voice. It had been a celebration. Kora and Veylan's wedding ball. The night her little sister became a bride.
But not for Selene.
Not once her mother pulled her father aside into the parlor. Selene had followed—curious, uneasy. She’d felt it in her bones, the shifting tension. Her mother’s voice wasn’t raised, not at first.
"Just tell me the truth, Varon. Is it true? Did you lie with her?"
Selene had hovered just outside the doorway, barely breathing.
Her father had been silent for a beat too long.
Then—crack.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh. Her mother stumbled backward, lip split open, hand cradling her cheek.
"Whore," he spat. "You question me on this night?"
She had never heard him sound like that before. Not with that tone. Not with that gleam in his eyes.
Kora had rushed in first. “Father—please!” Her voice was trembling, soft and scared and full of love. The others followed. Their other sister. Barefoot. Still in her gown, still smiling a moment ago.
Selene’s mother tried to speak. To stand up for herself. But Varon—he advanced, a predator in fine robes. His fangs bared, slowly turning into a monstrous sight of a banshee.
Selene stepped inside.
"Stop," she said.
He didn't.
So she screamed.
She hadn’t meant to. She only wanted to save her mother, her sisters, all of them—just freeze him in his place, make him stop.
But banshee magic isn't merciful.
The sound ripped through the walls, through flesh and blood. The glass goblets on the tray exploded. The sconces shattered. The mirror cracked straight down the center.
When silence fell, so did the bodies.
Kora—twisted in a heap beside their mother. The youngest, sprawled near the fireplace, her white slippers stained crimson. Their mother lay slumped in the corner, her neck at an unnatural angle, her eyes open but unseeing. Limbs ripped apart as if a wolf had chosen them for it’s meal.
And Varon—
He stood untouched. His coat billowing slightly in the magic's aftermath. His boots splattered with blood.
He looked at her.
He didn’t shout. Didn’t rage. He smiled.
Like a king surveying a field after the slaughter.
Slowly, he stepped forward, kneeling before Selene as she sank to the floor, breathless and shaking.
"You see?" he whispered, cupping her face with blood-stained fingers. "You were made for more than love."
His voice was quiet, soothing.
"This is why our kind shouldn’t breed. Especially with nasty Bloodsuckers~ But you, little dove... you are proof that sometimes, we must."
A kiss to her forehead, warm and reverent.
"Never love like she did. It made her weak. And weakness dies."
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Selene pulled her knees tighter to her chest, tears coiling down her cheeks as she cried in silence.
What had she become…
Queen Cira Yardley Laurence
Age: 50 / Race: Half blood Vampire
"Behind every smile she wears, there's a storm she keeps hidden. But who would dare to see the clouds when the sun shines so brightly?"
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