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Selene woke slowly.
The curtains were already being drawn back by a pair of maids, morning light spilling into the room in gentle ribbons. She groaned, stretching with a soft yawn, blinking sleep from her eyes.
The bed was cold beside her.
She sat up, glancing to the side where Veylan should have been—but he wasn’t.
And for the first time in a very long time, her heart stuttered.
“Good morning, my lady~” one of the maids chimed with a light lilt. “Did you sleep well?”
“Where’s Veylan?” Selene asked sharply, eyes wide, voice already brittle with panic.
The maid’s cheerful expression faltered, brows drawing together. “The Lord? I... I’m not sure.”
Selene didn’t wait.
She was on her feet in an instant, snatching her robe from the maid’s hands and pulling it on in one swift motion. Her bare feet padded rapidly against the marble as she rushed down the hallway, then the grand staircase. No sign of him.
Her breath hitched.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVLv7wmNiGc
Did he actually leave her?
She inhaled sharply, then turned on her heel and bolted back up the stairs—past their wing, past the solar, up the spiraling tower steps until her legs ached. She skidded to a halt at the end of the corridor and shoved open the heavy study door.
And there he was.
Veylan.
Standing in the golden morning light, fully dressed, a book in one hand and a quill pressed absentmindedly to his lips. He blinked at her like she was a ghost.
“Are you... okay?” he asked cautiously. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her chest rose and fell, wild with adrenaline—and then the panic drained from her face like a tide receding.
Cold.
Collected.
Her spine straightened. “Good,” she said coolly, adjusting her robe. “You’re awake.”
A slow, practiced smile curved across her lips. “You didn’t come back to bed,” she added, voice velvet-sweet.
Veylan blinked, eyebrows lifting in confusion. He gestured vaguely with his quill. “I—uh—slept in here. Got caught up in paperwork Everlight sent me.”
“I see.” Her voice was clipped now, almost bored.
He frowned and turned fully toward her, setting the book down. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
She tilted her head slightly, giving a soft hum, then laughed and smiled with saccharine ease. “I’m fine, darling. Just a night terror,” she lied smoothly.
Veylan raised a brow but didn’t argue. Right. A night terror. Ironic.
“Right,” he muttered, returning to his book with a quiet sigh.
She turned to leave, but paused at the door.
“Are you coming down for breakfast?”
He didn’t look at her. “I already ate.”
There was no warmth in his tone.
Her smile dropped for a fraction of a second—barely perceptible—before she nodded and slipped out the door, lips pressed thin.
Fuck.
Veylan watched her leave, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek in thought. He stared at the doorway long after she vanished, then slumped back into his chair with a heavy sigh.
What the hell was going on with her this morning?
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The day dragged.
Veylan sighed, lounging in the parlor with a book in hand. The words blurred after a while, his mind wandering. Oddly enough, Selene had gone out today—something about joining Drelissa for a promenade through town. Strange, considering Selene wasn’t exactly the strolling-and-chit-chatting type. Not with anyone.
Still, he didn’t mind the silence. The house, for once, felt breathable.
He closed his book with a quiet exhale, eyes sweeping the ornate parlor. Bored. So fucking bored he could scream. He groaned like a child and shoved himself up from the chair, restless. That’s when his gaze landed on the grand piano tucked in the corner.
He hadn’t touched one in months.
Not since... before everything.
Curiosity tugged at him. He crossed the room and let his fingers glide across its glossy surface, pausing to gently lift the lid. The keys stared back like old friends. Tentatively, he pressed one—then another. The soft notes echoed through the air.
A smile ghosted his lips.
He sat.
And then he played.
His eyes fluttered shut as muscle memory took over, fingers dancing through long-forgotten melodies. Pieces his mother loved. Pieces he used to play on the lyre, when life was simpler and he believed in joy.
Time blurred.
An hour passed before he realized it.
Unbeknownst to him, a few maids had gathered in the hall, whispering and swooning like lovesick girls, captivated by the melancholic beauty unraveling from his fingertips.
Then Selene stepped through the front doors.
She closed her parasol with a soft snap and arched a brow at the sight of the hovering maids. Her ears caught the music—and her expression shifted.
Piano?
She followed the sound quietly, heels silent against the polished floors, and reached the parlor doorway.
And froze.
There he was.
Veylan, bathed in golden light. The way it spilled through the windows made him glow—like something holy. Something untouchable. His brow relaxed, lips slightly parted in focus, hands weaving sonatas like silk.
Her breath hitched.
She backed away, pressing herself to the wall just out of sight. One hand rose to cover her mouth, her heart racing. Her cheeks flushed with something like guilt... or awe. Or both.
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Locking this man away for herself?12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡen1VqBRp49
This man who looked like he could command the stars if he asked nicely.
She peeked around the corner again. Just once. Then turned and left without a word, her steps soundless.
She didn’t want to disturb the beauty of it.
Didn’t want him to know she was watching.
Didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that for a fleeting moment—she questioned everything.
Veylan's fingers slowed to a stop.
He exhaled softly, shoulders relaxing as he leaned back slightly on the bench, his gaze drifting upward. His eyes fluttered open to take in the ornate trim lining the ceiling. A quiet moment passed as his thoughts wandered—back to this morning.
Selene’s face.
The panic.
Why had she looked so... scared?
He frowned and looked down at the piano keys again, brushing his hand over them before quietly closing the lid. Standing, he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
No. She didn’t know how to care. She wasn’t capable of it. So why even bother thinking she could?
A knock at the door pulled him out of his spiral.
He blinked, confused, and peeked around the corner just as a maid called to him with a singsong lilt.
“My lord~! Someone’s requesting you!”
Veylan stepped into the hall—and stopped cold. His breath caught in his throat, his whole body locking into place.
“Oddfellow?”
The masked man looked up at him.
There was a soft gasp—though Veylan couldn’t tell whose it had been.
He dismissed the maid with a wave of his hand and quickly ushered Oddfellow into the garden, away from any prying eyes.
“What are you doing here? How did you—?”
“Sarnan told me,” Oddfellow replied, cool and clipped.
Veylan blinked. The tone—it was... off. Oddfellow had never spoken to him like that before.
“I thought I’d pay you a visit. Are you well?” he asked, voice calm but distant.
Veylan chewed the inside of his cheek, a familiar ache rising in his chest. Had he done something wrong?
“I... to an extent,” he admitted softly.
Oddfellow's expression faltered. He sighed, and his voice softened just slightly.
“I heard you got married.”
That landed like a stone in Veylan’s gut. His eyes dropped to the dirt.
“Oh, uh—yeah. It was the only way to get out.”
Oddfellow’s gaze flicked toward him beneath the mask, a faint furrow forming. The only way? So he’d married the very woman he’d once watched so closely? The same woman who had hovered over him like a shadow from the start?
Convenient.
“I see,” Oddfellow said, his voice unreadable.
Veylan nudged the ground with his toe, suddenly feeling like a child again. “How have you been fairing at the council?”
Oddfellow shrugged. “It’s the same old council.”
“Ah.”
Silence.
But not their usual kind. This one felt weighted, strained—like a string pulled too tight.
They walked through the hedges, out of view from the house.
“Oddfellow—” Veylan started, but before he could finish, Oddfellow pulled him forward.
Their bodies collided. The glamour fell into place.
And then lips met.
Veylan gasped, stunned—but his hands found Oddfellow's neck, pulling him closer, mouths moving in desperate, quiet rhythm. His back hit the hedge, the brambles scraping through his shirt—but he didn’t care.
All that mattered was the way Oddfellow kissed him. Like it was the last time.
Like he wanted it to last forever. Soft, breathy sounds escaped between kisses until Oddfellow finally pulled back, chest rising with sharp breaths as he slipped his mask back on.
Veylan stood there, dazed, wide-eyed, lips still tingling.
Sure—they’d kissed before. But not like that. Not with finality in every touch.
“I unfortunately must go,” Oddfellow said, his voice suddenly distant again. “I have a meeting. I just wanted to drop by to say hello.”
He turned. Veylan’s breath caught.
“Wait—Ody—” he gasped, stumbling forward.
Oddfellow paused, glancing back.
“I—...” Veylan choked, the words catching in his throat. You should’ve never said those words. Selene’s voice rang like venom in his mind.
Veylan forced a smile.
“I wish you the best, old friend.”
His voice was soft. Gentle. Final.
Oddfellow’s eyes lingered on him for a breath, widening just slightly beneath the mask—then softening.
He gave a small nod, a tiny wave, and turned to disappear toward the carriage.
Veylan stood frozen in the garden, surrounded by roses and silence, but it all felt cold. His chest ached with something he couldn’t quite name.
But gods, it hurt. It hurt like hell.
The sound of the carriage wheels scraped along the edges of Veylan’s mind. His breath caught—and then he ran. Tears spilled down his cheeks as his boots pounded against the path.
“WAIT!” he cried, voice raw and cracking.
Oddfellow’s head snapped up at the sound, eyes wide as he turned to the window. The mask didn’t hide the sudden tremble in his gaze.
He knocked sharply on the roof. The carriage jerked to a halt halfway down the road.
Veylan stumbled to a stop just behind it, panting, clutching at his side as he struggled to breathe. “Give me—just a moment—” he gasped, holding up a finger.
Oddfellow blinked at him through the window, confused. Veylan didn’t wait.
He flung open the door and stepped inside, reaching out with trembling hands to cradle the back of Oddfellow’s neck.
“One more,” he whispered.
Oddfellow didn’t move—didn’t even breathe. So Veylan gently pushed the mask up, just enough to meet his lips again. The kiss was different this time.
Not rushed. Not stolen. But offered.
Oddfellow gasped softly, and Veylan deepened the kiss, one hand holding his jaw, the other curling into his shirt. He could feel the wetness on Oddfellow’s cheeks.
Tears. He was crying.
Veylan’s lips trembled as they barely parted, and the words broke free like a dam bursting.
“I love you.”
Oddfellow’s breath hitched sharply. He didn’t answer. Didn’t speak.
Instead, he tore the mask off completely—and pulled Veylan into his arms.
The carriage door shut behind them with a soft click as Oddfellow knocked on the roof again, brisk and firm. The carriage lurched forward.
And inside, Veylan looked up at him, desperate and searching. Needing something. But Oddfellow said nothing. And he didn’t need to.
Veylan knew.
He felt it in the way Oddfellow held him.
He knew.
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Birds chirped as the morning sun rose, casting warm light across the marble pathways of the academy. Students filled the grounds in waves—robes swishing, laughter echoing off stone walls as they rushed toward their first periods, books clutched tightly to their chests. Some ran, some strolled, others lingered in clusters to gossip about the next parties at the Veil or Vesper.
Oddfellow leaned against the archway, a cigarette lazily perched between his lips. His mask was tugged up just enough to allow the smoke to curl around his face as he watched, listened… thought.
And then—
“ODY~!”
The sing-song voice rang out seconds before a young Veylan barreled into him, laughing as he stole the cigarette from between Oddfellow’s fingers and took a quick drag himself.
“Good morning, friend~” Veylan sang with that damn grin.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkRFQbPTSI4
Friend.
Oddfellow hated the way that word rolled off Veylan’s tongue so casually. It stabbed somewhere deep in his chest, but he only chuckled, playing it off like always.
“Good morning,” he said, exhaling. “Aren’t you worried you’ll be late for class?”
Veylan snorted, handing the cigarette back with a lazy smirk.
“Classes are classes~ I’ll catch up,” he said, nudging Oddfellow’s shoulder playfully. “What about you, hmm? Won’t your parents throw a fit if you skip?”
Oddfellow shrugged. “Not really my problem.”
Veylan grinned wide and slung an arm around his shoulders.
“C’mon~ Let’s walk to class together.”
Oddfellow could only nod, letting himself be dragged along, his face burning under the mask. At the time, he didn’t quite understand the feeling—why he got defensive when Veylan hogged the dorm counter space, why his heart sank when Veylan pouted at him like a kicked puppy over the last hot pocket.
He didn’t get it then.
But he did now.
He loved this boy. This impossible, golden boy.
He loved the slope of his narrow shoulders, the way his hair caught the sunlight like strands of honeyed silk. He loved how his little fangs peeked out when he laughed, how he teased like a child and glared like a storm.
He loved Veylan Cassius Laurence.
And maybe—just maybe—he always had.
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Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Countless sleepless nights.
Oddfellow stood in the high arch of the observatory balcony, tucked in shadow, far above the glittering ballroom where preparations were in full swing. Laughter and conversation rose like bubbles in champagne, and flickering chandeliers spilled golden light over fresh arrangements of black roses and crystal-frosted ivy.
And there he was.
Veylan.
A vision in obsidian and silver, sleeves rolled to his elbows, strands of his long blond hair tied half-back in a loose ribbon that matched the theme. He was speaking to a few students and staff, pointing toward the far wall where enchanted mirrors were being positioned. He had that look on his face—the one that said he was pretending to be fine. That perfect mask of grace and charm. Of light and ease. A performer on a stage he never wanted.
Oddfellow leaned forward slightly, watching the way Veylan’s hands moved—sharp and graceful, deliberate. Every once in a while, he would tug at the collar of his shirt as if it were strangling him. No one noticed it but Oddfellow. Just like no one else noticed how he never looked anyone in the eye too long. How his laugh never reached his eyes.
The carriage ride haunted Oddfellow like a dream he couldn't wake from. The kiss. The words. I love you.
He hadn’t said it back.
He wanted to.
But fear is a cruel thing.
And Veylan… Veylan had always been something delicate wrapped in steel. Something dangerous, but so painfully human when you looked past the bite and the ego. Oddfellow had spent their youth pretending it wasn’t love, pretending it would pass. But now?
Now he just watched him from above. Like a ghost.
He touched the edge of his mask, fingers lingering. It was warm. Always too warm when Veylan was near.
“Sir Oddfellow,” came a voice from behind him, quiet and formal. A student. “The headmistress asked if you’d be attending the event?”
Oddfellow’s eyes stayed fixed on the ballroom below. On him.
“No,” he said softly, almost too softly. “I’m only here to supervise.”
The student hesitated, then bowed and left.
Below, Veylan laughed at something one of the decorators said, then immediately pressed a hand to his chest like it hurt to do so.
Oddfellow swallowed hard and stepped back into the shadows.
He didn’t think he could bear to stay much longer.
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Veylan exhaled a long, wearied breath as he collapsed onto the velvet settee, its moon-silver fabric sighing beneath his weight. His boots lay discarded by the door, his dark coat draped haphazardly over the armrest like a discarded shroud. With a low groan, he tossed an arm over his face to shield his eyes from the soft glow of enchanted lanterns flickering overhead—light that danced like will-o’-the-wisps.
He yawned, tension bleeding from his limbs, when the sound of soft heels—click, click, click—echoed against the marble. A familiar hum followed, lilting and melodic, as Selene stepped into the room like a shadow in silk.
“You look tired,” she said, her voice delicate, almost fond.
He peeked from beneath his arm and offered a breathy chuckle. “Decorating’s more work than you'd think,” he murmured. “Especially for a damned ball.”
Selene gathered the trailing ends of her opalescent skirts and perched gracefully at the edge of the couch. Her presence was unnervingly serene tonight—no barbed words, no cruel games. In truth, the past two weeks had been... calm. A strange, unfamiliar calm. The storm that had once defined her every breath seemed, at least for now, to have quieted. She hadn’t struck him again. Not since Drelissa’s visit.
He wondered if that had anything to do with it.
“May I?” she asked, gesturing toward his legs.
He lifted a brow in surprise, then shrugged. “Be my guest.”
With almost reverent care, she lifted his legs and settled them across her lap. Her fingers—cool, slender, and deceptively gentle—began to massage the aching muscles in his calves, working out the knots with surprising tenderness. The room fell into a soft, golden quiet. Only the distant hum of the houses wards could be heard, pulsing through the floor like a heartbeat.
Then, like a dropped shard of glass, her voice broke the stillness.
“Did you love him?”
Veylan froze beneath her hands.
“I— I’m not sure what you mean,” he lied, though the weight in his chest told the truth plainly.
Selene gave a knowing sigh, her lips curled in that too-sweet smile. “Your friend. Oddfellow.”
He swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek. “And if I did? Are you going to use it against me?” he asked bitterly.
She rolled her eyes and, without warning, cracked one of his toes. “Ow! Fuck, Selene!” he barked, sitting upright as the sting pulsed through his foot.
She snorted, unabashed, giving him a look that danced somewhere between exasperation and smug amusement.
With a dramatic groan, he sank back down. “Yes,” he admitted at last, his voice low. “I did.”
Selene paused. A breath. A sigh. “I thought as much.”
He blinked. Silence again. “That’s... that’s all? You don’t care?”
She merely shrugged, continuing her slow massage as if they were discussing the weather. “Why should I? You’re my husband after all.”
The words settled like ash in his mouth. Right. He exhaled sharply, eyes flicking to her again.
“Okay then. Did you ever love me?”
That made her pause. Her hands stilled. For a moment, Selene—terrible, untouchable Selene—looked almost human.
“I don’t believe in love,” she said flatly.
Veylan tilted his head. “You don’t believe in it... or you don’t know what it feels like?”
She flinched. Just barely. Her eyes dropped to her lap. There was something in that silence—ancient and wounded. She knew what love was. She had tasted it once. But it had been poisoned.
“I’m... I’m pregnant, Veylan.”
Time fractured. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.
His heart thundered in his chest like war drums. “What,” he whispered, clipped and cold.
She looked up at him, eyes solemn. No trace of her usual wicked grin. “I said—”
“No. You’re lying,” he growled, shooting to his feet. “I can’t—I didn’t—”
His hand flew to his collarbone, where faint scars from her bite still lingered. That night. The blood. The bond.
“Get rid of it,” he snapped, voice sharp as a blade.
Selene’s head tilted. “What?”
“Get rid of it, Selene. We’re not keeping it. That thing is dangerous.”
Her expression twisted, brows knitting in shock and fury. “I’m not getting rid of it, Veylan. What’s done is done. You signed the contract—this is your doing as much as mine.”
He stepped forward, face twisted in disbelief and rage. “Are you insane? I should’ve known when you forced me into that god damned contract, but now it’s crystal clear. This marriage? Illegal. You only got away with it because you wept to my father like some cursed siren. And a child? That’s worse. Everything you’re doing—everything—is a crime, Selene.”
Her face paled. His words cut deep—because they were true. Banshee and vampire unions were forbidden. The law had nearly torn him apart just for loving Kora.
Selene rose to her feet slowly, fury rippling through her like a gathering storm. She seized his chin in a cruel grip, her nails digging into his skin, eyes narrowing to venomous slits.
“As long as you are bound to me, Lord Veylan,” she hissed, “I will bear your children whether you like it or not. Illegal or not, I will do it again.”
His breath hitched.
“I am carrying this child to term,” she continued, her voice sharp as winter wind. “And if you’re so concerned about what’s lawful or not, then start praying to Noctra herself that it isn’t a fucking hybrid.”
She released him with a shove, and the sudden absence of her touch was almost worse. With a furious sweep of her skirts, Selene stormed from the room, the air behind her thick with static and menace.
Veylan stood frozen, horror blooming in his eyes, his skin ghost-white beneath the golden lamplight.
Fuck.
The silence left in Selene’s wake was deafening.
Veylan stood rooted to the spot, muscles taut, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as if the very air around him had turned to smoke. His hands trembled. One curled into a fist, nails biting into the flesh of his palm, the other pressed flat against his chest like he was trying to keep his heart from tearing out of him.
Pregnant.
The word clawed at his mind, jagged and feral. His stomach turned. His throat was dry.
He staggered backward and dropped onto the couch as though the weight of the world had just collapsed onto his shoulders. The cushions groaned under him. His eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on the empty doorway like she might reappear at any moment and laugh—say it was all a joke, another game in her cruel collection.
But she wouldn’t.
She meant it.
He dragged a shaking hand through his hair. The room seemed colder now, the flickering lanterns dimmed, shadows pressing in like silent witnesses to his unraveling.
A child. A banshee-vampire hybrid. The exact abomination he had been warned about his entire life.
“No,” he whispered, voice barely audible, more prayer than word. “No, no, no…”
They’d execute her if they found out. They’d execute him. They’d call it unnatural—desecration. The council would strip his family name from the records. His mother would disown him. The Academy would bury this, and him, beneath a thousand years of silence.
His hand drifted back to the bite on his collarbone, almost absently, like a phantom ache. He had been stupid. Weak. He let his guard down for one moment—one god damned night.
He clenched his jaw.
He needed to get out. He needed air. He needed—
Freedom.
But he knew he wouldn’t get it. Freedom.
Not truly. Not in this lifetime. Not while she still breathed. Not while her name was branded into the very bones of his existence, a curse sealed in ink and blood.
The realization curled inside him like a serpent, venomous and slow—freedom wasn’t waiting at the end of the road. It wasn’t tucked between the pages of some forgotten contract or hidden in the soft corners of borrowed kindness.
No.
Freedom would only come with death.
Hers.
His.
Both.
He was a prisoner wrapped in velvet—chained not by iron, but by honeyed lies and whispered promises that cut deeper than any blade. Every breath he took was borrowed, every step watched. She had him locked in her gilded cage, singing lullabies with knives behind her back.
He could flee. He’d thought of it often. Disappearing into the night with nothing but the clothes on his back and the scars she left behind.
But she would find him. She always found him.
Unless he killed her first.
That thought—the thought that had once horrified him—no longer made him flinch. It sat quietly in his chest now, not as rage, but inevitability. The way winter kills the last leaf on the branch. Cold, sure, and natural.
And if he couldn’t kill her?
Then maybe he’d kill himself. Take the power back in the only way he could.
Because there was no future for a hybrid-borne bastard bound to a banshee. No redemption arc for the villain in her fairytale.
He was stuck.
A phantom prince in a crumbling castle, dressed in smiles and bloodstained silk.
He closed his eyes, letting the dark press against his eyelids like a prayer, or a coffin lid.
And for just a moment… he wished he'd never been born.
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King Veylan Illya Laurence 12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ653xX4apyK
Age: 100 / Race: Pure blood Vampire12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5nUtLG8uQi
"Mercy is for the dead. The living obey."12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKq6zwSqAK0
