~~~{────────────
Night.
Bedroom.
Third Prince Chambers,
Wyfkeep Castle, Wyfellon.
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Alaric entered his chambers, and the first thing that hit him was the subtle, intoxicating scent of her presence. His wife.
He blinked, momentarily confused yet oddly pleased by the thought of having someone else in his home. For months, he had dreaded the idea of sharing his space with a human woman, especially one who was now bound to him forever. He had thought it would feel invasive, irritating even, but now, standing here, it felt strangely calming. Or perhaps it was just 'her scent' that his soul seemed to love so much.
If he was being honest with himself, for a few moments, he had almost forgotten he had a wife at all. Throughout the day after he left her in front of the chamber door, he had been completely focused on his mission and he wondered if that was a norm.
It was her first day in the castle, and he hadn't been around. She must've been confused, wandering the vast halls of this royal house—with those cold, hateful, and hostile Velthorne's.
How had she fared?
The guards were conspicuously absent, but that didn't surprise him. They only stood watch during the day, fleeing as soon as night fell, terrified of the demon they believed would steal their souls in the darkness.
Not that he minded their cowardice. He only wondered who had spread the ridiculous rumor that he could only do dark deeds under the cover of night.
He was dangerous as long as he was under the vast sky.
Approaching the bed, he noticed she was asleep. He took a step closer but halted when he remembered the vile stench of human blood clinging to him.
The thought of tainting her with the remnants of such filth displeased him deeply. With a frown, he backed away, deciding to cleanse himself before anything else.
He strode into the bathroom, the frown deepening on his face. Something wasn't right.
Last night, he had left the castle, unable to quell the sudden anger that surged within him.
The cause? A guard had dared to wink at Salviana earlier that day. He still couldn't comprehend why such a trivial action had pushed him to such a dark, out-of-character response.
But then again, had he ever truly been "in character?" Perhaps this darkness had always been a part of him.
~~~{──────────
''The Previous Night''
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
With vampiric speed, Alaric had left the castle in the dead of night, traveling effortlessly to a bungalow in the nearby village. He had a mission and his target was the rotund guard who had stood outside his chambers. The one who had dared to wink at his wife.
The guard had been leisurely resting by a tree in the quiet of his home, whistling a tune and smoking a cigarette when Alaric made himself known, enveloped in the darkness and mist of the night, the shadows and him in unity.
The guard froze at the sight of him, his eyes widening in sheer terror, the cigarette hanging from his lips, forgotten.
He couldn't even manage a greeting, too stunned by the prince's sudden appearance. His heart raced in a way that pleased Alaric—he reveled in the scent of fear and the delicious power of helplessness.
"Mind sharing that smoke?" Alaric asked, his tone calm yet dripping with menace.
The guard, trembling, hastily pulled the cigarette from his lips, swallowing nervously. His hands shook violently as he stretched his arm to offer the cigarette to Alaric. But instead of taking it, Alaric grabbed the guard's arm in a tight grip.
The cigarette fell to the ground, forgotten, as the guard gasped, "Y-your grace..." shocked.
"You see," Alaric began, his voice low and threatening, "I'm a generous person, even to ungrateful bastards like you. But you crossed a line."
The guard swallowed again, fear etched in every feature. "Your grace... I didn't mean—there was no line—I didn't know."
'He didn't know?! The audacity'
"Do I look like someone you can trespass upon?" Alaric asked, his dark eyes gleaming with dangerous intent. The guard shook his head furiously, but Alaric wasn't interested in his pitiful response. He continued, voice rising. "You dare to 'wink' at my wife?"
The guard's face instantly drained of all colour. "N-never again, your grace! Please... forgive me. I'll apologize... It'll never happen again!" he promised shakingly.
Alaric smirked darkly, his fangs slightly elongating. "You're right. It 'won't' happen again. I'll make sure of that."
Without another word, he wrapped his hand around the guard's throat, lifting the man off the ground effortlessly.
The guard's legs dangled in the air as he flailed, trying to make a sound, but Alaric tightened his grip. His dark eyes blazed with fury, holding him in place and his free hand drew the guard's fat wrist towards his mouth.
His fangs elongated fully now, sharp and glinting in the moonlight, and with one swift motion, he sank them deep into the guard's wrist.
The man's scream died in his throat as Alaric sucked him dry, draining every last drop of blood until the guard's body turned white and lifeless.
Once he was done, he let the guard's limp body drop to the ground with a dull thud. The darkness in his eyes slowly faded, and with a deep breath, he stepped over the corpse, leaving the bungalow as swiftly as he had arrived, heading back to the castle with supernatural speed and grace.
~~~{──────────
''Present''
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Now, standing in the bathroom, Alaric stared at his reflection, still processing what had happened the night before. His hands gripped the edge of the sink, the cold porcelain grounding him.
The sensation of the guard's life draining away in his grasp lingered, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was changing within him—something darker, more primal.
Was he going insane?
No, he had never been completely "bright," never truly good. But now, it seemed he had a reason to embrace the darkness more fully.
'For her.'
He splashed cold water on his face, trying to cleanse not just the blood but the strange, consuming thoughts. He could feel it—a growing purpose behind every dark action he took. And the thought thrilled him.
He undressed, his wounds almost completely healed, he imagined how fast they'd heal if he consumed
Alaric finished cleaning himself and dressed quickly. He stepped out of the bathroom, his gaze falling once more on his sleeping wife.
Her soft breaths filled the room, and despite everything, the sight of her brought him a sense of calm. But he knew the storm inside him wasn't over.
He would protect her, possess her, and perhaps—if fate allowed—love her. But to do that, he would need to be darker, crueler, more relentless than he had ever been.
And he was ready for it.
Or maybe not.
As Alaric reached the four-poster, curtained bed, he paused, watching her through the delicate veil of linen lace. Her peaceful heartbeat echoed in his ears like a soft melody, steady and hypnotic.
He traced her features with his dark, restless eyes, each line of her face unfolding like verses in an ancient, forgotten poem.
Her hair, fiery and wild like a sunset dipped in flames, cascaded across the pillows, framing her delicate face in a halo of red.
It reminded him of the fading light that burned the horizon before darkness swallowed the world.
Her skin was pale, porcelain-like, almost translucent under the dim light, reminiscent of the moonlight that kissed the silent waters of a midnight lake.
He stared at her lips, soft and slightly parted, as though she were on the verge of whispering secrets to the night.
They were like the petals of a rose, half-opened, daring to bloom. Her lashes, dark and long, fluttered ever so faintly against her cheeks, like the wings of a moth drawn toward a dangerous flame.
Her beauty was not just in the way she looked, but in how she seemed to exist between worlds—a creature both fragile and fierce, a human and something more, something sacred.
She was meant to be nothing more than a vessel to him, a tool for power and nothing more. But that had changed the moment she stood before him, head held high, refusing to tell him her name because he hadn't earned it.
He realized, then, he wanted more from her than just her blood or her body. He wanted her defiance, her fire, her heart.
Stealthily, he slipped into bed beside her, careful not to disturb the peace of the night. As he settled next to her, her heartbeat quickened, a sign of her unconscious awareness of him.
He froze, caught between wanting to let her rest and the growing hunger to feel her gaze upon him. Slowly, her heart began to calm again, and he pressed his lips into a tight line, resisting the urge to reach out.
'She must have been dreaming,' he mused, allowing himself to relax. He shifted slightly, sinking into the bed, his arms sliding beneath his head as his eyes stared up at the endless dark ceiling.
But then, her voice pierced the silence, soft and hesitant.
"Are you really a vampire?"
Her question caught him off guard, and if his heart wasn't stone-cold, it might have fluttered in surprise. He had been sure she was asleep.
He turned his head, meeting her gaze. Her green eyes, wide and filled with curiosity, locked onto his. She looked innocent, vulnerable, as if she were waiting for his answer to shape her world.
It unnerved him how open she was, how ready she was to be influenced by him. He quickly averted his eyes, turning back to the ceiling. Not tonight.
"Yes, Fiery. Yes, I am," he replied coolly, his voice distant, as if speaking of something mundane.
He heard her breath catch in her throat, a mixture of fear and fascination. "Does the royal family know?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with tension.
"No," he said curtly, untangling his arms and covering his eyes with them. "But they aren't doormats. They sense the darkness."
She shifted beside him, her thoughts scattered and unsettled like her wild hair. "How did—"
He cut her off sharply, his tone leaving no room for further discussion. "Go to sleep, Salviana."
The command was final, and though he couldn't see her, he knew she was frowning. He could feel her hesitation, the unspoken questions lingering between them. But for now, the night was too dark, and the truths too heavy to speak.