The moment the Judge closed the door behind her, leaving Asher alone in the room, the silence pressed in like a weight, suffocating him. He couldn't quite place what he was feeling—resentment, confusion, maybe even guilt? But the more he dwelled on it, the worse it became. The flicker of softness in her eyes haunted him, lingering like an unwanted shadow that refused to disappear. He hated it. He hated her for it, for the way she had treated him, for the way she'd cared when he didn't deserve it.
His stomach growled, a harsh reminder of his hunger. He hadn't eaten in… weeks, it felt like, but it wasn't just physical hunger. There was something gnawing deeper, something that had been festering ever since he'd woken up—something that went beyond the curse, beyond his sickness. The Judge's presence, her tenderness, it had cracked something inside him. He couldn't afford to care about that. Not now. Not when everything was slipping through his fingers.
The door opened again, and Roan entered, this time carrying a tray of food. His usual composed demeanor was replaced by a frantic, almost apologetic energy, as if he feared Asher might snap at him for something.
"I… I've brought you something to eat, Court Consort," Roan said, his voice unusually tentative. He set the tray down on the table next to the bed, keeping his distance as though afraid to approach too closely.
Asher nodded, his stomach lurching at the sight of food, but it wasn't just hunger he felt.
There was something hollow in the pit of his stomach that even a full meal couldn't fill.
He could feel something twisting inside him, gnawing at his insides, making his hunger all the more insatiable. It wasn't just for food—it was for something else. Something deeper.
Roan didn't leave, though. Instead, he lingered, standing by the door, his hands clasped behind his back, watching Asher with an expression that was a mix of concern and something else—something Asher couldn't quite place.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Roan asked, his tone hesitant.
Asher clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing as he turned toward him. "You can tell me what's been going on while I've been asleep," he said, his voice cold, though the words felt like ice scraping against his own throat. "I'm sure there's been plenty of chaos while I've been out of commission. Or is that too much to ask?"
Roan seemed to falter at the sharpness in Asher's voice, but his expression hardened, the loyal butler's usual calm settling back into place. "There's been much to deal with, yes," Roan replied carefully. "Your absence... it threw the Court into disarray. Alliances frayed. Resources strained. There was unrest among the nobles and the vampires, not to mention the whispers about your condition." He paused, clearly choosing his words with care. "There have been attempts to undermine your position... some even trying to claim that the throne should be passed to another."
A faint, bitter laugh escaped Asher's lips. "Of course," he said. "Because I was so damn useful before I fell ill. And I'm sure the Judge handled it all beautifully, didn't she?" His words dripped with sarcasm.
Roan's jaw tightened, but he didn't bite back. "She did what she had to do. But she's been stretched thin. The Court has been... unpredictable. That's why we need you, Asher."
There was a long pause. Roan's words hung in the air, thick with the weight of what they meant. Asher could feel the expectation pressing in on him, like chains he couldn't escape. It wasn't just about his health or the curse anymore. It was about duty. Responsibility. The role he had been forced into.
"Need me?" Asher repeated, his voice quieter, as though the word tasted foreign on his tongue. "Or need the position I hold?"
Roan didn't respond immediately, his eyes lowering to the floor for a moment before meeting Asher's gaze again. "Both, I think."
Asher's gaze turned back to the tray, but his appetite was gone. His hands shook slightly as he gripped the edge of the table, the curse pulsing under his skin, a gnawing reminder of the power it held over him.
He looked up at Roan again, his expression hardening. "And the Judge... what does she want from me now?"
Roan shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering to the door as if he was weighing whether or not to speak freely. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "She's frustrated. She wants you back, Asher. Needs you back. But more than that... she's worried. There's something in her eyes when she talks about you, something she doesn't say. She's been more... protective than usual."
The words hit Asher like a blow. It was a strange thing, to hear Roan—who had always seemed so neutral, so distant—speak so plainly about the Judge's feelings. Asher wasn't sure whether it made him angry or if it unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite understand.
"That's her problem, not mine," he replied coldly, pushing himself to sit up straighter.
Roan didn't argue, but his gaze lingered, his expression unreadable. "You're the Court Consort, Asher. Whether you like it or not, your actions affect all of us."
Asher's lips tightened into a thin line. He hated that Roan was right, but he didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to admit that everything in his life—everything that had been spinning out of control since the curse began—was tied to this Court, to the Judge, to a role he never wanted.
Roan seemed to consider something, then offered quietly, "You were on the brink, Asher. You... were dying. The Judge intervened."
Asher's gaze shifted to Roan, and he could feel the weight of that word—intervened. He didn't ask for anyone to intervene. He didn't want their pity or their help, but the thought of the Judge... her actions... it was enough to stir something sharp in his chest, a bitterness he quickly swallowed. He didn't respond right away, turning his focus back to the tray of food, though his appetite had been soured by everything that had happened since he woke up. His mind couldn't stop moving, each thought tumbling over the next. The hunger still gnawed at him, but it felt like something else entirely. Something darker.
Finally, he met Roan's eyes again, his gaze sharp and calculating. "You're going to do something for me," he said, his voice hardening with authority.
Roan's brow furrowed, but he didn't speak. He waited, as if knowing that Asher was about to demand something.
"I need loyalty, Roan. I don't care what it costs. If you want my cooperation, if you want me to do my part in all this, you'll swear it." Asher's tone was calm, even casual, but the words were a heavy weight, each syllable hanging between them.
Roan's lips parted as if he might object, but Asher silenced him with a single, cold glance. "I'll make sure you understand. Do we have an agreement?"
Roan swallowed visibly, his posture stiffening slightly as he took in Asher's words. His usual composure was beginning to crack, and there was something in his eyes that looked like hesitation. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his options, then gave a stiff nod. "I swear my loyalty to you, Court Consort."
Asher gave a sharp nod in return, his hunger still churning in the pit of his stomach, but the conversation now held his attention fully.
"Good. You'll need it."
He leaned back slightly, resting against the pillows, still feeling a bit unsteady on his feet but resolved. "Now, tell me what I need to do. I've never been in a position of power before. What does it mean to be Court Consort? What is expected of me?" The question came without hesitation, his tone cold and calculating. It wasn't that he didn't understand power—it was that he had never had to wield it, never had to be the one to make the calls.
Roan hesitated again, his gaze flickering to the door as though considering whether or not to reveal too much. Then, finally, he spoke, voice low but firm. "You are the Court Consort, Asher. You are... vital. In politics. In alliances. Your influence with the vampires is crucial. Your role is to maintain relationships, especially with the other noble families. You are the bridge between us and the other vampire factions. You hold power by association, and by... persuasion."
Roan paused before continuing, watching Asher closely. "But... your true influence is in how you choose to act. Your decisions, your words, will carry weight. There are those in the Court who respect you, and others who would love to see you fall. Your loyalty will decide who stands with you and who doesn't."
Asher's gaze never wavered, his mind already racing through the implications of Roan's words. "So, I'm a figurehead then?" he said, his voice dry. "A pawn to keep the vampires at bay while everyone else does the work?"
Roan's eyes flashed, but he held his tongue. "It's more than that," he said quietly, then added, "but it's up to you to decide how much more."
Asher's lips twitched into something close to a smirk, his mind whirling with the possibilities. He had power now—real power, in ways he hadn't anticipated. The hunger inside him pulsed again, stronger this time, but he could feel a new kind of hunger awakening as well—the hunger for control.
"I'll decide," he said quietly, his voice ice cold, "what happens next."
Asher stared down at the tray of food, his stomach twisting with a hunger that went far beyond what any meal could satisfy. Still, he forced himself to pick up a piece of bread, tearing off a bite. The taste was bland, his appetite dimmed by everything else gnawing at him, but he forced each bite down, determined to quell at least one craving.
Each mouthful did little to ease the hollowness inside him, but he kept eating, clenching his jaw as he worked through the meal. He knew it wouldn't be enough, knew there was something else he needed, something that twisted and pulsed in his veins. Yet he hoped that if he finished the food in front of him, he might be able to silence the gnawing hunger, at least for now.
When he'd eaten his fill, Asher set the tray aside, his gaze drifting to Roan, who still stood by the door with a watchful, unreadable expression.
"Prepare a bath for me," Asher ordered, his tone cool. "And I'll need help getting changed."
Roan nodded immediately, not missing a beat. "Of course, Court Consort. I'll see to it right away." He moved swiftly toward the attached bathing room, where Asher could hear the sounds of water beginning to fill the tub.
As Roan worked, Asher leaned back against the pillows, forcing himself to ignore the lingering hunger that simmered beneath his skin, refusing to be sated by simple food. He hated that feeling, that sense of something dark and insatiable lurking just out of reach, like a shadow haunting his every thought.
A few moments later, Roan returned, bowing his head respectfully. "The bath is ready, sir."
Asher nodded, pushing himself off the bed and standing on unsteady legs. Roan was at his side immediately, offering a steadying hand. Asher hesitated before accepting, a strange and unfamiliar vulnerability creeping over him. He despised feeling this weak, this dependent, but the curse had taken its toll, leaving him with little choice.
As they moved toward the bath, Asher's mind began to churn. He had power now—an influence he hadn't fully grasped until this moment. He was the Court Consort, a figure others relied on, feared, and watched. That realization stirred something dark and powerful inside him, a desire to take control, to wield the authority he'd been given with all the ruthlessness he could muster.
And as he sank into the warm water, he knew one thing for certain: he would satisfy this hunger. Whatever it took.
Once Asher had bathed and dressed with Roan's assistance, he felt a bit more like himself—though the hunger, that dark, twisting need inside him, still clawed at his chest. But his mind was clearer, sharper, and he wasn't about to sit around waiting any longer.
"Take me to the Judge," Asher ordered, his tone brooking no argument. "She said we'd discuss my responsibilities, and I don't intend to wait any longer."
Roan bowed, his expression respectful. "Of course, Court Consort. This way."
They walked through the winding halls of the Court, their footsteps echoing softly off the polished stone floors. Asher noted how others they passed quickly averted their eyes, their expressions wary or fearful. It was unsettling, and yet a part of him enjoyed it—the thought that his presence alone could command this much attention.
Just as they neared the Judge's study, a figure swept out of the doorway, tall and unmistakably handsome, with sharp features and piercing eyes that glinted with a hint of cruelty. The vampire's movements were graceful and precise, exuding a kind of effortless confidence that grated on Asher almost instantly.
The man's gaze landed on Asher, his expression turning into a sneer. "And who let you out of your cage?" he scoffed, his voice laced with contempt. "I thought they'd finally put the Court's little pet down for good."
Asher's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he met the vampire's gaze. "Who are you?" he demanded, his tone as cold as ice.
The vampire laughed, his fangs flashing as he regarded Asher with thinly veiled disdain. "You really don't know who I am?" he asked, his voice mocking. "Then again, why would you? You've been so busy clinging to the Judge's skirts to bother with the Court's politics."
Roan shifted uncomfortably at Asher's side, his gaze flicking between the two. "Careful, Lord Kael," Roan murmured, but the vampire—Kael—ignored him, stepping closer to Asher with a smirk.
"I'm Kael, Lord of the Eastern Court," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "A real vampire, unlike you. Tell me, Consort—do you really believe you're fit for this role? Do you think the Judge keeps you around for your…talents? Or is it because you're too weak to do anything but obey?"
Asher held his ground, refusing to let the venom in Kael's words shake him. "I don't have to prove anything to you," he replied, his voice steady. "I earned my place here, whether you like it or not."
Kael's expression twisted with amusement. "Earned it?" he sneered. "You think you belong here because the Judge felt sorry enough to save you? Pathetic." His gaze turned colder, more calculating. "But don't worry, Consort. It won't be long before you're removed from that place—permanently. The Judge deserves someone… capable. Someone who actually knows how to control power."
Asher's fists clenched, his pulse quickening. His instincts screamed at him to retaliate, to make Kael regret every word he'd just said. But he forced himself to remain calm, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "You think you can take my place?" he asked, his tone dangerously soft. "You're welcome to try. But I don't think you'll like the outcome."
Kael's smirk widened, clearly amused by Asher's threat. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning in until his face was mere inches from Asher's. "We'll see. But trust me—once I'm in your position, no one will even remember your name."
With that, Kael straightened, casting one last contemptuous glance at Asher before he turned and strode down the hallway, his laughter echoing in his wake.
Asher watched him go, his hands trembling with the effort it took to restrain himself. He could feel the curse pulsing under his skin, urging him to lash out, to prove his strength. But he forced himself to breathe, to keep his anger in check. Kael was a threat, but he wouldn't let himself be goaded into a confrontation. Not yet.
Roan, who had been silent throughout the exchange, cleared his throat quietly. "Shall we continue to the Judge's study, Court Consort?"
Asher nodded, his voice tight. "Yes. Let's not keep her waiting."
But as they walked, Asher's mind churned with a renewed determination. If Kael wanted a fight for his place, he would get one. Asher would prove he was more than just a pawn in the Judge's Court—and he would make anyone who doubted him regret underestimating him.
Asher took a steadying breath as he stepped into the Judge's study, Roan closing the door softly behind him. The room was dimly lit, filled with the scent of ancient parchment and polished wood. Shelves lined the walls, filled with tomes on every subject imaginable, and a large, intricately carved desk dominated the space.
The Judge sat behind it, her gaze focused on a set of documents spread before her. Her expression was unreadable, her usual calm presence slightly overshadowed by a faint trace of worry. When she looked up and saw Asher, her face softened, but he noticed a hint of exhaustion in her features.
"Asher," she greeted, her voice quiet but steady. "I was beginning to think you would need more time to recover."
He forced himself to meet her gaze, recalling the look she'd given him when he first awoke, the moment of vulnerability she'd allowed him to see. But he couldn't afford to let it affect him now. "I'm here, just as you asked," he said, his tone clipped. "You mentioned that we needed to discuss my responsibilities."
A faint smile tugged at her lips as she gestured to the chair across from her. "Yes. Please, sit."
He complied, though his posture was rigid, every part of him wound tight from the events of the morning—and from the shadow of Kael's taunts still lingering in his mind. The Judge seemed to study him for a moment, her gaze piercing, as though she could sense the turmoil beneath his composed exterior.
"I understand that things have changed for you," she began, her tone softer than usual. "The curse has left its mark, and… there have been complications since you've been unconscious." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Your role is more important now than ever. The Court is growing restless, and the nobles are watching closely. They expect stability, strength. You and I are responsible for ensuring that."
Asher's jaw clenched. He understood her words, but hearing them out loud felt like shackles tightening around him. He hadn't asked for this responsibility, hadn't wanted this life. And yet, here he was—bound by a role he didn't want but could no longer avoid.
"So, you expect me to act as if nothing has happened," he replied, his voice laced with bitterness. "To play the part of your obedient Consort, while every noble in this place watches me like I'm some kind of… spectacle."
The Judge's expression remained steady, though a hint of sadness flickered in her eyes. "Not as a spectacle, Asher. As a leader. You have more influence than you realize. But that influence will only grow if you accept the role for what it is."
He scoffed, unable to hold back his frustration. "Accept it? You speak as though it's a choice."
She didn't respond right away, and in the silence, Asher felt the weight of everything that had led him here—the curse, the sacrifices, the expectations, and now the Court's demands. And beneath it all, the hunger simmered, clawing at his insides, a constant reminder that he was no longer the person he used to be.
Finally, the Judge spoke, her tone gentle but unwavering. "It may not feel like a choice, but it is. You have a chance to make something of this position, to shape the future of the Court. And you aren't alone in this."
He met her gaze, a faint sense of conflict stirring within him. She had saved him, had brought him back from the brink, and even though he resented the way she wielded control over his life, part of him felt a strange gratitude—an unsettling feeling he couldn't quite shake.
"Tell me, then," he said, his voice quieter now. "What exactly is expected of me?"
The Judge straightened, her expression turning more serious. "Your duties will extend beyond our immediate Court. You'll be responsible for maintaining alliances with the other vampire factions, ensuring that our power remains balanced. Your influence with the nobles, particularly those who might seek to disrupt that balance, will be crucial."
Asher could feel the weight of her words settling heavily on him. "And if they don't respect my position?" he asked, thinking of Kael's mocking words.
The Judge's gaze sharpened. "Then you make them respect it. There are ways to gain influence—through alliances, through strength, or through… subtlety." She let the last word linger, her expression carefully neutral. "But you must be decisive, Asher. You must make it clear that you will not be underestimated."
He looked away, her words stirring something inside him, a dark determination mixed with a faint sense of dread. He had never been a leader, never wanted to be, and yet the idea of taking control, of wielding the power he'd been given—it was tempting. Perhaps he could make his own path in this Court, find a way to satisfy the insatiable hunger that gnawed at him from within.
The Judge rose from her seat, stepping around the desk to stand beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he felt a strange warmth from her touch, a gesture that felt both comforting and commanding.
"You're stronger than you know, Asher," she said softly. "And no matter what doubts you may have, I chose you for a reason. Remember that."
He looked up at her, conflicted, and in that moment, he felt something shift inside him—a small sliver of resolve, or perhaps defiance, hardening in his chest. He didn't know if he could trust her, didn't know if he even wanted to. But he understood, now, that he couldn't run from this. He was bound to the Court, to this role, whether he liked it or not.
And if this was to be his fate, he would make certain he carved his own path through it.
"Very well," he replied, his voice steady but cold. "Tell me what I need to do."