Evelyn stood before her gilded mirror, the faint golden trim of the frame reflecting her pale, porcelain skin. Her hand, steady and deliberate, opened a small lacquered box that carried with it the faintest whiff of rosewood. Inside rested a crystal vial filled with the same perfume she always wore whenever she prepared to visit his imperial majesty. The scent was sweet but sharp, intoxicating and almost cloying—the kind meant to linger even after its wearer had long departed.
She tilted her head slightly, the firelight catching the deep crimson in her irises, and carefully dabbed two drops behind the curve of her ears. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips as the fragrance wrapped around her like an invisible cloak of seduction. Tonight, she told herself, Zareth would not ignore her.
Her gown was deliberately chosen, tailored to scandalize—its silken fabric dipped low enough to reveal the fullness of her chest, while the sides cut away to expose a sliver of her toned stomach. A dangerous dress, the kind only a woman who wielded her body as a weapon would dare to wear. The candlelight in her chamber licked against the fabric, making it glimmer faintly like liquid wine.
"Bring me the overcoat," Evelyn commanded, her tone clipped, confident.
The old servant scurried to obey, her trembling hands lifting the heavy garment. She draped it across Evelyn's shoulders before stepping around to tie the clasp at her front. The faint rustle of the thick fabric was followed by the woman's bowed silence. Yet, even in her silence, there lingered hesitation—an unsaid worry clinging to her lips.
Evelyn's red eyes flicked toward her, narrowing with curiosity. One slender brow arched.
"What is it?"
The servant lowered her gaze further, speaking in a hushed murmur as though fearful that even the walls might overhear.
"I beg your pardon, my lady… but his imperial majesty is currently having dinner with the princess."
For the briefest of moments, Evelyn's expression stilled. Then, like the flick of a blade being sheathed, she chuckled—soft at first, then edged with venomous amusement.
"I know." Her lips curled into a smile, one that never quite reached her eyes. She rose gracefully, the sound of her heels tapping against the polished floor sharp enough to echo.
She had seen them herself—Zareth dining with that human princess, the scene like a knife twisting into her pride. But Evelyn was not a woman easily displaced. She had been his before; she had felt the weight of his gaze, the cut of his desire, and the taste of his hunger. That bond was not so easily erased. If the princess thought she could steal his attention, then tonight Evelyn would remind Zareth of the flavor he had once devoured with abandon.
The corridors were hushed as she glided through, her perfume trailing behind her like a haunting promise. Guards stationed at the grand entrance of the emperor's quarters stiffened when they saw her approaching. Their eyes shifted uneasily, recognizing her immediately.
One of them spoke, his voice taut with restraint.
"His imperial majesty is not around."
Evelyn smiled then—slow, deliberate, and dripping with seduction. The curve of her lips was as dangerous as the tip of a dagger. Her crimson gaze slid down their armored forms, her voice a silky whisper that carried the edge of a threat.
"I know. Now grant me access before I get angry."
The guards faltered, exchanging uncertain glances. Their hesitation was palpable, their loyalty tested between the strictness of their orders and the allure of the woman who used to walk through without restraint . Evelyn's smile sharpened, predatory now.
"Have you forgotten," she murmured, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret, "what happened to your fellow guard when he dared deny me entry before?" She tilted her head, the candlelight catching her exposed skin. "It was his imperial majesty himself who decreed that I am to wait for him. Surely, you are not foolish enough to defy him blood, are you?"
Their spines stiffened at the subtle accusation, the unspoken weight of her words pressing down on them. To refuse would mean risking punishment; to accept was equally dangerous. At last, with stiff movements, they stepped aside, the heavy door groaning open to allow her passage.
Evelyn walked with the confidence of a woman certain of her victory. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, echoing through the long corridor. Her hand lingered briefly on the polished wood of a door opposite Zareth's chamber—Serenya's door. Her eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of disdain crossing her face. That delicate human princess would not last long in his world. Evelyn smirked and continued on.
When she entered Zareth's chamber, the air inside was thick and heavy, cloaked in utter darkness. The silence pressed against her ears, broken only by the sound of her own breath. Shadows hung like veils across the room, but Evelyn's crimson eyes glowed faintly, adjusting to the black. She reached for a silver candlestick near the bedside, striking a flame to life.
The light spilled outward, flickering across the vast chamber, throwing monstrous shapes along the high walls. The bed stood at the center, its sheets dark and rumpled, the canopy above draped like a cage. Evelyn let her overcoat slip from her shoulders, the garment falling silently to the floor, revealing once more the daring curve of her dress beneath.
She sat on the edge of his bed with practiced grace, smoothing her gown as she crossed her legs. Her posture was one of possession, as though she belonged there—as though the emperor's absence was temporary, and she was merely awaiting what was hers.
Her hand brushed the sheets idly, fingertips tracing the faint indentations where he must have last lain. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, searching for his lingering scent. The faintest trace of steel, smoke, and something darker—something inhuman—remained on the linens. It sent a shiver across her skin, though she masked it quickly with another smile.
The candlelight flickered against her sharp features, painting her in molten gold and shadow. She leaned back slightly, her eyes fixed on the door, and whispered to herself with dangerous anticipation.
---
The marble corridors shimmered with the soft glow of torchlight, the faint scent of oil and iron lingering in the air as Zareth and Serenya approached the wing of the imperial quarters. The night was hushed, broken only by the muffled steps of guards patrolling at a distance. Serenya held her cloak tighter around her shoulders, willing her heartbeat to slow. It was a futile effort—every step she took beside him, every breath of his presence, unraveled her composure.
At the entrance to their chambers, a guard bowed low, his armor catching the flicker of flame.
"Your Imperial Majesty, Lady Evelyn awaits your presence in your room."
Zareth's crimson eyes narrowed. The silence that followed made the guard's spine stiffen. Serenya instinctively turned to study Zareth's expression, only to catch the curl of his lips—a crooked, wicked smile, meant to taunt her more than the situation itself.
"Don't look so jealous, little dove," his deep voice slithered, sharp yet almost amused. "I didn't invite her to wait for me."
Heat rushed to Serenya's cheeks. "I'm not!" she blurted, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them. She lifted her chin stubbornly and marched forward.
Zareth's long strides caught up with her easily. He lowered his head so close that his breath grazed her ear, his voice dipping into a teasing growl.
"Jealousy looks unbearably cute on you. Look at you—red-faced, fuming, pretending you don't care."
Her steps faltered. "I said I'm not jealous!" she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. "You can do whatever you want, but after that, return me to Vayrana."
Zareth chuckled, a sound low and dangerous, as though she had just amused a predator. "Ah, so that's what it is. That was your little warning, wasn't it? 'Touch her and I'll leave.'" His smirk widened, taunting her with every word.
Speechless, Serenya only tightened her grip on her cloak. She stopped before her chamber doors, refusing to give him the satisfaction of another retort. "I will be retiring to my room." Without another glance, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.
Zareth's chuckle lingered in the hall like smoke before he turned, his eyes locking onto his own door. He pushed it open with deliberate ease.
The scent struck him first. Sweet, cloying perfume thickened the air, crawling into his nose until it burned. His jaw tightened. Evelyn stiffened on the bed ,her posture snapping straight the instant the door closed.
He ran a hand through his hair, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What," his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, "are you doing here?"
With a snap of his fingers, every candle in the room flared to life, shadows leaping back against the stone walls. His red eyes sharpened, glowing like molten rubies, and Evelyn's body trembled. She fell to her knees, her forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty," she stammered, her voice trembling as she dared not look up. "I thought—you might need blood. It has been some time since you last called for me."
Zareth brushed his tongue against his fangs, his lips curling with disdain. "If you ever enter my room again without permission…" He leaned forward, his gaze pinning her like a blade. "You won't leave breathing."
"Yes, Your Majesty," she whispered, her throat tightening.
He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the velvet couch with predatory ease, his robe falling open to reveal the harsh lines of his chest. He gestured lazily toward the table. "Pour me a glass. Use your blood."
Evelyn's eyes widened. He had always taken directly from her neck, never like this. Still, she obeyed. Rising shakily, she took the crystal glass in hand, sliced her palm, and let her blood drip into it. Her pulse raced, every droplet echoing in her ears.
"Don't ever wear that perfume again," Zareth said suddenly, his voice sharp. "It disgusts me."
The words sliced through her. She froze, disbelief curdling in her chest. He had once praised her scent, intoxicated by it. Now he despised it? Her hand trembled as she clenched the cut.
Zareth closed his eyes, not thinking of her at all. Instead, his mind wandered to the young woman a few doors away—the one he had left blushing, stammering, and trying so hard to mask her emotions. His lips curved into a crooked smile.
Outside her chamber, Serenya had convinced herself she didn't care. Yet her feet betrayed her, rooted to the spot. She leaned against her own door, straining for any sound, cheeks puffed in frustration. "It's not because I care," she whispered to herself. "It's just… I want to know what's going on."
Huffing, she slipped into the corridor, padding silently to Zareth's door. She pressed herself against it, heart hammering as she held her breath.
Inside, Evelyn approached with the glass, her steps hesitant. She handed it to him with trembling fingers.
Zareth raised it to his lips, only to spit the blood out the instant it touched his tongue. The crimson splattered against the dark carpet, his expression twisting in disgust. "Stale," he sneered. "What have you been eating? Rot?"
"I—I haven't changed my diet," Evelyn stammered confused, pale as death. "Perhaps… perhaps it tastes different in the glass—"
"Out," Zareth growled, his fangs flashing.
"But—"
His voice thundered, reverberating through the chamber. "Get. Out."
Evelyn fled, tears stinging her eyes as sobs escaped her throat. She wrenched open the door, blind to Serenya who had just ducked aside. Her sobs echoed down the hallway, fading into the night.
Zareth frowned at the wasted blood. What was going on , he thought brushing his hand through his hair .
The intoxicating smell of lotus blush filled his senses , the corner of his mouth lifted. He could still sense her. Serenya. Hiding, listening, heart pounding against the wood.
By the time Serenya scurried back into her chamber, breathless, he was already there. He appeared in front of her like a shadow made flesh. Her gasp caught in her throat.
"I—I couldn't sleep," she began, fumbling for words, her hands twisting in her cloak. "I was going to take a late-night walk—"
Zareth closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His nose brushed against her skin, and then his lips followed, grazing the curve of her neck. His voice was low, ragged, dangerous.
"What are you doing to me, Serenya?"
Before she could protest, he swept her up effortlessly, carrying her to the bed. He loomed over her, his hair falling like dark silk, his eyes gleaming blood-red.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, her body trembling beneath him.
"I'm thirsty," he muttered, his nose trailing lower, brushing against the swell of her chest through the thin fabric of her dress.
Her heart stopped. "B-but you just had—blood from—what are you—Zareth!" she yelped as his lips pressed against her chest, the heat of his mouth burning even through cloth.
"I can't take anyone else's blood," he said, his voice stripped of its usual mocking lilt, deadly serious now. "But yours…" His gaze locked with hers, red and merciless. "I can feel it rushing through your veins. All I want is to sink my fangs into it."
Her lips parted in shock. "That's… that's a terrifying way to joke," she whispered, desperately hoping he was teasing.
But he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "I'm not joking." His fingers brushed the neckline of her dress aside, exposing her pale shoulder. His lips hovered, his voice husky. "Can I?"
Serenya froze, words lodged in her throat.
"I don't think that would be a good idea," she managed, her voice trembling. "What if you… suck me dry?"
He pulled back just enough for her to see the cruel amusement dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't that be a glorious death? An honor—to die saving your emperor from thirst."
Her eyes widened. Words failed her.
"Don't worry," he whispered, lips brushing her skin. "I'll be gentle."
Serenya squeezed her eyes shut, her heart drumming wildly. If only she had stayed in her room, if only she hadn't leaned against his door, if only she hadn't been curious.
Too late.
His tongue traced her shoulder slowly, languidly, savoring the taste of her skin. Then his fangs grazed her flesh, sharp and unrelenting. She gasped, her breath catching—before he finally sank his fangs into her.