The royal courtyard buzzed with hushed activity as the palace staff prepared the Emperor's departure. The pale gold of morning light spilled across the stone tiles, making the sleek black carriage gleam as though polished with fire. The imperial crest caught the sunlight, glinting like a blade, an intimidating reminder of Zareth's absolute power.
The stallions, their coats glossy under the dawn, pawed at the ground restlessly. Their breath rose in soft, misty puffs that faded quickly in the cool air. The guards flanked the carriage in perfect formation, their armor reflecting slivers of sunlight that danced with every movement.
And then he came.
Zareth Ravaryn, the man who made even daylight seem dim in comparison. He walked with the deliberate elegance of someone who knew every gaze was on him. His robe—deep black with hints of silver embroidery—trailed behind him like a shadow against the brightness of day. His usually tousled hair was swept neatly to one side, the sharpness of his jawline more pronounced under the golden glow. He looked untouchable, devastating, the kind of man who could burn kingdoms with a word and expect gratitude for it.
He was halfway to the carriage when a familiar scent curled around him, intoxicating, sweeter than wine, pulling his gaze in the direction he already knew too well.
Serenya.
She emerged hesitantly from the palace steps, draped in a soft gown of pale lavender that shimmered faintly when the sun touched it. The fabric hugged her lightly, fluttering at the hem like morning mist stirred by wind. Her cheeks flushed pink when their gazes collided, and that alone made the left corner of Zareth's lips curve upward in a smile that was equal parts wolfish and satisfied.
"My, my…" he drawled, stepping toward her, the weight of his presence suffocating. His eyes gleamed with mischief, scarlet and sharp. He caught her hand before she could think of retreating and raised it to his lips. His mouth brushed her knuckles lightly, but his gaze pinned her with wicked amusement. "You're looking like a ripened apple this morning. Succulent. Ready to be bitten."
Serenya's breath hitched. Her lips parted slightly in disbelief. What kind of compliment is that?! Heat flared across her face, betraying her thoughts as she quickly pulled her gaze away.
He didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he guided her to the carriage with the confidence of someone who owned both her steps and her hesitation.
The carriage's interior was a confined prison of velvet and silence. Unlike the large cushioned seats they often shared, this one forced intimacy—a single seat on each side, facing one another. Serenya sat stiffly, pressing her hands to her lap, while Zareth stretched with deliberate ease across from her, lounging like a predator who had cornered his prey.
His eyes did not move from her. Not once.
Serenya turned her head toward the window, willing him to lose interest, but his stare burned hotter than the sunlight outside. It was unbearable, the weight of it, as if he were peeling away her layers one by one.
Finally, his voice cut through the tension, low and silken. "I meant it, little dove. You look like a ripened apple."
Caught off guard, Serenya's head snapped toward him. "That's… that's a very strange way to compliment someone," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Strange," he echoed with mock thoughtfulness, one dark lock of hair falling perfectly over his temple. His mouth curved in a smug smirk. "It's strange only if you don't mean it. But I do."
Her lips pressed into a line, a nervous habit he noticed instantly. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting as though savoring every twitch of her expression.
"You drank my blood yesterday…" she whispered, her voice betraying her nervousness, her cheeks burning bright.
Zareth chuckled, the sound low, dangerous, and entirely pleased with himself. "Vampires feed every day, Serenya. Like you need bread and water, I need blood. But yours…" His tongue traced his bottom lip lazily, as if recalling her taste. "Yours I can never get enough of."
Her heart stuttered. "I-I don't think this is a good idea. Maybe you should… try someone else's blood too." The thought of him constantly drinking from her both flustered and frightened her.
Zareth's amusement sharpened like a blade. He leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other, his robe spilling open just enough to reveal the bare line of his throat and chest. "Do you realize what you're asking, little dove?" His voice dropped, smooth as venom. "That I should take other women to my bed… because blood is never the only thing I take when I drink."
Serenya's mouth fell open, scandalized. She snapped it shut, then tried again, but words fumbled at her tongue. "That's not what I—"
"Isn't it?" he cut her off, his smirk deepening. His voice was silk and steel, laced with sarcasm. "You're suggesting I spread myself among other women, when I already have the sweetest wine at my table? Hm?"
She blushed furiously, unable to look at him, but he wasn't finished.
"The truth is," he murmured, his eyes darkening with something both dangerous and possessive, "I've never had this much control before with women. With others, I always took until there was nothing left to take. But you—" He leaned forward now, his voice a sharp promise. "You make me want to wait for your to be ready . To savor. Because when the time comes, Serenya…" His smile was cruel, intoxicating. "I won't be merciful."
Her breath caught, her face igniting with heat. She turned away, pressing her hand to her chest as if that could calm the wild beat of her heart.
The carriage slowed, finally rolling to a halt before an opulent mansion bathed in sunlight. Music and laughter spilled out into the crisp morning air, the sound of merriment sharpened by the weight of expectation.
Zareth's smirk widened. "We've arrived, little dove." He descended with unhurried grace, then turned, his hand outstretched. She placed her hand in his and his hand clasped around hers .
His grip tightened possessively around hers as he led her forward, his tall figure drawing every eye as if the world itself bowed to his presence.
"What's the purpose of this soiree?" Serenya whispered, her voice small beside his towering dominance.
Zareth reached over, smoothing a stray strand of her hair back with a casual intimacy that made her knees weak. "An anniversary. Their wedding. But more importantly—" his lips curved in sardonic amusement, "—a parade to auction off their daughter to the highest bidder."
Her brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded, unsure what to say.
At the grand entrance, the hosts—a regal vampire couple with crimson eyes and silken attire—bowed deeply. "Your Imperial Majesty. Your Highness."
"Serenya and I have brought you gifts. Congratulations on your anniversary," Zareth said smoothly, his hand still wrapped tightly around Serenya's. His tone dripped with effortless authority.
The couple bowed again, their gratitude expressed more to Serenya than to him, as though fearing the weight of his gaze.
Then their daughter stepped forward. She was beautiful in the way glass was—sharp, polished, fragile if pressed too hard. She blushed furiously under Zareth's gaze, bowing with a demure grace, but her eyes flickered toward Serenya with a thinly veiled glare before looking away.
Zareth noticed, of course. His lips curved in a mockery of a smile, but he said nothing. His silence was louder than any threat.
They stepped into the hall, where chandeliers glowed with enchanted fire, casting warm golden light across velvet drapes and marble floors. The air smelled of roses, spiced wine, and faintly of blood. Guests murmured and turned, their whispers swelling as the Emperor and his companion entered.
But Serenya froze mid-step. Her breath caught in her throat, her body stiffening beside Zareth.
Across the room, among the noble guests, a familiar figure stood tall and proud—Prince Kael. His eyes locked on hers, shock flickering in their depths.
And at his side, her elder sister, Elarynth.
Serenya's blood ran cold. Her chest tightened with fear of what Zareth might do , her thoughts scattering. What are they doing here?
Before she could move, Zareth's voice brushed her ear, low, sardonic, cruelly amused. "Well, well," he murmured, his crimson eyes narrowing on the pair. "What an unpleasant surprise."
The words weren't loud, but Serenya heard them clearly—each syllable dripping with disdain and lethal promise. Her heart thundered, her pulse deafening in her ears, as she clutched Zareth's hand tighter, caught between dread and the suffocating certainty that nothing about this day would end simply.