Steam still lingered faintly in Zephrine's room after her shower.
The warmth should have comforted her.
It didn't.
She stood in front of the mirror quietly, adjusting the sleeves of her neat black dress with trembling fingers. Her damp crimson hair fell down her back in soft waves, darker now from the water, almost blending into the shadows of the room.
But her mind—
Her mind was still trapped in the forest.
The snakes.
Abzure's eyes.
Azriel disappearing and leaving her there.
And then returning.
She swallowed hard.
Even thinking about him made unease crawl beneath her skin.
Diora had sent her with tea for him only moments ago, and despite trying to steady herself, Zephrine could still feel nervousness tightening in her chest with every step she took through the halls.
His presence alone frightened her now.
Not because she didn't understand him—
But because she understood just enough.
She stopped outside his door.
The tray in her hands rattled faintly.
Taking a careful breath, she knocked softly.
"May I co—"
"Come in."
His voice interrupted immediately.
Calm.
Cold.
The sound alone sent a slight shiver through her.
Zephrine slowly pushed the door open.
The room was dimly lit, larger than hers, the walls lined with dark shelves and silver candle stands. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows behind him, casting shadows across the room.
Azriel sat near the far side, dressed entirely in black as usual, one arm resting lazily against the chair.
His red eyes lifted toward her the second she entered.
Zephrine instantly lowered her gaze.
"Master…" she said quietly, carefully stepping forward. "Your tea…"
Without speaking, he gestured toward the table beside him.
She quickly placed the cup down.
Then stepped back.
And stood still.
Her eyes remained lowered toward the floor.
She didn't dare look at him directly.
Silence stretched across the room.
Too long.
Zephrine's fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her dress.
Maybe she should leave—
Before the thought could fully form—
A sudden force pulled her backward.
She gasped softly.
Azriel's arm had wrapped firmly around her waist, pulling her directly against him before she could react.
The tray nearly slipped from her hands.
Her breath caught instantly.
"M-Master—"
His hold tightened slightly, keeping her still with effortless strength.
Zephrine froze in his grasp, her pulse racing uncontrollably.
Azriel said nothing at first.
Instead, he lifted a strand of her deep red hair between his fingers.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like someone handling something rare.
His cold fingers moved through the strands almost absentmindedly, yet there was something unsettlingly focused in the way he touched it.
As if he were addicted to the texture.
The scent.
Zephrine's face warmed immediately despite the fear twisting inside her. A shiver ran down her spine when she felt his cold breath near her forehead.
"Are these your natural hair color?" he asked quietly.
She nodded nervously.
"…Yes."
"Hm."
His fingers continued trailing through the crimson strands.
"Pretty," he murmured.
His voice remained calm, but there was still something terrifying hidden beneath it.
Then his eyes lifted toward her face.
"Just like you."
Zephrine's breath faltered.
She couldn't move.
Could barely think.
Being this close to him felt dangerous in ways she couldn't explain.
His red eyes studied her carefully, almost thoughtfully now.
Then he spoke again.
"Let's see…" he said slowly. "Whose features did you inherit?"
A pause.
"Your mother's?"
His fingers lightly brushed another strand behind her shoulder.
"Or your father's?"
Zephrine's throat tightened.
"M… my mother."
"Indeed," he murmured quietly.
For a moment, something unreadable crossed his expression.
Then suddenly—
He released her waist.
The loss of contact made her immediately step back.
Azriel stood up fully now.
Towering.
The softness in the atmosphere disappeared almost instantly.
His red eyes darkened again, the candlelight sharpening the dangerous edges of his expression. Black hair fell across his forehead, shadowing part of his gaze.
When he spoke again, his voice had returned to cold authority.
"Tomorrow," he said, "an important guest of my mother will be arriving."
Zephrine straightened slightly.
"I want you assisting Diora with dinner preparations."
Her brows knitted together slightly before she could stop herself.
"Important guest…?"
"Yes."
His tone sharpened instantly.
"And no mistakes will be tolerated."
He stepped closer again—not gently this time.
"Because next time," he said quietly, "your punishment will be far worse than what you experienced today."
The warning settled heavily in the room.
Zephrine lowered her gaze immediately.
"…Understood, Master."
Azriel watched her silently for a moment longer.
Then —
"Good."
And just like that, the room fell cold.
After a while he spoke again no difference to the cold voice.
"And...."
"...Yes, Master?."
Azriel's eyes lingered on her for another moment before he spoke again.
"Make yourself presentable," he said calmly. "And don't forget your etiquette, princess."
Zephrine lowered her head slightly.
"Yes, Master."
But even as she answered, her thoughts were elsewhere.
An important guest.
A vampire important enough for Azriel himself to care about the dinner preparations.
Her curiosity slowly pushed through her fear.
It would be the first time she would see outsiders from vampire society—real nobles, elites… creatures she had only ever read about in academy reports.
What would they be like?
Cruel like him?
Or worse?
A faint grin suddenly appeared on Azriel's lips.
He had heard every thought.
Before Zephrine could react, his hand caught her wrist again, pulling her lightly back toward him.
Her breath hitched.
Azriel tucked a strand of crimson hair carefully behind her ear, his cold fingers brushing against her skin.
"Good girl," he murmured.
His voice lowered slightly.
"Is it really that difficult to obey?"
Zephrine stayed silent.
Not trusting herself to answer.
Then his gaze drifted toward the faint mark near her shoulder—the place he had bitten before.
"Now…" he said softly, "give me a taste."
Fear tightened instantly in her chest.
He slowly pulled the fabric near her shoulder aside just enough to reveal the old mark.
Zephrine flinched slightly.
Azriel leaned down, his cold breath brushing against her skin first—
Then pain.
Sharp.
Burning.
He bit the same injured spot again.
Zephrine's eyes squeezed shut immediately as pain shot through her shoulder. Her fingers clenched tightly against the fabric of her dress while she struggled not to make a sound.
It hurt worse this time.
The already-sensitive skin throbbed beneath his bite.
After only a few moments, he finally pulled away.
Zephrine staggered slightly, stunned by the lingering pain.
Azriel, however, looked entirely unaffected.
As though nothing had happened.
He turned toward the large window beside him, moonlight falling across his dark figure.
Then, without even looking back at her—
"Dismissed."
Zephrine stood there for a second longer, still trying to steady herself.
Then slowly—
She walked toward the door.
Carefully.
Quietly.
The moment she stepped outside and closed it behind her, she finally pressed a hand lightly against her aching shoulder.
"Ss—ugh…"
Her neck still felt numb.
She walked down the hallway, making sure she was far enough from his room first.
Then finally muttered under her breath—
"That bloodsucker…"
A pause.
"Merciless… bad man."
Her brows furrowed slightly as she kept walking.
"…I hate him."
Even though part of her wasn't fully sure anymore what she felt.
Annoyance?
Fear?
Confusion?
All she knew was that Azriel Dorentis was becoming impossible to understand.
Still rubbing her shoulder, Zephrine continued toward the kitchen halls, unaware that inside his room—
Azriel had heard every single word anyway.
And somewhere near the window—
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
The kitchen was already alive with movement when Zephrine arrived.
Warm light spilled across the counters while maids hurried from one side to another carrying trays, ingredients, and polished silverware. The scent of herbs and fresh bread filled the air, mixing with the sound of chopping, boiling, and quiet conversations.
Compared to the cold halls of the estate, the kitchen almost felt… human.
Diora stood near the center, calmly instructing a group of maids. Despite the chaos around her, she remained composed, her soft voice somehow keeping everything organized.
Then she noticed Zephrine.
Immediately, relief crossed her face.
"Thank God," Diora said, walking toward her. "You're alive."
Zephrine blinked slightly.
"I heard he took you to Snake Valley as punishment for running," Diora continued quietly. "I was worried."
At the mention of the forest, Zephrine unconsciously touched her shoulder again.
The memory alone made her uneasy.
Diora sighed softly.
"I warned you," she said gently. "No one runs from him."
There was no cruelty in her words.
Only experience.
"You'll only torture yourself trying."
Zephrine lowered her gaze slightly.
"I know…"
Diora's expression softened further.
"You need to adapt, child," she said quietly. "There's no better option right now."
A pause.
"Otherwise, you'll keep hurting yourself."
Zephrine didn't respond immediately.
Part of her hated hearing it.
Another part knew Diora was right.
Slowly, she nodded.
Then suddenly, something came back to her mind.
"The special guest…" she asked curiously. "Who is coming?"
Diora paused for a moment.
"The guest?" she repeated. "Ah… Lady Avene."
There was something careful in the way she said the name.
"She's the young duchess."
Zephrine listened attentively.
"She's beautiful," Diora continued, arranging a few silver utensils absentmindedly. "Very mannered. Intelligent too."
A faint pause.
"And the favorite of Lady Isolde."
Zephrine frowned slightly.
"Lady Isolde?"
Diora blinked before realizing.
"Oh—right. I forgot you wouldn't know."
She lowered her voice slightly.
"Lady Isolde is Master Azriel's mother."
"Ooh…"
That explained why the guest mattered so much.
Zephrine leaned slightly against the counter, curiosity slowly replacing her nervousness.
"So what's so special about Lady Avene that Lady Isolde likes her that much?"
Diora hesitated.
"Well…" she said slowly, "she's from a powerful duch family, and the Dorentis estate values strong alliances."
She continued preparing ingredients while speaking.
"She's graceful, highly educated, and carries herself like nobility should."
Then Diora glanced around briefly before lowering her voice.
"But…"
Zephrine immediately noticed the change.
"But what?"
Diora moved slightly closer.
"She isn't generous," she whispered carefully. "Especially toward people beneath her rank."
Zephrine's brows lifted.
"She acts sweet in front of Lady Isolde," Diora continued softly, "but with servants…"
She gave Zephrine a knowing look.
"…she can be cruel."
"Why?" Zephrine asked quietly.
Diora looked around once more to make sure no one important was nearby.
Then she gestured for Zephrine to come closer.
Zephrine leaned in immediately.
Diora whispered near her ear—
"She has her eyes on Master Azriel."
Zephrine's eyes widened.
"Oh my…"
Diora nodded faintly.
"But don't worry," she added quickly. "Master doesn't seem interested in her."
"Really?"
"Yes. He only tolerates her because of Lady Isolde."
Zephrine let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
"Oooh… that's good then."
Diora looked at her strangely for a second.
Then a small amused smile appeared.
"Yes," she said slowly. "No one here truly likes Lady Avene."
A maid passing nearby suddenly muttered under her breath—
"Except Lady Isolde."
"Uhun," Diora agreed immediately.
Then she straightened herself again, clapping her hands lightly.
"Enough gossip," she said calmly. "We have work to do before tomorrow."
But even as Zephrine began helping prepare ingredients—
Her mind lingered on one thing.
Lady Avene.
And for some reason…
The thought of another woman wanting Azriel left a strange feeling in her chest she couldn't explain.