53. Bastian
53
BASTIAN
B astian’s gums ached.
He craved blood, fangs pulsing in time with the pounding of his head. He needed to feed. And soon. His thoughts were wrapped up in the beckoning memory of the sickly sweet and rich feel of thick, hot blood sliding down his throat, the give of soft flesh under the piercing bite of his fangs, and choked whimpers as he fed. Or even the cool rim of a wineglass touching his lips as he drank and drank. He would take anything at this point.
The vampire let out a heavy sigh, sinking deeply into the chair. His booted foot knocked against the legs of the grand oak table, and his eyes traveled up to its surface. The tabletop was perfectly polished dark wood, little swirls forever etched into the surface, protected by a glass glaze resting overtop.
But that wasn’t what captured his attention.
Bastian’s eyes were trained on the many pieces of parchment adorning the surface. Maps and accounts from villages, some of the edges of the parchment soaked in old blood as they had passed hands from the war-torn midst of battles, delivered from scouts to the King, who currently sat at the head of the table in the strategy room, a knee notched on his thigh as his long fingers steepled under his chin.
Vale looked deep in thought as he absently stroked a finger over his jaw, brows drawn low and mouth pinched, his green eyes looked more golden than not with the many flames flickering in the room.
It was darker in here, the tones deep, speaking to the blanket of somberness that clung to their skin like heavy smoke. Even the candlelight seemed dimmer than normal as if answering an unspoken request to keep everything discussed in this room under cover of a hushed night.
The advisory room was Bastian’s domain, where he thrived.
He was always one to advocate for winning with words as opposed to fists, so what better vocation than an advisor?
Bastian ran his tongue over the tip of a fang, gathering a few pieces of parchment together before stacking them. The paper made a thick sound as the edges hit the glass tabletop, and all heads turned to where he was sitting at the other end of the table, opposite Vale.
Azgorath seemed half-mad, the only one not sitting as he paced the sides of the room. He was not taking the Princess’s forced sleep well. "Hurry it up," the demon snapped. "I hate leaving her alone."
"It’s necessary," Graves remarked without inflection.
And it was, but that didn’t stop five natures of angered possession from welling to the surface. They rarely got along, but especially not now. Not when they all were pointing invisible fingers at each other, all frenzied… because of the one who had changed everything.
Tharen sighed, knocking his boots against each other, where they rested languidly on top of the table. Bastian looked at Tharen with disdain. The mage was never one for propriety.
"She’ll be fine," Tharen drawled. He closed his eyes briefly, but not before Bastian caught a glimmer of power shining in his eyes, his magic reaching to the floor above them, where his pet rested in her room, a sleeping beauty on her bed.
They had moved the Princess from the apothecary after Tharen deemed her stable enough. Bastian was glad. The softness of downy pillows would be much more comfortable than the mage’s worktable.
"Lu didn’t seem fine when we left her. She looked deathly," Azogorath seethed.
Graves scrubbed at the stubble on his jaw before mumbling, "But not dead yet."
Bastian couldn’t figure Graves out. He wasn’t sure if the male even liked her or not. He was attracted to her, sure. You would have to be dead to not feel anything at the sight of her. Even deathly , as the demon said she appeared, with her skin paler than moonlight in this frozen state she was in.
Vale let out a low growl, slamming his palms down on the table.
" Enough ." The dragon shifter looked toward Bastian, a long finger tapping agitatedly on the glass. "Every second spent talking is one less with her. Get on with it, Advisor," Vale snapped.
Bastian covered his look of surprise with a hand over his mouth, clearing his throat sharply. "Very well."
The King and his obsession with the captive Princes was another oddity—one Bastian didn’t even begin to examine. Dragons were possessive. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Vale’s dragon had imprinted on Luella. It was nearly undeniable. Especially from the show in the throne room when the Umbra attacked. The way Vale’s onyx-scaled dragon bowed its head in submission to her…
They were all gone for her, some of them just hadn’t reconciled with that fact.
Even now, Bastian could feel the tugging of his soul, urging him to leave and go to her . It had never been as strong as it was now—maybe it was her magic, finally awakening as it fought off the Tenebrae’s power.
The memory of her scent addled his mind. Strawberries topped with cream, the faintest hint of fresh roses. Instead of eating her, Bastian often indulged in the berries. If he couldn’t have one, he would have the other.
"The Umbra is closing in," Bastian began, donning a role of diplomacy as he refuted all the sinful urges that whispered in his mind. He lifted a scroll from the top of the stack and slid it to the middle of the table. "A recount from one of Graves’s spies in Aqua, near the Luna border."
Vale took it, jaw clenching as he read.
The findings weren’t good.
"Fuck," the King spat. The scroll fluttered as he threw it down on the table. Tharen picked it up, and he and Graves poured over it together.
Graves leaned back first. Bastian knew the male was already privy to the information.
"The Tenebrae is preparing to advance?" Tharen asked, incredulous. "I thought he would be smart enough to stay in his stolen kingdom behind walls made of moonstone." The words were taunting, and as he spoke, he tapped a finger over the hilt of his dagger where it was sheathed against his hip.
Bastian nodded, contemplating moves—and countermoves. It was all one grand game. Who would win first? Who was more devious and powerful?
After killing the King and Queen of Luna and taking over with an iron-fisted rule, the Tenebrae had been holed up for nearly twenty years in his stolen palace nestled in Luna.
What would make him move now? The answer was obvious…
Her .
The Tenebrae likely assumed the Princess’s power had been awakened—or nearly awakened. That was why he was on the move, wanting to get her before they could sink their claws into her and take that power for themselves, turning it against him.
Too late. It was already too late.
Luella had been a wilted rose, and with care and sunlight, she had turned into a budding thing, petals blooming as her magic blossomed. They had forced her to look at them like they were her sun, blotting out all the light around until she was left with nothing but them. And she would learn to grow toward them and rely on them solely.
If the Tenebrae had wanted her, he should have made his move long before now instead of waiting.
The little heirus would be the most powerful creature the realms had ever witnessed, and that power would be the Tenebrae’s undoing. But if he got to her and whispered his lies in her ear and allowed his shadows to wrap around her mind and cloud her thoughts, then it would be the demise of everyone and everything. They could not allow that to happen.
"Guess he’s not as cunning as we assumed," Bastian distractedly remarked. But maybe he was.
The vampire’s thoughts spun; he didn’t want to admit that it could still be anyone’s game. That the Tenebrae likely had many a trick up his sleeves.
"Weak." Azgorath punched a fist into the wall. The stone shuddered under his preternatural strength, little pieces of dust falling around his hand. "Not cunning," he all but snarled.
Tharen arched a brow. "How so, beast? I would surmise you don’t have much say in this discussion. What, with being trapped in the dungeons for almost two decades…"
"My say "—Az growled, a finger pointing over his head, to where the Princess was resting in an unnatural state of near-death—"is currently upstairs fighting for her life. So, yes, I would say I have plenty of say in this conversation."
"Tell me, Az," Vale sneered the sobriquet, and Azgorath visibly bristled at the term of endearment uttered from the King’s wicked lips. Just from that look alone, Bastian knew whatever the King was about to say would be purposefully antagonizing "Have you tasted her yet?" The corner of Vale’s lip curled up, and he steepled his fingers under his chin without care as he regarded the demon.
Azgorath’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, chin tipping down as he charged, nearly knocking over Vale’s chair with how hard he smacked into the side, a hand fisted around the King’s throat. But he didn’t squeeze— couldn’t .
Vale barked a laugh, utterly relaxed even with an angered demon at his throat. "It’s the only reason I can see you being so unwaveringly loyal. She’s just a female. If you want to be bedded, you can go to Syreni and find some willing shifter to please you… Or three or four. I know you demons can be insatiable."
Azgorath’s hand flexed as he released Vale, fingers popping off one by one, before he sat heavily in a free chair, far out of the King’s reach. He rested his head in his hands, fingertips skimming over the point of his horns and tangling in his curls. A sigh made his shoulders weigh down. "I am loyal to her because she is ours. Mine . Not because I want something she can give me." The demon looked up, holding Vale’s eyes with fierce, unwavering strength. "Not power, not intimacy. I just want her."
Bastian allowed his Mind magic to slither into the demon’s mind, invisible tendrils allowing him a glance inside the beast’s head. He usually refrained from using his magic unless he absolutely had to; it was hard to break into the mind of the unwilling without letting them know something was amiss. But temptation beckoned.
A barrage of thoughts nearly made the vampire keel over, and it took everything in him to remain composed.
Mine. So sweet. Protect her. Have to keep her safe. Can’t let them corrupt her. I want her. I need her.
Please, let my Lu be safe.
Bastian pulled his Mind magic back with barely a hitch in his breath, but his fingers tightened their grip on the edge of the table.
He had glimpsed no hint of malicious intent. Azgorath truly cared for the Princess.
My gods.
Did he… love her?
The demon had always been lonely, ostracized from his demon brethren in the Below. He was softer than the others, less vicious. Still strong, but not willing to hurt and take to get what he wanted; it was unheard of for a demon to permanently reside anywhere else except the fiery realm of the Below, but Azogorath had gone eagerly when he made a deal with Graves to exchange information and his strength in return for a safe place to stay—free of judgment and the horrors of the Below.
But the stint in the dungeons had not helped.
Azgorath had been condemned for disagreeing with the King’s… methods regarding how they would use Luella for their benefit, wanting her power to overthrow the Tenebrae—all to become the most feared kingdom in all the lands.
The demon hadn’t been able to fathom the thought of using someone who should have been so precious to them. He had plotted to sabotage Vale and his plans, rioting at every chance.
At first, Bastian had agreed with the King, but after seeing her so torn and broken and chained, he had slowly realized that maybe they had been all wrong.
She was theirs, after all. Drawn to them, just as they were to her. Maybe if they had courted her, arranged a meeting with a chaperone… They could have sent Bastian first, perhaps, to ease her into it before she met the others. Sent her flowers. Swept her off her feet with dances and fed her plump berries and sugary pastries in gardens instead of bitterly cold dungeons. Bastian would have kissed her there, and she would have melted into him willingly instead of him having to coerce her into tasting those luscious, inviting lips with a deal forged in blood.
Maybe they could have done more. Maybe she would have been receptive to his touch instead of jerking back like the frightened little lamb Tharen always likened her to be.
And maybe she would have fallen, would have gone readily to them instead of being taken in the night.
Robbed of choices.
It’s all in the past , Bastian reminded himself.
They couldn’t change it now, only move forward as planned.
Bastian ignored the daggers Azgorath and Vale were shooting at each other with their eyes. If looks could kill, they would all be dead many times over by now…
"The Princess will be the most powerful of all ," Bastian stressed, reciting the prophecy that had started everything. "She will be over all elements, the sun, and the moon. The Tenebrae knows this, just as we do. But we’re the only ones here who have this knowledge, correct?"
Graves grumbled, "The Fates know as well."
"Very true," Bastian mused, a finger stroking over his jaw.
The Fates, the ones who had called them to their lair and spoke into being the prophecy—a fae who would change everything, having power over all, one day, becoming a queen. She would be the only one who could defeat the darkness.
Only the Fates, the Tenebrae, and their group knew of this. No one else. Unless the Tenebrae told those who were Umbra possessed, but Bastian doubted it. It wouldn’t be conducive to reveal his hand so early or to so many.
"And what else could have sparked this?" Vale inquired. Some of the anger had bled out of his features, but his shoulders were still drawn and tense, eyes constantly shifting toward the ceiling as if he could see through the walls to where Luella lay, motionless, in bed.
"No clue. We’ve been quiet. No one knows but us here." Tharen jostled one of his boots. It made the cup of quills near him rattle.
Bastian gritted his teeth, reaching over to knock the mage’s feet down to the floor. It was like moving a boulder, and he knew the only reason he succeeded was because Tharen allowed it.
"What if he’s tracking her?" Azgorath spoke up, eyes flashing with irritation. "You sensed us after we left the protection of the Silva Noctis. That’s why it took you a bit to find us. I knew as soon as we left the castle grounds, we would be fair game. I just thought…" He shook his head. "It’s possible that’s how the Tenebrae sensed her."
Tharen snorted. "You were sloppy. You should have known that as soon as you left, we would have known exactly where you were. And not just us. You announced her presence to any that were paying attention." The mage bent forward, elbows resting on the table. "We’re always watching her, after all. Nothing escapes us."
"Not when it comes to her," the King agreed.
Graves hummed. "Solis?"
Bastian looked at the male, a quiet and contemplative sound falling from his lips. Possible. Very, very possible.
Vale’s palms came down on the table, not too hard, but hard enough to convey his ire.
He hadn’t thought of the possibility of Solis yet, then. What the King and Queen could have done before they met their demise…. who they could have told about the Princess.
Bastian gritted his teeth. Fuck.
To be fair, Bastian had not given the Kingdom of Sunlight much thought as of late, either. It had been relatively far from his mind since its downfall—its deserved downfall.
"What of it?" Azgorath interjected. Though he was sitting, the demon hadn’t stopped his fidgeting, tapping a finger over the table, adjusting his shirt, fingers flexing on his thighs as if he wished a certain someone was perched in his lap…
Graves traced an idle, gloved finger along the tabletop. "That’s right." He turned to Bastian, asking, "Does he know? He was thrown into the dungeons right after."
Bastian shook his head slowly. "Not all of it. Not everything. We haven’t had the time to go over everything with him."
"Know what?" Az spat, angered about being talked around, no doubt.
Vale stilled the demon with a raised hand, eyes narrowing at his lack of patience. Like he was any better. "Solis is… complicit," the King finally settled on.
Tharen snorted; Bastian coughed to cover his similar noise of amusement.
" Complicit ," Bastian mocked. Complicit, his ass.
Solis was partly to blame for it all. The Tenebrae’s quick rise to power. Supplying him with an arsenal.
Sheltering her .
Bastian’s eyes trailed up to the ceiling at his thoughts as if drawn by some force. The heirus Princess. His pet.
"How so?" Azgorath inquired.
Vale waved a hand at Bastian, gesturing him to speak.
With a deep breath, Bastian collected his thoughts, trying to remind himself the demon had been out of the loop for two decades. There was so much he wasn’t yet aware of.
Relations with Solis had been rocky at best before Azgorath was thrown into the dungeons, but after? Everything went to shit. Solis was the only kingdom untouched by the Umbra, completely at peace, until King Vale called for Serpentis to march, finally deeming them ready to steal the Princess away from her tower. To steal her from the ones who had been harboring her… to steal from the ones who had stolen.
"Before," Bastian began. "Before the dungeons. What do you recall of Solis?"
Elbows thudding on the glass tabletop, Azgorath leaned forward as if he could not contain himself. "Solis was always a temperamental kingdom. I thought a war would come eventually. But when"—he swallowed—"Lu was born after lifetimes of waiting for her, I felt that call deep in my gut and realized I couldn’t stand the thought of using her for her power, molding her into the perfect weapon," he spat, and Vale’s knuckles grew white as he gripped the edge of the table. "And I wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. Treasure her like we should have done all along."
The demon’s eyes grew soft as he spoke, and Bastian didn’t think he had ever seen such an expression on his face.
Azgorath cleared his throat, giving a soft shake of his head. "When you threw me into the dungeons for rebelling against your plans, I didn’t think anything more of Solis. Figured the brewing war would be your problem." His face grew stony.
This was the demon Bastian knew. Mercurial and impatient. And far too soft for his own good.
His soft heart was what had made him so isolated in the Below, what had caused the lock to turn on the iron bars of his cell—he was too gentle a male for politics and war.
Bastian let out a long, weary sigh, shoulders caving forward under an invisible pressure. He had so many regrets. And he wasn’t the only one. The difference: Bastian let those regrets show, and the others were too prideful to admit they had messed up.
"When the Tenebrae overthrew Luna, reports of supposed possessed villagers arose. In all kingdoms. Save Solis and Luna," Bastian started, eyes drifting to the swirls on the dark, wooden table as he spoke. Memories. So many memories. And most were bad. "Around the same time, Luella was born. We felt the call…"
The demon’s shoulders fell as he let out a breath. "I remember," he recalled. "That call to her. We had waited for centuries. Waited so long that everything else lost meaning. Even the waiting grew boring."
Graves hummed, toying with a soft-feathered tip of a quill between his fingers. The feathers were inky black. Bastian wondered if it made him sad—that he couldn’t stretch his wings for fear of being found out. The male’s other hand gripped the amulet on his chest. He did that a lot. Like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it, a curse and a blessing.
The chair creaked as Vale stood, walking to the small bookcase leaning against the wall. It was not filled with books of pleasure but tomes older than they were. This room was protected by Tharen’s magic. It was safe here.
That was why Vale reached for a certain leather-bound book, pulling away a strip of paper, torn haphazardly, and pressed between the pages to keep it safe.
Vale flattened it on the table, and Bastian didn’t even look. He could recite the contents of the paper by heart.
The prophecy they had been given by the Fates.
When they were all called to that little cabin nestled deep in the shadowed woods of the Silva Noctis, transported there in a near blink of a moment, all stumbling and confused as they had realized where they were—and that something older than life itself had called them. They did not have the rest of the prophecy. The Fates were fickle and cunning like that.
But what they did have spoke of everything they needed to understand what they would have to do.
Vale read, " To expel the dark, the shadow’s spark, and defeat the stolen, she must bond with the chosen ."
"Fuck, it’s not like it’s changed in the past few days, Vale," Tharen moaned, scrubbing a heavy hand down his face.
"Do not test me, Prima. You’re lucky I can’t kill you," the King seethed. The scent of crackling flames filled the room as smoke wafted from his nostrils.
Damn. They were all too agitated for any modicum of civility.
Bastian ignored their taunting words and reached for the paper, pulling it to him. His fingers passed over the torn edges. The words that cut off…
" …in the stars. For eons, they are. The Vincire will be bound, and the queen will be crowned ," Bastian mumbled the words under his breath.
Vincire.
Bonded .
They were bonded, and they would make her a queen one day. But would she be a willing ruler? Or would they force her into marriage and fit a barbed crown upon her head so she would not be able to remove it? That part eluded them all.
Graves held Bastian’s eyes as he spoke the words, intently listening. They all knew these words, but it never made it easier.
The rest of the prophecy taunted him. The part that was the hardest to discern, yet the easiest.
A splintered lineage, to bring together the kingdoms. She will be one over all elements, the sun, and the stars, to defeat the malevolence.
Luella’s magic was powerful, but her true heritage was unknown. She was not the Princess of Solis.
"The only thing we are certain of is her ability to wield all the elements, the sun, and the moon," Bastian said.
"You’ve never discovered anything more of her lineage, then?" Azgorath asked.
Vale shook his head. "No. She could be any of the fae. But our guess has always been Solis since that’s where we first felt the call from. We have just never been able to figure out how the King and Queen got their hands on her. We’ve sent spies, scoured tomes… But nothing. She was like a ghost. Nothing and nothing, and then one day, here . That godsdamned call pulling us all."
The King seemed to resent her more than any of them.
"Solis remains the only kingdom untouched by the Umbra. Luna, of course, has many Umbra in its midst, but our spies report they are not as violent as the ones from other kingdoms. The Tenebrae is"—Vale huffed a laugh—"gracious, in that regard… Brother turning against brother. Siblings fighting and killing," he spat the words. "A disease that ravaged the lands turning those afflicted into something vile. Evil."
"Solis has kept its inhabitants completely unaware of what is going on in the other kingdoms," Graves murmured, still rolling the end of the quill between his fingers. He wasn’t looking at any of them as he spoke, entranced by dark feathers. "They are unable to leave. No outside correspondence and no visitors. No one gets in or out."
"A perfect, little bubble." Tharen’s lip curled. "It’s why Luella’s so hated here. They’re jealous. And angry at her ignorance."
Bastian couldn’t recall the mage uttering her name before. It sounded surprisingly… good on his tongue. It didn’t spark possessiveness like he thought it would.
His throat bobbed with a swallow.
But how were they meant to share her?
"We can only ascertain that a deal was struck between the Tenebrae and Solis," Vale continued, fingers tracing the torn edges of the scroll before him. "We know she is not the biological offspring of the King and Queen of Solis, but she could still be a Solis fae."
"Or not," Bastian interjected. His eyes shot to Graves. "Glamors do exist."
Graves looked up at his words, finger stilling over the feather. "That narrows the pool. A glamor to last twenty years would have to be done by a powerful mage."
Tharen grinned at his words. Cocky bastard.
"What mage alive has power rivaling his?" Azgorath begrudgingly jerked his head to Tharen.
The demon likely didn’t want to admit it, but as Prima, Tharen was the most powerful mage in all the kingdoms. For another to conjure a glamor to conceal one’s appearance for two decades was nearly inconceivable. But not impossible. It would make it easier to find the one who did it.
Vale gestured to Bastian, urging him to share their theory on Solis’s untouched state.
"The deal we theorize that was struck between the Tenebrae and Solis could have possibly granted Luella a haven under the guise of Princess, and in turn, the King and Queen immunity." As Bastian spoke, Azgorath’s dark brows drew low, contemplating the merit of his words.
It wasn’t factual, a mere educated guess. But why else would Solis remain untouched? And what other deal could have been struck?
"If so," the demon began, "that widens the possibility that Lu is not from Solis."
Bastain nodded.
"It does," Vale agreed. "But does where she came from hold any consequence? We know the heirus will be the most powerful. That is enough."
A white braid fell over Tharen’s temple as he shook his head. "Wherever she came from, it doesn’t matter. She has no one but us now."
Bastian’s stomach rolled at his words. He didn’t know if it was from his thirst for blood or unease. The two bled together as of late.
And as they spoke, he couldn’t keep his mind from trailing to the subject of their terse conversation.
Luella Eritrais, the orphaned Princess. Heirus. Captive. She had many titles, and he couldn’t help but feel they would only grow.
His heart clenched, and he pressed a fist against his chest to abate the tightness.
Look at him. He was as weak and soft as the demon.
But he couldn’t help it. Not after knowing her, seeing her. He wanted nothing more than to have her freely. Without trickery and deception.
If Bastian groveled, would she forgive him? Could she one day find comfort from his touch like she did with the demon?
What would it take? He would do nearly anything. Had granted her a library for escape—would do more, even.
Bastian just wanted to not feel so guilty at the mere thought of her.
Would she forgive him?
Could she forget?
Gods, she smelled so sweet. Strawberries and the faintest whiff of cream, mingling with the scent of freshly cut roses.
Bastian ran his nose along Luella’s neck, inhaling her scent. Her pulse was weak, her eyes closed as she slept. But that never stopped him before, did it?
After the meeting in the war advisory room, they had all dispersed. Azgorath had been the first to stomp off, quickly followed by Tharen, while Graves had stayed to discuss his spies’ findings with their King.
Leaving Bastian alone and grateful. He wanted the Princess for himself. If only for a moment.
His fangs ached, and he so desperately wished to sink his teeth into her supple, soft skin, but he refrained. Painfully.
Everything about her was perfect, and every time he kept himself from her was painful. It was painfully perfect. All those nights stealing into her dreams… He had wanted to do more.
Her creamy skin, all bare and smooth, taunted him. Those luscious thighs he wanted wrapped around his waist. The curve of her hips, perfect for his hands to grip.
His head fell forward, nestled in the crook of her neck as he breathed her in.
Bastian didn’t think he had ever wanted anyone so fiercely as he did her.
That’s why he was here, after all, hovering over her as she slept, praying to gods he did not believe in for a miracle.
But sometimes, you had to be your own miracle.
Magic tingled against Bastian’s skin, and he pressed his palm against Luella’s forehead.
He did not have to touch her to enter her mind, but the physical connection grounded him.
She felt cold under his fingertips. And as he stroked a finger over her temple and down to the soft curve of her cheek, his mouth grew dry, tongue thick. He had the overwhelming urge to beg for her forgiveness.
Even though she wouldn’t know.
It would be futile. Just like using his magic to enter her dreams as she slept.
But—
"I’m so…" Bastian sounded choked up, not at all like himself, even as he cleared his throat and tried again. A softly uttered attempt for forgiveness in the stillness of the room. It was easier—when no one was listening. "I’m sorry."
A perfect parallel of the night it all changed. The night of her capture. When Bastian had stolen into her dreams and whispered a soft, I’m sorry . Even then, he hadn’t been sure why he felt compelled to enter her mind. But when he saw her, curled on the armchair in front of the crackling fire, he had wanted nothing more than her forgiveness then. It had started as a soft whimper at the first sight of her, but now it was a roaring call, unable to be ignored.
He didn’t think he could live with her hating him.
He knew it was a fool’s hope, but that didn’t stop him from carding his fingers almost adoringly down her soft, cool skin to cup her cheek.
Bastian let his thoughts drift, seeking out the fascinating mind of their little captive.
In a haze of melted softness and warmth from a false fire, everything came together.
Luella was there, sitting on the leather chair, eyes closed and head tilted back. She wore a white, diaphanous gown, and it took everything in him not to let his eyes linger too long on the enticing curve of her hips or the swell of her chest. She looked so small in the chair; it dwarfed her frame, and his eyes stung as he just… watched her.
Not yet awoken, she was…
Wherever she was.
Even in her dreams, she slept.
But this dream was different from the rest.
Magic prickled in the air. But it was not his own. It was so strong that Bastian nearly stumbled under its weight as it pressed against him, urging him out, out.
The vampire did not bow. Never had for anyone but his King.
A small niggling in his mind conjured the image of him on his knees for her, too. And his heart, so cold in his chest, fluttered at the thought.
Bastian gave a low chuckle, utterly astonished by the tranquility of her resting, ethereal form. He sat back against the table in front of the Princess, a hand skimming over her bare knee.
He was content to watch for now and wait for her to awaken.
It was inevitable, after all.
Just like them.