22. CARE
Chapter twenty-two
CARE
"Your Highness," the healer packed his herbal bag, casting fleeting glances of concern at Vladya.
"What is it, Faiwick?" Vladya drank his tea casually, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue. "Your hesitation does not aid me, so you might as well speak plainly."
"Forgive me, My Lord, but you must bloodfeed. Truly, you do. Not the meager portions obtained from mere feeders, but a real feeding from Lady Merrilyn. With the proper rituals from the Sacred Ways Of Old.”
"That is a little dramatic, do you not think?" Vladya arched an eyebrow.
"No. It is..." The healer ran his hand through his black hair. "You are not taking this seriously, My Lord. Your body is in dire need of bloodfeeding and sexual intimacy. You cannot keep ignoring them any longer."
"Calm yourself, Faiwick." Setting the glass down with cool indifference, Vladya met the healer's gaze. "I know I'm on the path to feral."
His eyes went wide. "Y-you do?"
"Of course I do, it's my body, is it not? I feel these things. I am the one who cannot remember events, feels the urge to go on a killing spree, and awakens in the woods on occasion. Of course, I know."
"Your Highness..." Faiwick's lips wobbled. He looked dangerously close to tears.
Vladya rolled his eyes, pursing his lips. "Please, do not."
The healer swiped at his eyes, attempting to regain composure. "Does the grand king know?"
"He does not. Nor will he find out." Vladya pinned him with a stern gaze.
"O-of course, you need not worry. I will not tell him."
No, Vladya was more worried Ottai would. He sighed, taking the pill on the nightstand. At least whatever was in the first concoction Faiwick had given him seemed to be working. Somewhat.
His head felt better. The headache persisted, but it no longer felt as if someone were practicing drum rolls on his brain.
"I will get in contact with the mages again. We need to purchase herbs and—"
"We will do no such thing. They do not work, remember? I purchased them for five hundred years for Daemonikai?"
"But the Grand King is here with us now."
Yes, and it is not because of them. “I do not want them. Do not contact the mages." Vladya's voice was firm, brooking no argument.
Fidgeting uncomfortably, Faiwick shifted from foot to foot. "Some of them are meant to calm our inner creatures, provide peace, reduce madness. We cannot simply give up, can we?"
Vladya bit back a sharp retort, instead rubbing his temple. Faiwick meant well. His family had served the grand rulers for generations, and Faiwick himself had been their healer for millennia. The male had a strong stomach for blood and treatment, but that was where his fortitude ended. If Vladya snapped at him, the healer would break down and weep. It had happened many times in the past, and Vladya was not prepared to deal with that now.
"Faiwick," Vladya said more gently, "I appreciate your dedication. Truly. But I do not need the herbs or the mages.”
Faiwick nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "As you wish, Your Highness. But please, consider the bloodfeeding and the rituals. They will suppress your bloodlust appetite longer."
Vladya sighed. "You may go. I shall summon you when I need you again."
The healer bowed, swung his large herbal bag over his shoulder, and headed for the door. He paused, looking back. "The herbs will not stop the headaches, My Lord. At least bloodfeed and take a female to calm those instincts before they become uncontrollable. Please."
He is like a hellhound with a bone. Vladya watched him leave. The room was quieter, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. Blessed silence, just the way he loved it.
But Faiwick was right. Reluctantly, he rose and the servants attended to his needs, drawing his bath and assisting with his garments, dressing him in one of the white robes.
Vladya made his way to Lord Henry's residence. Merry was still on bedrest and it had been some time since he last saw her.
He caught her scent before he saw her.
A low growl reverberated in Vladya’s throat as the sweetness wafted through the air, capturing his senses. There Aekeira stood, a slave master berating her. The warm feeling that had ignited in his cold heart that night in the woods resurfaced, spreading through him.
"Have you no sense, you foolish human?" the master barked, his voice sharp as a winter wind. "How dare you sit in a corner resting when there is still so much work to be done!?"
Aekeira bowed humbly, her voice respectful. "I have completed my morning duties, Master Tyke. I merely took a moment to—"
"To do what?" he sneered, his eyes raking over her with open contempt. " Have you grown weary? Are your delicate fingers sore? There is still so much to be done in the scullery. The flagons are streaked with grime, the platters still bear the remnants of yesterday's feast. Do you expect me to attend to them?"
"But there are others assigned to—"
"Silence!" Tyke thundered. "Worthless human! I order you to enter and scrub those dishes until they gleam brighter than a knight's armor. Is that understood?"
"Aekeira," Vladya called.
She and the slave master jolted, whirling around in surprise.
Vladya crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze fixed on Aekeira.
She scanned his body thoroughly, drinking in the sight of him as if checking for injuries. Her eyes filled with unshed tears as they met his. Relief visibly washed over her face.
She had noticed your absence. She was concerned for your well-being. And now, she is relieved to see you unharmed.
Vladya's first instinct was to dismiss the notion. Impossible! A human concerned for me? Preposterous. But as he gazed into those wide, expressive eyes, he could not deny the sincerity etched on her face.
She cares.
Aekeira really cares .
Why, he had no idea. But he found himself believing it.
Emeriel's body, sated and languid, craved sleep after another round of hurried lovemaking to stop the beginning of a heatwave.
Females love their heat , Lord Herod had said. Emeriel was beginning to comprehend the meaning behind those words. The pleasure King Daemonikai had given her... it surpassed anything she had ever imagined.
Being with the beast had been good, but it was driven by mindlessness and instincts, often accompanied by pain and discomfort. This experience with the male was like a dream come true. Never had Emeriel thought it possible to feel this way.
Everything she had seen and heard about him made Emeriel believe he could never be this way with her. Gentle. Kind.
He treated her not only as a person, but as someone he…cared for?
No wonder females love their heat, Emeriel mused, a soft, wistful smile gracing her lips. No wonder they look forward to it.
If this was how it always was, if Emeriel could have this male like this, then she welcomed the agony of heatwaves. If she could have this connection again and again, then she eagerly awaited more of her heat. For the first time, she was happy to be a Syren.
Despite all the challenges and impossibility of them being mated, Emeriel was happy that it was him. That he was her fated mate.
"Here, rise,” his deep voice rumbled, pulling her from her reverie.
The thing was, Emeriel’s limbs were unwilling to obey. She tried to move, but her bones felt as liquid as the sea.
"Allow me." Strong arms encircled her form, lifting her effortlessly until she rested against the curve of his legs. She buried her nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. I could stay this way forever.
A cool cup pressed against her lips, and she instinctively parted them, the refreshing liquid sliding down her throat. The water, infused with a subtle sweetness, hinted at berries and honey. She drank gratefully, her eyes closed, savoring this stolen moment between them.
"That's it. Good girl," he praised, causing her stomach to flutter. Making her feel so good . Emeriel wanted more of it.
A spoon pressed against her lips, and her eyes opened. The small silver spoon held a morsel of poached pear. He was going to hand-feed her...?
In what universe did she fall into? Emeriel didn’t care.
Obediently, she opened her mouth, and the delicate sweetness exploded on her tongue. Next came a sliver of warm bread, infused with olive oil and fragrant herbs. Its crispy edges and delectable taste delighted her senses. He fed her more of it, until she could eat no more.
King Daemonikai gently wiped away a stray crumb from her chin. "There you go. A little nourishment, and our little Syren shall be ready to return to her slumber."
Emeriel's body hummed with contentment. She reached out a tentative hand, hovering in the air. "May I touch you, Your Grace?"
He nodded once.
Her fingers traced the planes of his face, her bleary eyes fixed upon him. The sharp angles of his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his lips… committing every detail to memory.
"You are the most handsome male I have ever laid eyes on,” she murmured.
His eyes softened even further. "I have grown averse to the touch of others, yet I have come to realize...I like your touch, young princess."
Because I belong to you. I was made for you. You are mine. My Beloved.
Her fingers trailed down his nose, tracing the contours of his lips, the sharp line of his jaw, the column of his neck. Warmth spread through her. Emeriel felt at peace.
For the first time since her arrival in Urai, she felt whole. Complete.
Her Beloved hand-fed her every morsel until she was fully satiated. Then, the grand king laid her down and cleared away the plates. Emeriel drifted back to sleep, her heart lighter than it had ever been.
May this heat last as long as forever . May the outside world never intrude.
When Aekeira heard his voice—a sound so deeply familiar and comforting—Aekeira could not suppress the surge of emotions that flooded her, hearing his voice. Her heart raced, and butterflies erupted in her stomach, a tumult of excitement and relief crushing her.
She rushed toward him. "Your Highness.” Her hands fluttered over him—touching his chest, belly, and shoulders in a flurry of worried motions. “Are you alright, My Lord? Are you hurt? Did something happen?" Aekeira scanned him for any sign of injury.
Then, she froze, her hands stilling on his body.
What in Tartarus had possessed her to touch him in such a manner without his permission? And in public, no less.
His body stiffened under her touch.
Aekiera's hand recoiled as if burned, her eyes darting around in sudden panic. The expressions on the faces surrounding them —slave masters, Urekai maids, and human slaves alike—ranged from shock to outright horror. Even slave master Tyke, with his usually sneering face, stared at her as though she'd sprouted a second head.
"I-I'm sorry, Your Highness," Aekeira choked out, her head bowed, cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Shame rained over her, and her heart raced with embarrassment and confusion. "I didn't mean to...I was just worried."
Since when do I make rash decisions concerning the well-being of anyone but Em? she thought despairingly. Why, oh why would I do this?
But then he moved closer, his towering form casting a shadow over her. He extended a hand, his calloused fingers outstretched towards her. She looked up, a jolt shooting up her arm as she hesitantly placed her shaky hand in his. His grip was firm yet surprisingly gentle, the warmth of his touch seeping into her chilled skin. The force of his gaze, those fathomless gray eyes, held her captive.
"I am fine, Aekeira."
Her heart leaped in her chest like a hummingbird desperate to escape its cage. "Mmh..." she tried to speak, but her thoughts scattered, leaving her mute,
It was only when his piercing gaze shifted away from her that she was able to breathe again. He turned towards the slave master. "Tyke."
"Yes, your Highness!" the slave master’s response was instant, his head snapping down so low his forehead nearly touched the ground.
"When Aekeira finishes her duty, you do not give her more, do you understand me?" Lord Vladya stated, each word dripping with authority.
"Y-yes, My Lord." The slave master's voice trembled slightly, betraying his nerves.
"The only duties she should be given are the general ones when shared. No extra duties."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
A pause hung in the air, heavy and pregnant.
"Apologize." The single word sent a ripple of shock through the onlookers.
Aekeira stood shocked. Even Yaz displayed a flicker of surprise.
"Uhmm, I think I'm okay, your Hi—"
"Apologize to her, Tyke."
The slave master swallowed audibly, his face pale. He turned to Aekiera, his eyes downcast. "I apologize for everything I did wrong, human."
Lord Vladya’s voice remained calm, his face blank. "That is not her name, Tyke." Lord Vladya’s voice remained calm, his face blank.
"I a-apologize for everything, A-Aekeira."
Aekeira was tongue-tied. "Uhm..."
Lord Vladya finally released her hand, leaving it tingling from his touch. He turned and strode away, his cloak swirling behind him. "Follow me."