Cassius made his way from the study to his chamber, his thoughts consumed—unsurprisingly—by Lilian. She lingered in his mind like a sweet ghost, never quite fading. He was supposed to retrieve the notes to finalise a new law, but his focus was fraying under the constant presence of her in his thoughts. She likely had no idea how much power she wielded over him.
He was halfway down the corridor when a scream shattered the stillness. Sharp, terrified, unmistakably Lilian's.
His body moved on instinct—no thought, no hesitation—as he bolted down the hall. The sound of her fear tore through him like a blade. He imagined the worst: a vampire attack, her blood drained, her lifeless body collapsed somewhere inside her room. The image was too real.
He burst into her chambers, fangs ready to be drawn, every muscle taut with the promise of violence. But what he found instead was… Lilian, unharmed, scrambling across her bed, eyes wide with panic. Alone.
"What's the matter?" he demanded, scanning the room, senses straining for danger.
"THERE'S A SPIDER!!!" Lilian shrieked.
Cassius stared at her, utterly stunned. A spider?
His gaze followed her trembling hand to the floor, where a small creature sat. Cassius exhaled sharply, more in disbelief than relief. He crossed the room, picked up the spider with two fingers, and muttered, "I thought you were being murdered."
"It could be venomous!" she insisted, eyes wild with fear. "It might kill me!"
A slow smirk formed on his lips, dark and teasing. "Out of everything in this room, I'm far more likely to kill you than that spider."
Her glare was immediate, fierce. "Don't kill it!"
That, at least, made him pause. He hadn't expected that. With a faintly amused sigh, he turned and walked to the balcony, flinging the creature into the night. When he turned back, Lilian's breath was still ragged, her face pale.
"It's gone," he said softly.
"Lock the door!"
Cassius arched a brow. "It's not coming back. Spiders don't hold grudges."
"It might!" Lilian snapped, marching to the door and locking it herself with a dramatic clack of the key.
"I doubt it can open the door," he muttered, clearly amused. He couldn't help it—the contrast between her intellect and this irrational fear was entertaining.
"You can never be too safe," she replied, defiant and flustered.
Cassius chuckled. "Any more creatures I should handle while I'm here?"
She studied him, the tension beginning to ease into curiosity. "Can you shape-shift?"
"Shape-shift?" he echoed, one brow lifting.
"Like into a bat."
He blinked, then gave her a crooked smile. "No. Why would you ask such a ridiculous thing?"
"Shame," she sighed. "Bats eat spiders. Would've been handy if you could turn into one and just hunt them down."
Cassius laughed—a real, unguarded sound, deep and resonant. "Sorry to disappoint. I prefer more dignified means of pest control."
"Good," she said, wrinkling her nose. "If you actually ate spiders, I don't think I could look at you the same."
The comment was playful, but it struck a nerve. There was a flicker in her voice, a subtle discomfort with the reality of what he was. A hesitation beneath the teasing.
"I'm glad you can still face me then," Cassius murmured, his tone dropping as the laughter drained away.
Lilian crossed her arms. "You enjoy my suffering, don't you?"
"I don't," he said honestly. "But I do find it curious that a spider frightens you more than I do."
"Maybe you think too highly of yourself," she challenged.
"Or maybe you think too little of me."
The air shifted. In an instant, he was before her—close enough to feel her breath. His fangs slid out, glinting under the candlelight. Her breath hitched, but she didn't recoil. No scream. No running. Her wide eyes shone with something unexpected. Fascination.
"That's… so interesting," she whispered, eyes locked on his fangs.
Cassius froze. He'd meant to intimidate her. Instead, she was enchanted.
"Can I touch them?"
He stared, incredulous. "You want to touch… my teeth?"
"Yes."
After a moment, he nodded.
She rose onto her toes, reaching out gently. Her fingertip grazed one of the sharp fangs—then hissed and pulled back as it pricked her skin. No blood. Just surprise.
"Careful," Cassius murmured, voice husky with something harder to define, laced with worry. He didn't want her hurt.
"How does it work?" she asked softly.
"What?"
"The feeding. Are there holes like in straws? Or do you use them to tear the flesh?"
"The latter," he admitted, watching her closely.
She nodded, visibly unfazed. "How strong is the urge to drink human blood?"
He exhaled slowly, eyes darkening. "How strong is your compulsion to eat when you're starving? To devour something warm and filling after days of hunger?" His voice was raw. Honest. "It's the same for us. Blood is our sustenance."
Instead of fear, he saw something else in her expression—pity. He didn't want it. He wasn't sure what to do with it. It stirred an old ache, an unfamiliar vulnerability.
"Then maybe I shouldn't torture you with my presence," she mumbled, backing away slightly.
"It's not torture," he replied quickly, embarrassed by the catch in his voice. He turned, stepping back to collect himself. Her presence blurred the line between dreams and waking more than he wanted to admit.
"Thank you… for getting rid of the spider," she said, her cheeks pink. "And for letting me see your fangs."
"It was my pleasure," he replied, bowing slightly—and how he loved the smile she gave him in return. "Always happy to be of service."
"I feel so honoured," she replied. "That the vampire king himself is willing to evict spiders at my command."
"You're welcome," he said, smirking. "But you should get some rest."
"I doubt I'll sleep after such an exhilarating ordeal." She reached for her nightgown, the near-sheer fabric of her nightdress catching the light—and Cassius swallowed, suddenly too aware of every inch of her under the fabric. He averted his gaze.
"What are you doing tonight?" she asked oblivious of his thoughts.
"Writing a new law," he managed.
"May I help?"
Cassius hesitated, then nodded.
She followed him down the hall, barefoot and curious, like a moonbeam trailing after a shadow. He explained the proposal and she offered thoughtful suggestions—refinements he hadn't considered. Her presence turned the heavy task into something lighter. Easier to bear. And in that moment, as she leaned over his shoulder pointing at a line of text, Cassius realised: he didn't just want her just for himself. He needed her beside him—sharp, sincere, and unafraid of what he was —to serve his kingdom beside him as the burdens of the crown weighted less beside her.