Damien tilted his head, eyes dark and full of sothing that wasn’t just lust. "You’re breathtaking when you’re angry," he whispered.
"You’re infuriating when you’re smug," she fired back.
"Fair trade."
And then, with the self-control of a saint, Damien did the most unexpected thing of all.
He stepped back.
The space between them was imdiate and jarring. Luna blinked, breathless and confused.
Damien reached down and picked up her scarf, folding it neatly before placing it gently on the counter. "Take your ti," he said. "I won’t pressure you."
"Thank you," Luna said softly, her fingers curled around the warm teacup. She didn’t look back, just picked the cup and walked away.
Damien stood there long after she left, watching the space she had occupied His fists flexed at his sides. His entire body buzzed with the ache of everything left unsaid and everything denied.
Gods help him, he was in a fix.
If only he had the ti—just ti—he knew she would fall, and not just into his arms, but into the kind of love that lted kingdoms and rewrote legends. She would ache for him. He could make her beg, if he wanted. Not out of dominance, but out of devotion. He would have whispered every weakness from her lips with kisses, would’ve coaxed every longing sigh from her throat. He would’ve taken his ti.
But ti was the one thing he couldn’t afford anymore.
He had already given his life for her. And now, with his people growing restless and the elders already side-eying the throne, the pressure was mounting again.
His father, King Lucivar, was beyond retirent age. The vampire kingdom needed stability. They needed a monarch. The nobles were growing twitchy, their ancient eyes narrowing as they wondered when Damien would stop playing Prince Charming and start ruling like a King.
There had to be a middle ground—had to. A place where he could offer his people continuity, give them a future, while still honoring Luna’s desire to reclaim her independence. She wanted to forge her own path. And he? He wanted her to do just that... as long as that path led back to him in the end.
*****
Damien arrived at the Royal Consort’s castle just before midnight. The sky was a heavy velvet curtain. He wasn’t sure if he was making the right decision, or walking straight into a trap made of obligation and regret.
He hesitated outside the familiar door for a mont, then pushed it open and stepped inside.
Seliora was standing in front of her mirror, dressed. Her gown was blood-red satin, hugging every inch of her. Her hair was done in elegant curls that tumbled over her shoulder, and around her neck sparkled the ruby necklace she wore when she wanted to be rembered.
She turned, eyes narrowing slightly as she saw him.
"Your Highness," Seliora said with a graceful bow, her brows lifting in surprise. It wasn’t every day Damien waltzed into her castle unannounced, much less into her bedroom.
Damien stood tall in the doorway, shoulders tense.
"Are you heading sowhere?" he asked, glancing at her crimson gown. He winced internally, realizing too late how presumptuous it sounded. It wasn’t like he had any right to ask anymore.
Seliora tilted her head. "I was heading to see you, actually," she replied. "But it seems the fates decided to save the walk."
Damien exhaled and settled himself onto a nearby couch. The cushions sighed beneath his weight. Seliora moved a carved stool closer to him and perched delicately on the edge.
The silence was filled only by the soft ticking of the ornate clock in the corner. Sothing was definitely wrong in paradise. The prince hadn’t co to her willingly since he found his cursed mate.
"I wanted to check in on you," Damien said at last, eyes cast downward as though his boots were suddenly fascinating. "Have you been to the doctor lately? Any news?"
She smiled a little, smoothing her dress. "I’m surprised you’re interested. But yes, I was there last week. And... well... nothing." She said the last part softly.
"I see," he murmured. Then, after a breath, "I guess we have to keep trying then."
Seliora’s jaw dropped, her body jerking back slightly as though he had slapped her with a fish. "Uh! You... you want to keep trying?" She blinked rapidly, unsure if this was real or if her hormone supplents had started causing hallucinations.
Damien rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere except at her. "Look, I know... I know I’ve been disinterested in the whole process but... never mind." He waved a hand in the air. "Just let know when the next ti should be."
Seliora just stared, then mildly amused, and finally... curious. She folded her arms, legs crossed elegantly. "During my last appointnt," she began, her tone casual but with a glint of mischief, "the doctor explained so stuff. Turns out we’ve been doing it all wrong."
"What?" Damien chuckled, eyes wide with mock disbelief. "I am sure the process of conceiving a child has been the sa since the dawn of ti. You know... you put the penis inside the vagina..." he gestured with his hands. "Ta-da. Baby in nine months."
Seliora burst into laughter so suddenly that she choked on her own breath. "No—no—no!" she gasped between cackles, slapping her thigh. "That’s not... what I ant!"
Her whole body shook with laughter, her elegant fra bending over.
Damien smirked, amused despite himself. "Wow. I almost had a migraine there. You know...Your reaction is both encouraging and offensive."
Still hiccuping, Seliora waved him off, but Damien had already gotten up, walked over to her bar cart, and poured a glass of water.
He handed her the glass. "Here. Hydrate. Before you pass out and soone accuses of attempted assassination."
Seliora took the glass, still giggling, and sipped. "Thanks," she murmured, then offered it back.
"It’s been a while since we had a laugh like this," she said softly, almost wistfully.
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