I could not sleep.
Outside the west wing, the wind clawed against the towers. The torches burned low, throwing thin shadows across Amari's chamber. The silence was heavy enough to hear his pulse. His breathing ragged.
He lay on the edge of the bed, eyes open. Every breath dragged heat through his chest, a reminder of what had been woken inside him. The world felt off-balance each heartbeat louder, each flicker of light brighter. Power hummed beneath his skin like a fever that refused to break it troubled him.
When the pain came, it was sudden. His muscles locked the air left his lungs. A sharp glow pulsed through his veins, burning black beneath his flesh. Like it was spreading or rather growing. Groaning He gripped the sheets until they tore.
Far away, in the high hall of mirrors, Devon paused mid-stride.
The goblet in his hand trembled. For the first time in years, he felt a pulse that was not his own. The sensation cut through him heat, pain, and something rawer, like a voice calling his name without sound, he felt something alive with need calling onto him.
He smiled, faintly. "So it begins."
The downed the goblet shattering it to the floor, forgotten, as he vanished from the hall.
Amari gasped when the door to his chamber opened. The air itself seemed to bend before the king entered. Devon's presence filled the room, cool with his dominating presence.
"What are you doing to me?" Amari forced out between ragged breaths although he felt a sense of calmness when he saw him.
Devon looked at him with quiet interest. "You've pushed passed your limits. Power never wakes gently dear."
He crossed to the table, pouring a dark liquid into a crystal cup. The smell of it made the air hum with metallic, rich, alive, raw, sweet scent.
Amari swallowed hard. "That's not wine."
"No," Devon said, studying the glass as though it held a secret. "It's a lesson or rather reward."
He lifted it, letting the firelight catch the red surface. Then he drank, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving Amari's face. The sound was soft but it sent a shock through the air.
Amari's chest tightened. The scent, the sight something inside him twisted. His hunger was not for blood alone, it was for silence, for the heat to stop, for the power to make sense, he doubted one cup would calm his hunger.
Devon set the cup down and stepped closer. "You feel it, don't you? The hunger?"
Amari nodded once, jaw clenched, eyes tightly closed .
"All you have to do is ask and I'll help you ," Devon said.
"I'm not your pet to play with ." Amari glared at him
"Then prove it. Control it."
The pulse in Amari's veins flared again. His breath caught the room spun. The king's voice became a thread of sound through the storm in his head, his anger, hunger and need clouding his senses.
Devon tilted the cup, letting a single drop spill onto the stone floor. The scent filled the air.
Something in Amari snapped. His knees hit the ground, his teeth elongated. He hated the weakness, the need, the pull that turned pride into shame. His voice broke through it soft, unwilling.
"…Please."
"Please what? Tell me" Devon said with a proud smirk
"Please help me My king" Amari stared straight at him as he couldn't understand why everything was happening to him
Devon crouched before him. "There," he said quietly. " obedience you'll learn."
He didn't hand him the cup. Instead he pressed a hand to Amari's chest. Energy surged through the touch a rush of calm followed by unbearable heat. The hunger recoiled, his fangs retracting, folding in on itself.
Amari gasped. "What did you—"
"I fed the storm," Devon murmured. "Now it owes you nothing."
The trembling in Amari's body eased. His heartbeat slowed, though the echo of power still moved under his skin waiting. When he looked up, the king was watching him not as a master, but as one hunter studies it's prey.
"Why me?" Amari asked, voice hoarse. "Why keep pushing?"
Devon's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. "Because you are the first thing in centuries that has reminded me I can still be surprised, your quite something."
He stood, turning toward the window where dawn's first ash-grey light bled through the glass. "Rest. You'll dream of storms. When you wake, you'll know which ones are yours to command."
The door closed behind him.
Amari remained on the floor, the echo of power still humming in his veins. The drop of red on the stone glimmered once, then faded to black.
He drew steady slow breaths, licking the nip on his lips he tastef the metallic taste on his tongue, and whispered to the empty room,
"I won't break."
Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains an answer, or a warning of what to come.