The door closed behind him with a weighted click, as if sealing his fate. Silence stretched—cold, taut, unforgiving.
The study was cloaked in low light, lit only by the flicker of a dying fire and a pair of sconces on opposite walls. Books lined every surface, most worn, many ancient. A desk carved from a single slab of midnight-stained oak sat like a monolith at the far end, and behind it, half in shadow and half illuminated by firelight, stood the King.
Merrick.
He did not look up at first. His fingers rested on an open ledger, unmoving, though his posture radiated that predatory stillness known only to apex creatures. When he finally raised his eyes, the heat behind them was blistering.
"You have precisely thirty seconds to justify your intrusion," he said without preamble, voice low and deadly. "And if you so much as tremble, I'll take it as regret."
Renauld met his gaze without flinching.
"I'm not here for myself," he said. "I'm here because she is unraveling."
The King's expression did not change, but the air in the room shifted—just slightly.
"Caralee?" he said, slowly, as though testing the shape of the name on his tongue, as if it pained him to say it.
Renauld inclined his head. "Your Majesty. She is deteriorating—emotionally, physically. The bond is weakening. She is starving, not only for blood but for purpose. For answers. For you."
A flicker of something moved across Merrick's face—almost too quick to catch. Regret? Guilt?
But it was gone before it could be named.
"I am well aware of her condition."
"Then why have you done nothing?" Renauld stepped forward before he could stop himself, fists clenched at his sides. "Why do you let her suffer in silence, questioning her place, her worth, her sanity? You made her this. You sired her. You marked her with your blood and took her from the only life she ever knew. And then you abandoned her."
"She is not abandoned," Merrick said, voice like ice.
"She feels abandoned," Renauld countered, breathing hard. "Is that not the same thing?"
For a moment, Merrick said nothing.
Then he stepped out from behind the desk.
He was taller than Renauld remembered. Or perhaps it was simply that he seemed to take up more space now, his presence filling the room like smoke from an unseen fire. Dressed in black, with silver threading glinting at the cuffs of his sleeves, Merrick looked less like a monarch and more like an executioner awaiting his cue.
"You overstep," he said, circling slowly toward the hearth. "You enter without permission. You speak to me of things you could not possibly understand."
"I understand this," Renauld said quietly. "She still loves you."
Merrick froze.
The fire popped.
"I know she does," Renauld continued. "She feels it like a chain around her neck. She hates herself for it. She thinks she's weak for missing you, for needing you, for grieving something that's still alive and within reach. She wants to heal, but she cannot without you."
The King turned, his features bathed now in gold and crimson from the flames behind him. There was a moment—a pause so taut it could have broken the air in two.
Then, very softly: "She fed from him."
Renauld stiffened.
"She fed," Merrick said again, more forcefully. "From the human. She ran to him after kerping it hidden, she saught him out when in pain, dhe— kissed him. Then nearly lost control for it."
He turned his head, jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle beneath twitched. "And I let it happen. Because I thought—perhaps—that her choice would cement what must be. That she would understand the consequences. That she would choose the world I offered her and be done mourning the one she lost."
"And you think she hasn't? You may be her sire, but you do not feel the bond, I do. She buried herself that day, ready to take on her new one, but she still felt fear, fear that you would never forgive her! Then, to make it worse, you encourage a bond? You tie my life to hers, knowing the confusion that human emotions leave behind in one so young, do you have any idea what it's doing to me, doing to her, how difficult it is to restrain myself when all I want in this life is to soothe her? You may as well have hurled me from the tallest tower!"
Merrick's eyes burned.
Renauld nodded slowly, his voice lower now, gentler. "Because she is not one thing. She's not just your queen, or his grief stricken lover, or my bond. She is all of those things. And more."
"I gave her everything," Merrick hissed. "Immortality. Power. Safety. She would reign beside me as a goddess. And she ran."
"She ran," Renauld said, "because she was terrified of becoming someone she didn't recognize. She felt you had kept the secret from her, that you tormented a good man who only ever sought to protect her, she should have spoken with you plainly, but she is a child! She was confused and frightened and alone!"
The King turned away.
Renauld watched his shoulders rise and fall. He could see it then—the weight Merrick carried. Not just power. Not just ancient sorrow. But fear. Fear of losing control. Of being betrayed. Of being vulnerable.
"She's still your sired," Renauld said gently. "You feel her thirst, as I do. You hear the echoes of her heartbreak in your own chest. So stop pretending you don't."
"She betrayed me," Merrick said, so quietly it was nearly a whisper.
"No," Renauld said. "She needed you. And you weren't there."
That struck.
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was full of thunder. And at the center of it stood the King, motionless.
"I didn't know how," Merrick said finally. "I didn't know how to be what she needed."
"That is not her fault."
Merrick closed his eyes.
"I thought if I kept my distance, she would acclimate. Find her footing. I didn't want to cloud her judgment."
"You left her to drown," Renauld said. "She doesn't need you to be perfect. She needs you to show up."
The words settled like ash between them. Heavy. Irrevocable.
The King exhaled slowly and returned to the chair by the fire. He sat, hands clasped, staring into the embers.
"When I first found her," he said, "she reminded me of someone. A girl I once knew. Gentle, but with a fire beneath the surface. Stubborn. Brilliant. She died before I could turn her. Before I could save her."
He glanced up, eyes distant. "Caralee was my second chance. And I am squandering it."
Renauld didn't speak. He let the admission hang in the air like a fragile thread.
"I see her, and all I want is to possess her," Merrick whispered. "To protect her. But everything I touch, I ruin. And she has a purpose, a destiny bigger than either of us. I will web her, as I've vowed to do, but how can I win her heart when I've already broken it?"
Renauld stepped forward and lowered himself to one knee. A bold move—dangerous, some might say. But it was not a submission. It was sincerity.
"Then fix it," he said. "Before it's too late. Before the part of her that loves you turns to ash."
Merrick's eyes met his.
The silence cracked. Something inside the king shifted. A decision made, if not spoken aloud.
"She'll need time," Merrick said.
"She's already had too much of that," Renauld answered. "What she needs now is you."
A breath passed between them.
Then, slowly, Merrick nodded.
"Tell her I will come."
"No, Your Majesty," Renauld said, standing. "Go to her. Yourself. Now. Not as a king. Not even as a sire. Go to her as the man she once believed in."
Merrick stood.
There was a tension in his shoulders, but it was no longer rigidity—it was purpose.
Without another word, he moved past Renauld and opened the door. Lydia was still waiting, startled as the King strode out, robes flowing behind him like storm clouds.
"Clear the halls," he said. "I wish to walk alone."
And with that, Merrick ascended the staircase, silent and swift, like a shadow rising through candlelight.
Renauld exhaled and leaned against the doorframe, chest pounding. The terror finally rushed him, the dread he'd held back for the duration of the conversation.
He had done what few dared. Faced the storm head-on. And for once, it seemed the storm had listened.
He only hoped it wasn't too late.
Lydia rushed to his side as he sank to the floor, one look at his palled face and she rushed for a chamber pot. She ran, making it back to Renauld's side as he heaved the contents of his stomach.
"Shh shhh" she cooed as she rubbed his back like a mother, nurturing. "You did well my lord. You did well."