I didn't mean to scream.
Honestly.
It was supposed to be a dignified gasp—a restrained little noise of surprise, maybe a sharp inhale of alarm at most.
But when that fly landed on the arm of Vilo's obsidian throne, big, buzzing, and flapping like it had a personal vendetta against me, my brain short-circuited.
And I screamed.
Loud.
High.
Undeniably human.
I nearly dropped the cloth I was using to polish the floor, stumbling backward and pointing like I'd just seen a demon manifest from the shadows.
Vilo turned her head from the dais above, her silver braid swaying behind her as she fixed me with a stare so cold it could've frozen lava.
"What was that."
"There's a bug," I said quickly, voice shaking.
She blinked once. "A… bug."
"A fly. A huge one."
I pointed again, now crouching behind one of the decorative braziers for cover. "It looked at me."
Vilo descended from the throne with her usual predatory grace, heels clicking against polished stone. She approached the throne's arm, peered at it, and then tilted her head slightly.
"That?"
"Yes!"
She frowned at it like it was a failed soldier. "It's tiny."
"I know."
"It can't harm you."
"That's not the point."
Her eyes narrowed further. "You're afraid of insects."
I braced for teasing, for mockery, maybe even a snide quip about weakness.
Instead, she turned her head toward the hallway and called, "Maid. Dispose of this creature."
One of the castle maids scurried in, bowed deeply, and with a folded cloth and graceful motion, plucked the fly from existence.
Vilo watched until it was gone.
Then turned back to me.
Her face still unreadable.
"Resume cleaning," she said.
And that was that.
No mockery.
No teasing.
Just a queen summoning her staff to remove a one-inch threat on my behalf.
I was both grateful and… slightly terrified.
—
That night, everything was fine.
Until it wasn't.
I was brushing my teeth when I spotted it—another fly, hovering near the edge of our bed canopy, skittering along the velvet like it belonged there. I froze.
It buzzed.
I panicked.
By the time Vilo emerged from the wardrobe, drying her silver hair with a towel, I was already standing on a chair like a medieval damsel in distress, eyes locked on the invader.
She looked at me.
Then at the bug.
Then at me again.
"Again?"
"There's a fly in the bed!"
"A single one."
"It's the bed, Vilo!"
She said nothing for a moment.
Then walked over to me.
In a blur, her arms wrapped around me. My face was pulled straight into her chest, muffled by the overwhelming softness of her skin and the smooth warmth of her freshly washed body.
"H-Hey—!"
Her claws stroked the back of my head slowly, her voice soft against my ear.
"It's okay. I'm here."
I struggled. Not from discomfort—far from it—but because being suddenly smothered in divine cleavage wasn't exactly the solution I'd expected.
"I-It's just a bug, I know, I'm just—!"
"Shhh." She rocked me gently. "You're delicate. It's not your fault."
"I'm not—!"
But then I stopped.
Because, honestly?
It was really hard to stay panicked with her scent in my lungs and her heart beating against my cheek.
She held me like that for a moment longer.
Then let go.
And kicked the bed.
One swift, vertical strike from her bare foot.
And the entire bedframe exploded.
Splinters. Velvet. Shattered posts. The mattress folded in on itself as wood crunched like dry leaves under her heel. The fly flew off in a panic.
She pointed a claw at the ruins.
"You failed him," she said to the bed, voice scathing. "You let him be afraid."
"…Vilo, that was our only bed."
"Then we'll have a better one made."
"We can't just destroy furniture every time a bug shows up!"
"We can when it makes you look that frightened."
I stared at her.
She looked genuinely offended on my behalf.
"I wasn't that scared—"
"You were practically vibrating."
"I wasn't—!"
"You looked like you'd seen a draconic specter."
"That's not even—!"
"You whimpered," she said.
And then…
She smiled.
Not her usual cold grin. Not a smirk. A smile.
"Cute."
I froze.
She reached forward, grabbing me by the waist and lifting me as easily as a pillow.
"No more bugs tonight," she whispered.
"Where are we sleeping?"
She turned toward the sofa, still holding me bridal-style.
"Until the new bed is forged… you're mine. And you're not sleeping out of arm's reach."
She curled herself around me on the couch, her wings forming a shelter, her tail wrapping loosely around my ankle.
And the fly, wherever it had gone, never dared to show itself again.