In the King's private chamber, deep within the inner palace, steam rose in gentle swirls from the marble bath carved with ancient runes. Golden dragon statues, mouths agape, poured steady streams of hot, perfumed water into the tub where Isis lay immersed to the shoulders. His body glistened, muscles relaxed but his brow furrowed.
The chamber was dimly lit by flickering oil lamps, casting dancing shadows along the polished stone walls.
Beside the tub, his loyal Eunuch Agnes stood dutifully, fingers moving in slow circles as he massaged the king's scalp with fragrant oils.
"Your Majesty seems tense," Agnes murmured, his voice low and careful. "Why is that?"
Isis exhaled slowly, his eyes still closed, hand lazily stirring the bubbling surface of the water.
"I have a kingdom to run, Agnes," he replied, voice calm but edged with weight.
"And you've been running it well, Majesty," the eunuch said gently. "But if I may… what troubles you tonight?"
Isis was silent for a long moment. Then he opened his eyes, the golden hue sharp and thoughtful.
"Too many things are unraveling… allies growing distant, nobles growing bold… and water, the very thing that gives life, now brings death," he muttered, almost to himself.
Agnes paused, hand stilling in the kings damp hair
"Shall I summon the royal Alchemist?" He asked
"That won't be necessary"
"Every clan has sought alliance with the Hittites. Enemies are beginning to believe we've lost our touch," Isis muttered, eyes fixed on the ripples of water dancing around him.
"Still no solution to the immediate extinction that threatens our kind."
He sighed, deep and tired, the weight of his crown etched into every breath.
Agnes stood close, his hands respectfully behind his back. "What can I do, Your Majesty?"
Isis ran a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back as he leaned into the edge of the golden tub. "What can I do, Agnes?" he echoed bitterly.
Agnes hesitated for a moment. Then, with practiced grace, he offered softly,
"Perhaps… a small indulgence? Something to remind Your Majesty of his power."
"Agnes—" he began to protest.
"You can't keep starving yourself."
The air in the king's private chambers thickened with the scent of warm oils and Jasmine as Isis stepped out of the bath, water cascading down his toned frame. His wet hair clung to his neck as he ran a hand through his hair as the maids rushed forward, draping the embroidered robe over his shoulders.
"You are right, Agnes," he finally admitted, voice low and wearied. "But I fear no pleasure can drown the silence of an empty cradle."
Agnes kept his expression neutral but nodded.
"Still, Your Majesty must keep strong. The Kingdom are watching… waiting. And your people cannot afford a weary king."
With a single, elegant clap of his hands, the chamber doors creaked open.
A soft chime filled the room as a woman entered her movements calculated, slow, and dripping with seduction. Her skin glowed under the flickering light of the sconces. A sheer, bejeweled midriff top clung to her form, and a silk skirt with high slits revealed long, smooth legs with every step. Gold anklets jingled with each movement, announcing her presence
She bowed, eyes demure yet teasing beneath long lashes. "Your Highness."
Isis gave her a glance, unreadable. His eyes, though tired, gleamed faintly with restrained amusement…
"Let's hope," he muttered as he stepped further into the room, "you're more than just a distraction."
Agnes cast a lingering glance at the courtesan, a silent command passed between them like a whisper. The woman gave a slow, knowing nod, then turned her full attention to the king as Agnes glided out of the chamber, the heavy doors closing behind her with a soft, decisive thud.
Isis exhaled, his robe slightly parted, his skin still damp beneath the folds. He lounged on his cushion chair terribly bored.
"Come," he said, voice like velvet over steel.
The woman obeyed, her hips swaying subtly with each step as she approached. A coy giggle escaped her lips as she lowered herself onto his lap, clearly believing she had enchanted the monarch at last. Her fingers trailed his chest through the open robe, but he didn't flinch, just watched her with a gaze that grew darker by the second.
He reached up, brushing his hand through her hair slowly, rhythmically, almost affectionately. She hummed, leaning into the touch, her lashes fluttering.
Then his hand stopped.
Without warning, he gripped the back of her neck and tilted her head, exposing the delicate curve of her throat. Before she could process it, his eyes flickered—first gold, then a deep, crimson.
And then fangs..
And without a word, he lowered his mouth to her neck and sank his fangs into her skin.
The woman's body tensed, her breath caught in her throat, and a quiet gasp escaped her lips. She clutched at his robe instinctively, but he held her firmly, drawing the blood with steady precision. Her movements grew weaker, her legs trembling slightly as the strength drained from her.
Isis didn't stop until the warmth of her blood had dulled the haze in his mind. Then, as if he'd drunk his fill, he pushed her away gently but carelessly. Her limp body slumped onto the cushions, unconscious, her pulse barely fluttering.
As if on cue, the doors opened with a quiet creak.
Agnes stepped inside, his eyes scanning the scene without a trace of surprise. he glanced at the pale woman, then at the king now sitting straighter, the edge of his hunger dulled.
He gave a subtle nod of approval.
"You seem better now, Your Majesty."
***
The manor was quiet except for the soft clink of silver against ceramic. Lord Typhon sat at the long table, a simple yet refined brunch laid before him. He sliced into the slab of steak with ease, the inside still pink and warm just the way he liked it.
He brought the bite to his mouth and chewed slowly, his expression unreadable.
The door creaked open and in stepped Eugene, ever composed, holding a folder of parchment and a slight frown on his face.
"You're eating early," Eugene noted, glancing briefly at the plate.
Typhon didn't look up. "It's late for breakfast, early for lunch. Call it compromise."
Eugene smirked faintly. "And halfway cooked meat. I suppose compromise is becoming a habit."
Typhon finally looked up, eyes sharp. "I enjoy my food with life still in it. Unlike the reports you bring always dull, always dead."
Eugene stepped forward, setting the folder beside the plate. "At least one of us has taste."
Typhon ignored the jab, slicing another piece. "Speak."
"The merchant tallies are in. And the human… she handled herself well with Asahel."
A pause.
Typhon chewed slower this time. "Mm."
"She shows promise," Eugene added. "Even for someone so... fragile-looking."
"She'll break or she won't," Typhon muttered, eyes on his food. "Either way, I'll know soon enough."
Eugene nodded, then added with a dry smile, "Shall I tell the cooks you were pleased?"
Typhon stabbed another slice.
"No. Let them wonder."
Typhon took another bite of his barely cooked steak, chewing slowly as his gaze drifted toward the window, then back to the parchment Eugene had placed beside him.
Without looking up, he muttered,
"Quite a cloth you gave her."
Eugene, standing with his hands folded behind his back, responded smoothly,
"Indeed, milord. It fit the occasion."
Typhon arched a brow. "She looked like a lost page boy."
A faint smirk tugged at Eugene's lips. "A well-dressed one, at least. It was the only thing that wouldn't get in the way if she were made to work."
Typhon grunted. "Or run."
"Precisely," Eugene replied. "Function over form. Besides, I assumed you preferred her looking less... delicate."
Typhon finally looked up, eyes gleaming faintly. "She doesn't look delicate. She looks like trouble wrapped in borrowed clothes."
Eugene inclined his head slightly. "Shall I send her another set?"
Typhon leaned back in his chair. "No. Let her earn her next one."