Robert wished he could lash out at Serenya for breaking the glass, but the unnerving curve of Zareth's mouth—the kind of smile that promised both ruin and mercy—stole the strength from his tongue. Against his better judgment, Robert forced a smile of his own, though it trembled like a poorly fitted mask.
Determined to get this over with, he fumbled inside his satchel and pulled out the shard of glass he had retrieved earlier. His hands shook slightly as he held it up, the surface faintly glowing under the dim torchlight.
"This is the sample of witherbane, Your Imperial Majesty," Robert said carefully, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.
Zareth's crimson eyes flicked to the object with the weight of a predator sizing up prey. He strode forward with the effortless authority of one who expected the world to kneel at his approach. His gloved hand closed around the glass, his touch deliberate, languid, yet commanding enough that Robert instinctively stepped back.
"This might've been what caused their deaths, Your Majesty… but I'm not entirely sure yet," Robert added hastily, pushing his slipping glasses up the bridge of his nose as if that flimsy act of composure could shield him from the Emperor's scrutiny.
Zareth's gaze hardened as he examined the shard. He remembered this scent, this bitter trace—it clung like rot in his memory. The same poison his aunt had once tried to lace his veins with, a silent weapon born of betrayal. A memory of searing pain licked at the edges of his mind, but he smothered it, sliding the glass back into Robert's palm with a sharp motion that dismissed the matter entirely.
When he turned, his attention fixed upon Serenya. She stood there, eyes wide, lips parted as though still trying to grasp the fragments of what had just happened. The girl always wore her innocence openly, like a fragile ribbon on display, and it excited him—because it made him want to ruin and shield it all at once.
Without another word, he led her out. They exited through a different corridor, the air thicker here, the stone walls whispering of secrets.
Abruptly, Zareth halted. Serenya, lost in her own thoughts, collided softly into his back. The impact jolted her, her small gasp breaking the silence.
His head turned, eyes narrowing like scarlet blades cutting through the light.
"What has you so lost in your thoughts, little dove? And what, exactly, happened in there?"
Serenya's fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt trying to wrung her head around it . She pouted, gaze darting away as she tried to stitch her confusion into words.
"I don't know… I just wanted to look closely at the glass. Then suddenly it felt hot, and ,it broke in my hand."
Zareth stepped closer, ignoring the councilmen bustling nearby and tripping at his presence. His hand rose, brushing back a stray lock of her hair, the touch deceptively gentle against the authority lacing his every movement. His voice dropped low, silken yet edged with command.
"It's alright."
But his eyes told a different story , watchful, calculating, he had his suspicions but didn't want to say it yet .
The head of the Council, alerted to the Emperor's presence, came hurrying with her entourage. She lowered her head in a deep bow.
"Your Imperial Majesty, Your Highness," she greeted, her voice trembling with the weight of what Zareth might be doing here .
Zareth barely spared her a glance. His words fell like cold steel.
"Get me a carriage."
The councilwoman quickly nodded, signaling for one of her men to fetch the royal carriage that remained stationed for visiting nobles. Still, curiosity flickered across her features. How had the Emperor and his companion arrived without one? But her tongue, wisely, held the question captive.
Moments later, the black-lacquered carriage, gilded in gold, rolled forward. Zareth's eyes cut to the councilwoman again, his tone sharp enough to slice through her composure.
"I want Prince Kael brought to the palace immediately."
She bowed once more, the order etching confusion in her mind. What had the prince done this time? She dared not ask.
Zareth turned to Serenya, offering his hand in a gesture that looked courtly . He helped her inside, then followed, his presence consuming the enclosed space like a storm pressed into human form.
As the carriage lurched forward, Serenya's curiosity surfaced.
"Why didn't you just teleport us back?"
Zareth leaned back, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they glowed darker, the hue of wine spilled on black velvet. His mouth curved into that unbearable smirk of his.
"My, are you missing being in my arms already? All you need to do is ask."
Her cheeks flushed crimson, heat spreading like wildfire across her skin.
"I'm not!" she protested, clutching at the folds of her dress forgetting the pain she felt on her hand as if it was almost none existent.
His laugh was soft, mocking, dripping with wicked amusement.
"There's no need to be so shy . I'm simply… thirsty."
His tongue brushed across one fang, slow and deliberate, as if he knew exactly how the sight unsettled her.
Serenya swallowed hard. "Why… why am I the only one you can drink from?"
Zareth tugged off his gloves with deliberate ease. His hands elegant yet lethal—revealed the blackened veins crawling beneath his pale skin. He tilted them so she could see the corruption threading through him.
"I don't know yet," he said, voice low and rich, "but your blood is… addictive."
The crooked smile that followed was sharp, sinful, and entirely self-assured.
"You should try drinking from someone else," Serenya suggested worriedly . She couldn't be his blood bank forever but upon feeling Zareth's gaze on her as she had suggested once again that he goes to another woman she muttered under his gaze. "Or—or maybe animal blood?"
The way his eyes narrowed shut her up instantly. The weight of his stare burned hotter than any flame.
"Never." The word was absolute, ringing with an unshakable finality. "Not when I have the best blood seated before me."
His voice lowered, almost intimate, as he leaned forward, fingers tilting her chin up.
"There's no need for that worried look, little dove. I'll make sure you're well-fed before I drink from you."
His smile returned, wolfish, dangerous—yet devastatingly captivating. It wasn't a reassurance. It was a promise, the kind that bound her whether she wished it or not.
And though Serenya's innocence wanted to protest, her racing heartbeat betrayed her. Zareth heard it, savored it, and his smirk deepened, satisfied that no matter what she said… her body already belonged to him.