*Naska*
Naska easily carried the silver tray, a skill honed through years of practice. At this point, she didn't even think about the possibility of dropping it. Still, she couldn't help but steal a worried glance at the little boy. He was struggling to keep up. His little feet worked harder to stay at her side despite her shortening strides. But never once did he break. Never complained.
He kept pushing. Something about that made her chest swell with pride, proud that he refused to appear weak.
Just like her.
Her eyes widened before her hand moved. Grabbing the glass of blood before it could fall.
"Careful, honey." She toned, pushing the cup away from the ledge. A splash of wet metal wafted to her nose as she did. The glass fogged up, still warm–human blood. It was a rare treat meant only for those who could afford it or royals. Something Mykhol dined on every night if he didn't want to take from her.
A taste she had never experienced. Naska licked her fangs, tempted by the sweet aroma. Human blood, she had heard, was like drinking coffee without the aftertaste. It was different from cow, pig, or other cheap substitutes. This flavor was reserved for the wealthiest; most vampires like her would never even see, let alone taste, a cup. The expense of employing a human donor was too high, especially considering how rare humans were in Nochten. And those who were available were either donors or serving the kingdom. All claimed.
How easy it would be to take a sip! Her gaze lingered on the cup until she sensed his stare. She straightened up, discovering his burgundy eyes already fixed on her. A wave of relief washed over her, brightening her smile.
It was a good thing she checked when she did. A disaster was averted. That cup would have smashed and littered the hall with glass, not to mention the waste of blood.
And Mykhol would be livid. She didn't have to think too hard about what kind of face he'd make if word got to him. He would be rough with her.
She swallowed, pushing her thick hair behind her shoulder. Burno, meanwhile, nodded, shifting his shaggy hair. Affirming, he understood. And was already learning from his mistake. He always was. Adjusting. Adapting. He had his father's cleverness.
If only Mykhol would just talk to him, he could see that for himself and–
"Yes, Mama." Bruno bowed his head. His voice was tempered and sweet. Quiet—not that he was ever loud—but Naska felt proud to have such a well-behaved son.
So does Mykhol. Though he'd never openly show it–as much as she hated that. No, he knew she couldn't.
Not until Ana was out of the way he could openly claim them both as his–
Naska clenched the side of her tunic as she struggled to suppress the anger rising within her, forcing herself to calm down once more.
"After this, we'll go see your grandpa and grandma." Naska went quickly, like many times before. A habit of reporting what they heard. But this time, Bruno rocked to a stop.
"Why?"He clenched the tray closer, looking down. "Do we have to?"
"Do we?" She turned around in astonishment. Since when did Bruno ever question her? "Of course we do. You need to tell them what Her Majesty and Empress were up to while I was gone. Obviously." Why else would she leave him behind with that OAF?
Bruno furrowed his brow, gripping the tray tighter, his hands curling around the edges as he stared down.
"I don't like the blond lady." He spoke to the floor quietly but with an edge of weariness. "She kept staring at me."
"Did she?" Naska's lip twitched, immediately recalling the giant. Her disdain for the brute was only growing. Every experience with her was unpleasant.
And now she was bothering her kid? She clenched a fist, grinding her fangs. Suddenly, she found it a nice idea to punch right into her broad smile.
No one messed with her kid. Not if she could help it.
But she was a queen. Worse, a giant.
And Mykhol wouldn't like it if she did. Naska felt the anger dissipate within her. It wasn't fair. She wanted to–
She inhaled deeply and observed Bruno, who was watching and absorbing her every action.
No, she needed to maintain her composure.
"Yeah, I don't like her either." Naska finally summarized but nudged him forward. They should have finished by now, but she kept making stops for him, checking on him. It was causing them to lag longer returning from the kitchen.
"She likes Ana, though," Bruno remarked, like a fact. "A lot."
Naska raised an eyebrow at that. "She likely wants to eat her." It was meant as a joke, but Bruno's expression shifted abruptly, turning pale.
"No!" Bruno cried, face aghast, mouth wide to show baby fangs. "No—she can't. I have to stop her." He looked ready to run. Taking off in a blind hurry. Naska had to snag the back of his collar to jerk him back.
"I was joking," Naska scuffed. Was he that naive? He was only a boy, sure. But she thought he could at least find it funny, right? But she dropped it.
As something new now annoyed her.
"What did I tell you? Don't call her that." Naska's jaw tightened as she unclenched her hand around Bruno. Her fingers were forced to uncurl. "It's Empress Anastasia. Not, 'Ana'." She corrected.
They had been over this before. She had repeatedly drilled into his head–warned him. Yet, he still let it slip. Or was he refusing to listen to her?
He didn't help his case by continuing. "Why not?" Bruno blinked, eyes wide and new. Interpreting her actions. Seeking answers."Ana said I could-"
"What did I just say?" Naska raised her hand, causing him to flinch. She immediately felt a pang of regret at the sight.
But he needed to understand. Ana was not their friend. She wasn't some good-hearted fairy godmother or whatever he saw her to be.
She was their enemy, an obstacle to their happiness, keeping them from being a true family.
The slap threat was enough to make the boy simper back down. Bruno looked to his feet, defeated. But not before he scuffed the ground with a protesting kick.
"But Ana is nice-" His words were heavy, wavering as if he still couldn't believe her. Still couldn't see Ana as anything but a monster. His youth closed his eyes to what she truly was.
Naska only shook her head, clicking her tongue, but her anger subsided. She just wished he would accept it now rather than hurt it later. But he was too young to understand. Too young to know how the world was. How much it meant to her, to the both of them.
He will not understand until he is older. Naska could only see that he would agree to how things were.
"She's not nice." Finally, she spoke with a heavy tone, selecting her words carefully to bring this to a conclusion and ensure he understood.
If he just could.
Why was he so fascinated with that wretch? No, a better question: why did anyone like her? She couldn't see any redeemable quality. Not with that eye sore of silver hair. Her dirty blood.
"Don't be fooled." Naska crouched to his level, hoping this would help convey her message. "Her Empress is a snake. And snakes bite." She bit hard at the air. Snapping fangs with a click.
Bruno flinched at the action, and she stilled. Again, hating to scare the boy. But she had to. It was the only way he'd listen.
Her lips then relaxed into a sorrowful smile.
"I don't want you to be hurt." Naska cupped his face to gently kiss each chubby cheek before pulling him back. Looking him over. "Do you understand?"
Bruno bowed his head as if taking in her words. "Yes, Mama." Perhaps it was finally getting to him? Naska could only hope so. It would be a relief if he did.
The quicker, the better. Naska rose to her full height.
"Good, then-"
Both turned their heads at the sound of cursing coming bounding up the hall. It was loud and clear, followed by a harsh slap of sandals echoing against the white walls.
Who? Naska straightened her shoulders back, ushering Bruno close to her legs. Shielding him from whoever this was. Weary of their anger.
That is until she caught a whiff of pepper and tobacco. It was Mykhol. Just as she lifted, he must have seen them because he quickened his pace, charging right for them.
Was he looking for us? Naska brightened. How wonderful. Maybe he missed-
Naska's smile faded as she noticed the deep scowl on his face. Mykhol's lips were twisted at an awkward angle. His vermilion eyes burned hot and sharp. Something was off.
"What's-" Naska opened her mouth just as Mykhol snatched her wrist, yanking her forward to stumble.
Bruno immediately dashed with his arms, jumping in front of her. "Mama!"
Mykhol just growled.
"You, scram." Mykhol bared his fangs. Bruno froze, dumbfounded, with his hands still up.
It only made Mykhol angrier. "What are you doing? Hurry up!"
Still frozen, Bruno looked up at her, lost and unsure what to do. He wanted to protect her but didn't know how, and he didn't know how to help her. However, his persistent stance triggered something deep within the 19-year-old, pushing him to his breaking point.
"I said beat it!" Mykhol threw back his hand over his head, about to strike.
No! "Stop-" Naska abruptly jumped in to shield her son. It was one thing for her to threaten him, but it was another for Mykhol to do so. Something within her believed he wouldn't stop at threats; he would hit him.
And she didn't want Mykhol to hit him. It felt too unkind, too cruel. She wanted Bruno only to see him as a good and kind Father. Loving.
And not this.
"Honey," Naska quickly turned, feeling Mykhol's cold, heated stare burning into her back. He was seething, managing to restrain himself only for her sake. However, she didn't have much time before his temper would flare up again. She had to act fast.
"Go and return the tray to the kitchen, okay?" She gripped his shoulders before Brunoglanced up. Eyeing Mykhol in silence before finally nodding at her.
"Yes, Mama," Bruno went solemnly, bowing his head obediently.
Naska sighed in relief. "Good boy."
She barely felt her lips touch his forehead before he started again. Jerking her forward with a violent tug. Her feet barely stopped slipping out on the smooth floor before she had time to glimpse back at him. Mykhol charged back the way he came. His grip squeezed her to the very bones—something cracking under the pressure.
Naska winced involuntarily. He was hurting her.
"My lord, my writs-" She swallowed, feeling tears well in her eyes, but fought back the urge. "Please, that hurts-"
Mykhol, however, was lost, mumbling to himself. "Waste of time." He seemed focused on something invisible before them. Only stopping to kick open the door to one of Ana's empty rooms.
"My lord, wait-" She spun, landing against the edge of the gold and white futon with a breath-stopping umphf. Her teeth chattered against the frigid air.
They were in one of the many forgotten rooms of Ana's wing. A thick layer of dust coated the surfaces and floor. The fireplace was still, long unlit. There wasn't even a supply of firewood.
No one was expected to use this room, nor did anyone want to. A heavy musk of old wood and damp salt filled the space, making her want to gag. This was not the place she ever wanted to be.
And never with Mykhol. But he was still mumbling to himself, pushing her backward onto the bed.
"Take off your clothes." He demanded. Pulling at his tunic. Frustration drew on his face as he grew more urgent to undue his ties and strings. But failing. His hands were rowing numb from the cold. His lips were wavering as he spit curses, but it was useless.
Naska could only watch him for so long before she had to help. Her hands trembled, her wrist stinging from his assault–likely to bruise a dark purple. But for now, she forgot it, propping onto her elbows, her voice catching–
"My lord, let me-" But the words died on her lips. Frozen as she glimpsed up. Not prepared for the sight above her.
His face wasn't contorted with anger. There was no scowl, no fang. It was quite the opposite. His vermillion eyes were obscured, dulled beneath a veil of tears. The sharp lines of his jaw drooped. His trembling lips parted in a shallow gasp, but not to shout or curse. Those were tears. He was crying.
Naska froze. She had never–never–seen him like this.
The image both burned into her memory, mesmerizing her. This was her Mykhol–the one who could command a room effortlessly. His smile disarming Lords and Ladies alike, his words precise and powerful. He always dressed in his finest furs and silks, tailored to perfection. Ever handsome. Even in anger, she could forgive him for his terrible elegance. His fury was cutting but clean. He was power. Never faltering.
Even when Ana spurred him–when he would take his temper out on her after–he was never completely gone. His poise was still there. He could come back. Smooth his hair out, adjust his rings, smile like nothing could touch him. It never did. Not really.
But yet–
Tears were bulging against his crimson lashes, breaking and trailing down paths of his pale cheeks. It was stunning. Breaking. Rendering her breathless. Unable to stop watching. This was not his anger. Mykhol was breaking. As if something had cut too deep, finding that part inside she didn't even see.
Mykhol wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He seemed oblivious to her, his mind lost, eyes shadowed by something unseen.
"Fucking made me a fool." He mumbled, voice cracking as he pushed hair, strands wet and damp on his forehead. His eyes darted, fogged over, searching for something not there. He didn't even seem to know where he was anymore. His eyes glossed over the empty room. Swallowing. Breathing sharply through his fangs with his shoulders clenched in.
"My lord, What's upset you so-" Naska whispered, reaching up to him instinctively. But he hid his face. His hands clamped over his eyes and mouth as if ashamed and unable to bear himself.
"Why do I keep letting her get the better of me?" His voice shattered, trembling out each word. "I should have never-"
He folded, collapsing against her. His sobs muffled against her, her muslin tunic dampening beneath his tears. Naska's arms lifted on their own, wrapping tightly around his shoulders. She could feel him as he succumbed–tremors wrecked his body, shaking his shoulders violently.
Mykhol–her lover–her only one. He was weeping.
"My lord!" She gasped but he only rocked against another wave of sobs.
"I–get away from me!" he choked, feebly pushing at her arms. But weakly. The vampire who could command entire rooms with a glance couldn't even muster the strength in his arms. His rage drained down into nothing but grief, strength abandoned. Angry, hot tears were falling, staining her tunic as he wept.
Naska only held him tighter.
He cursed into her shoulder, his voice brittle and sharp with each new sob. His skin burned hot against hers. Tears still fell into her. Mykhol's claws gripped and tore at her sleeves, clinging despite his protests.
"It was just a stupid scarf." He rasped. "All she had to do was look at it- I just wanted to show her how much I cared for her–that I loved-" His voice flattered, words crashing and falling mid-sentence.
Naska's eyes flickered, but she said nothing. The name was all but said, but something told her she already knew.
She'd always known.
But even then, she resisted the twist in her stomach, pushing the thought away. She wouldn't believe it. Not when the truth could still be written in her mind. Not when Mykhol was like this–vulnerable, open, and hers.
Her hand glided gently down his back, tracing the curve of his spine. Touch light but deliberate. She whispered. "My lord, it's okay. I'm here."
He flinched, tears quickening. "No, I don't want you! I want-"
Words died into another sob, his spark dying into an ember. He buried himself back into her shoulder once more, and she held him all the tighter. Rocking him slowly, lips brushing against his temple. She called his name, softly, voice tender, reverent. Each time like announcing a vow–not to him anymore. But to herself.
Because this was it.
He was broken. Raw. Showing her a side he showed no one. Not the lords who followed him, not the court that praised him. Not even Ana.
Just her. She was the only one he allowed to see this. His vulnerability, his pain. There was no mask left–no smile to charm. No polished words, no glittering gems or jewels. Only this raw, bleeding version of him, cradled in her arms.
And that meant something. Everything.
"Why doesn't she notice how much I care?" He rasped weakly between sobs. "Why can't she see that I've been in love with–"
"Shh, it's okay. I'm right here." Her fingers smoothed down his damp hair, lightly working the wild strands. She breathed him in–the scent of sweat mixed with pepper and tobacco, his very essence. The tears staining her skin were like gentle kisses. Promises that drew her closer.
She held him because she could. Because she was the one he chose.
It was proof. Proof he'd never have to say aloud because he didn't need to show it. Naska understood. She always understood. Mykhol didn't need words. Not when he gave her himself like this.
He could pretend for everyone. Rage and push, throw himself after whatever ghost he thought he'd want. But in the end, it was her arms he'd draw back to.
And she would stand by him through it all. Through anything.
"I will always be here," she murmured., lips brushing the words against his temples. Meaning it. Promising it. Even though he was hurting, a part of her was happy. Relishing it. Every sob, every shudder, was a song to her. Because Mykhol was here. Not out there. But with her.
Needing her. Choosing her.
For the first time in forever, he was so open with her. And because of that, she took it all. The significance of his guard lowered at long last. This was a testament to her patience and loyalty. She had his love.
Ana, no, no one could understand him like this. See him like this. It was her's to keep.
Naska's heart pounded as she continued ministering gentle kisses and touches to the crying teen, each one reaffirming her place. Her worth. Every kiss sealing a truth in her mind. He loves me. He loves us. He always will.
Our love is only going to grow stronger from here.
If there was ever a moment of doubt, of fear–this was her proof. Mykhol loved her. Loved them.
My Mykhol. My love.
"I'll never leave you," She softly vowed, her voice shaking with devotion.
But then Mykhol stirred. His face, stained in tears, lifted. Eyes flowing to the crack in the door. They never closed it.
He stiffened, and her heart skipped. Did someone see them? Was someone there? She lifted her head, following his gaze. But all she caught was a shadow—a brief flash of something, more dark than color, and maybe a soft hint of burgundy.
But then, it was gone.
--
*Bruno*
Bruno was quiet as he left the door. Quick. Like a mouse. No one saw him. No one knew where he was. Unseen.
Good. He liked that.
It was easy to steal back to Ana's room. No one saw. No one knew.
It was still. Quiet. It was like no one was there. That is until Bruno saw the flash of familiar red sprawled out on her blue futon.
"Ana?" He tested. Nothing. Silence. Bruno quietly stole closer. Ana was softly sleeping. Her lower lip was out, and there was a slight snore. The petite vampire was out. Exhausted. She hadn't even removed her shoes–just laid back on the covers.
Bruno watched her sleep. Good. Easy breathes. In and out. Inhale, then exhale on repeat.
Ana scrunched her nose and turned. She curled up on her side, pulling the shawl closer—a red cloth cocoon.
Cold? Was she cold? Ana wouldn't answer. She was dead asleep. But now what? He worried.
He blinked. Thinking. Then, an idea!
"A blanket! She needs a blanket." Bruno turned, looking for a spare. There by the fire–Bruno dashed, taking it without a second thought. Thanks to the fire, the blanket was warm to the touch.
Good! He nodded, pleased.
Mama must have put it here. Bruno gathered it in his arms. Glad she did.
Ana can be warm. With this thought, he prepared to go–
But stepping, the fire gave a loud crackle, and an ember spark shot up. Lighting the room with a funny color
"Oh?" Bruno turned to see a log tumble down the pile. The fire was growing smaller. It wouldn't be long before the wood was gone, and the room would be cold.
No, not good.
"Ana doesn't like the cold." Bruno noticed. Ana seemed very sensitive to it. So the fire couldn't go out. The room had to stay warm.
Keep the fire. He pulled one of the logs out from the pail. But it was big, and his hands were too small. Wood too heavy. A good splash of ash flew up as he nearly missed the heath. But quickly, the fire found the new piece and ate it. Filling the room with a new rush of hot air.
Good, now Ana will be– Something caught his eye, sticking out among the ash. It wasn't grey or black–white. Curious, he didn't hesitate. Hands dug up the ash until he touched something.
It wasn't wood.
Bruno furrowed his brows, flipping over what was…cloth? It was stained in ash, and its' edges were charred. But the fire stopped thanks to the massive embroidery in the center. He could recognize a shape– a heart in red. But something was inside it.
Recently, Ana started teaching him to read. Bruno couldn't read words just yet, but he could remember things. Shapes. Letters. And he could recognize some stitched-in inside.
"A+M." he traced the embroidery before something stirred behind him. Looking up, it was from the bed.
Ana's voice was soft, thanks to sleep, as she came too, moving to rub her eyes. "Bruno?" She slowly stretched, yawning with fangs, before smacking her lips. Doe-wide eyes blinked up at him warmly.
"What are you doing over there?"
Bruno quickly tucked the half-burnt fabric into his pocket, hands shaking a little. Not sure why he did. He wasn't stealing. But it felt bad. Like something Ana shouldn't know.
He turned to find her. "I was feeding the fire. I didn't want it to die."
"Die?" She lingered on the word, almost not understanding, but her brows furrowed after. Concerned.
"Well, it's dangerous," Ana said, sitting up. "No, I don't like you so close to the fire." She waved her hand to come near. "Get away from there."
She's a snake. His mother's voice called from the back of his head. Don't trust her. The words reverberated in his ears. But how? A voice would always call back–his voice.
How was Ana dangerous?
There wasn't anything snake-like about Ana. She was gentle. Warm. Even now, Bruno could see her perplexed but patient smile. She was always smiling. Talking to him. Asking about him. Checking on him.
She cared for him.
Since when did snakes care for anyone but themselves?
No, Ana wasn't the snake here. Mama was wrong. He couldn't believe her. But there was someone who was.
He hurt Mama. Bruno had watched. Had seen. Always watching.
Lord Mykhol was the snake. Not Ana. The mean man.
Bad.
"Bruno?" Ana, meanwhile, moved to stand. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He drew up a smile. One that was easy to make for her. But one he didn't like. Because it was the same smile. HIS smile. Bad man.
"Then, come where it is safe." Ana beamed, obvious, not commanding, never demanding, but asking.
And he couldn't help but want to for her.
"Yes, Ana," His tiny feet happily shuffled over, taking her hand. Touching her cool fingers made him think back to the fire–the little heart ran in his mind. A thought jumped into his head.
"Ana?" He peered up. Asking. " Does your name start with the letter 'A'?"
Ana immediately brightened."My, yes, it does! What a smart boy!" She tussled his hair. "Did you figure that out by yourself?" She praised, generally impressed.
Bruno nodded. "Yes," But the glow died as a new question formed—a nervous tick in his chest.
"What about the letter M?" He asked, voice dropping.
"The letter 'M'?" Ana blinked, tapping her lip. She looked entranced for a moment. Thinking. Then, she lifted her brows with a quick bob of her head. "Well, there's my cousin Mykhol. Why, you ask?"
"Oh, nothing." Bruno stilled his smile in place, but something crawled under his skin. His fingers brushed against his pocket. Somehow, it felt heavier.
Like he figured out something he shouldn't have. Like pieces were clicking into place–a comment here, a kiss there.
But he couldn't unsee it now. Couldn't stop thinking of how Lord Mykhol smiled all teeth and shadows-mean. Yet Ana–
His pocket dragged even lower, weighted by the secret growing. No, he didn't want that to happen. Not to her. Bruno didn't know everything, but he knew Ana was good.
And Lord Mykhol was–
Bruno glanced back up at the pale vampire. Her large eyes were just watching after him, big and wide and red like a rabbit.
Ana told him in one of their lessons that rabbits and snakes don't mix. One would always eat the other.
Always.
Bruno's tiny fists curled tight. The knot in his chest wound and pulled. He didn't like it. But it wouldn't stop. Mykhol's smile slithered in his memory, dark and sharp. While Ana– Ana was too soft. Too kind. She read him stories and taught him letters. She gave him hot chocolate. She laughed when he guessed the wrong number on his fingers. Patted his head when he got them right.
No. The rabbit couldn't lose. Not this time.
"I was just wondering." he went at last, sneaking a glance back at the door. Half expecting to see Lord Mykhol appear–a dark shadow. A monster like the storybooks Ana read him.
But nothing was there. It was quiet.
However, the weight of his pocket remained. And with it, an understanding. A responsibility.
Ana was a good person, just like his mama. And good people needed to be protected like knights from Ana's stories.
Even if that knight was small. Even if it was just him. Alone.
He swallowed hard, the knot in his chest loosening just a little as he lifted his chin.
Even if they were little, knights could still protect someone. And he would do his best to protect them both as much as he could.
Bruno promised himself he would.