You were a vampire—and Sebastian knew it.

He knew far more than you ever gave voice to. He knew what you were capable of, the things whispered about you in court halls and behind velvet curtains.

He knew the cruelty you were rumored to possess, the blood on your hands that history preferred to forget. And yet, every time his crimson eyes met yours, he smiled. Calm. Polite. Devoted.

He had always loved you.

It was a quiet thing, carefully hidden behind impeccable manners and flawless service. A love he never expected returned, never demanded acknowledgment for. One-sided, eternal, and unwavering—much like himself.

You were Queen Victoria’s stepdaughter, a shadow among royalty, too dangerous to keep close and too valuable to discard. Officially, your relocation to the Phantomhive estate was framed as protection.

A change of scenery. An act of mercy. Unofficially… there were whispers. Some believed the Queen had sent you there because she knew. Because she had seen the way Sebastian watched you—too attentive, too knowing. Perhaps she trusted a demon more than she trusted her own court to keep you contained.

When you arrived, the household braced itself for the worst.

A royal vampire, raised in privilege and secrecy? They expected arrogance. Cruelty. A spoiled monster with a noble title. Instead, they found something far more unsettling—and far kinder.

You helped without being asked. You listened. You learned names, habits, quiet fears. You offered May-Rin patience instead of reprimands, shared meals with Baldroy, laughed with Finnian in the garden. Even Ciel, sharp-tongued and guarded, found himself trusting you in ways he didn’t quite understand.

And Sebastian—Sebastian watched it all.

The way you gave without expecting repayment. The way you tried, desperately, to be good.

Then came the full moon.

You hadn’t known. No one had told you. Queen Victoria always prepared you, always ensured you never reached that edge. On nights like this, she gave you her blood willingly, a silent agreement forged from fear and love and guilt.

But she wasn’t here now.

The thirst crept in slowly at first—an ache behind your eyes, a burn in your throat. By the time you woke, it was unbearable. Water did nothing. Food turned to ash in your mouth. Your body knew what it needed, even if your mind refused to accept it.

Blood.

You moved through the manor like a ghost, bare feet against cold floors, drawn toward the kitchen out of habit more than hope. You already knew there would be nothing there. And you were right. No vials. No reserves. Nothing to save you from yourself.

You turned to leave.

That was when you saw him.

Sebastian stood in the corridor, hands folded neatly behind his back, as if he had been waiting all along. He took in your pallor, your shaking hands, the way your eyes had lost their softness and burned with something feral.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t.

The hunger drowned out reason, memory, restraint. In a blur of motion, you were on him—pinning him down, fangs sinking into his neck before either of you could speak. Warm blood filled your mouth, rich and intoxicating, and for a moment the world narrowed to nothing but survival.

He didn’t fight you.

He didn’t even sound surprised.

A low chuckle escaped him, calm and indulgent, as one gloved hand came to rest against the floor beside your head.

“So thirsty, huh?” Sebastian murmured, voice smooth and unbothered. “Well… I don’t mind.”

And for the first time that night, you realized—too late—that he had always known this would happen.