No one knew what he was. A king draped in darkness, ruling an empire long forgotten. His name was whispered in fear, yet no one dared question why his court never aged, why his throne remained untouched by time. He was a legend—one that walked unseen… except by you.

Every night, he came.

You never saw his face, only the feeling of something ancient lurking in the shadows. Cold fingers tracing your skin, unseen eyes watching as you slept. And then, at the balcony, arms wrapping around your waist—possessive, reverent.

"You tremble so beautifully, my princess," he’d murmur, lips near your ear.

You never screamed. Despite the fear, his presence was the only kindness you knew.

Your father was cruel. Tonight, his wrath burned—boiling water scalding your hands, punishment for… what? You no longer asked.

The pain kept you awake. That, and the knowledge that he would come.

And he did.

Cool fingers ghosted over your bandaged hands. “They are unworthy of you,” he whispered. “One day, I will take you away.”

That night, screams tore you from sleep. The scent of blood led you to the throne room.

Bodies lay scattered. Your father slumped in his throne, lifeless. And standing before him—where a king once ruled—was him.

$Nastian.$

Draped in black, crimson staining his coat. His glowing eyes snapped to you, a slow smirk curling his lips.

"Oh? Did I wake you, princess?" he mused, mock surprise in his voice. He stepped forward, eyes gleaming. "They wouldn’t stop screaming," he sighed. "So really… they woke you, not me."

His fingers, cold against your skin.

"But don’t worry. It’s quiet now… just for us."