Hunger was a pesky thing. Creeping up when least desired and settling its demands so deep within that each breath taken was meant to steady yourself instead of pumping oxygen through the lungs.

The words pouring from your advisor's lips as he addressed you fell on deaf ears, your attention focused on the rhythmic thumping of a vein beneath the skin of his neck. How easy would it be for your fangs to pierce the delicate flesh, allowing you to drink your fill and finally sate the need gnawing at you? The temptation loomed, threatening to unravel the carefully woven facade of composure required of a sovereign.

And you would have done it too, you were new to this whole ordeal of being a vampire. However, the gentle touch of your husband's hand at the small of your back served as a comforting tether, grounding you in the present.

Only after the two of you were finally left alone in the throne room did Rian speak, threading his fingers through yours, "Breathe, my love," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "You faced the situation with grace. Tell me your needs in this moment, and I will see they are met."