She moves the food around her plate like it has personally offended her.
The fork scrapes softly against the porcelain, pushing the vegetables from one side to the other without ever lifting them. The sound is quiet, but in the silence of the dining room it echoes far louder than it should.
She hasn’t eaten a real meal in days.
Not properly.
A few bites here and there when the servants hover too long beside her chair. Enough to keep the physicians from complaining. Enough to keep the blood draws useful.
But not enough to satisfy anyone at this table.
I watch her carefully from the head of the table.
The candlelight dances across the polished wood between us, casting long shadows against the walls. The palace dining room was built for gatherings of thirty, maybe forty guests. Tonight there are only three of us.
Myself.
Xavian.
And the human girl who now belongs to my throne.
She sits halfway down the table, shoulders slightly hunched, hair falling loosely around her face as she stares down at the plate like it might bite her first.
Interesting.
Humans starve themselves when they believe it gives them control.
They forget that control was never theirs to begin with.
Xavian hasn’t said a word since the meal began.
He sits beside her, leaning back in his chair with one arm draped lazily over the armrest. Anyone else might mistake the posture for relaxation. I know better.
His silence is deliberate.
Punishment, in its own quiet way.
Every time she shifts in her seat, his eyes flick toward her briefly before sliding away again. Not angry. Not exactly.
Cold.
My brother was always more emotional than he liked to admit.
I set my glass down slowly.
The soft clink against the table is enough to draw her attention for half a second before her eyes drop back to the plate.
“You should eat.”
Her fork stops moving.
For a moment she doesn’t look up.
Then she says quietly, “I’m not hungry.”
The lie hangs between us.
Humans are terrible liars when they’re starving.
Xavian snorts softly beside her but still doesn’t speak.
I lean back slightly in my chair, studying her the way one studies a puzzle that refuses to solve itself.
“You haven’t been hungry all week,” I say calmly.
Her jaw tightens.
The fork moves again, scraping the plate just to give her something to do with her hands.
“I’m fine.”
Another lie.
She isn’t fine.
The blood draws have taken more out of her than she expected, and her body hasn’t adjusted yet. Humans need time to adapt to the rhythms of our world.
Time she clearly doesn’t want.
“Eat,” I repeat.
This time my tone leaves less room for argument.
Her eyes flick up toward me briefly.
Just long enough for me to see the defiance still burning behind them.
Good.
If she ever stops looking at me like that, I’ll know something important inside her has finally broken.
Instead of arguing, she stabs one piece of food with the fork and forces herself to swallow it.
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Progress.
Xavian watches the entire exchange without turning his head.
Still silent.
I decide to change the subject before the tension at the table becomes tedious.
“The council meeting was productive this evening.”
Neither of them respond.
I continue anyway.
“The article circulating through the city has caused… complications.”
That gets her attention.
Her hand pauses halfway to her mouth.
Ah.
So she has been listening to the servants after all.
“The humans are restless,” I say, folding my hands loosely in front of me. “Stories have a way of spreading faster than reason.”
She slowly lowers the fork back to the plate.
“What kind of complications?”
Her voice is careful.
Curious.
Trying not to sound interested.
I almost smile.
“Lockdowns,” I say simply.
The word lands heavily in the quiet room.
“Beginning tomorrow, the districts will be sealed after sunset.”
Her head lifts slightly.
“Blood donations will increase to twice a month,” I continue calmly. “Movement between work districts will require authorization passes.”
Her fork slips from her fingers and clatters softly against the plate.
Xavian finally speaks.
“Newspapers too,” he says lazily.
His voice is smooth again now, like the silence from earlier never existed.
I nod once.
“Yes.”
I glance toward her.
“Every publication printed in this city will now pass through my office before it reaches the public.”
Her expression changes.
Not fear.
Something sharper.
Anger.
Interesting.
“So you’re censoring them,” she says quietly.
I tilt my head slightly.
“I’m maintaining order.”
The difference, as always, depends on which side of power you’re standing on.
She looks back down at her plate again, but the defiance in her posture has returned in full.
Across the table, Xavian studies her like he’s watching a particularly entertaining performance.
I pick up my glass again.
“Eat,” I remind her one last time.
“Tomorrow will be a long day.”
And something tells me she’s going to make it longer.
The candlelight flickers across the table between us, casting long shadows over the untouched bread and wine. The servants prepared enough food for a proper dinner, but she hasn’t eaten more than a few bites in days.
At first I allowed it.
Humans like to believe starvation is a form of rebellion.
But rebellion becomes inconvenient when it begins to weaken the blood supply.
“Eat,” I say.
The word is calm.
Controlled.
She doesn’t look up.
“I’m not eating it.”
My patience finally thins.
“If you continue this nonsense,” I say slowly, leaning forward slightly, “I will have the physicians shove a feeding tube down your throat myself.”
Her head snaps up.
The fire in her eyes is immediate.
“I wish you would dare try.”
Across the table, Xavian groans loudly and drags a hand down his face.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he mutters.
He leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like he’s already exhausted by the conversation.
“This is ridiculous.”
His gaze flicks toward her again.
“You might as well get over it.”
Her chair scrapes violently against the floor as she stands.
“Get over it?” she snaps.
The anger in her voice is sharp enough to cut.
“You killed my friends!”
The room falls quiet.
I study her carefully.
“Friends?” I repeat.
The word feels inaccurate.
“They abandoned you, did they not?”
The accusation hits exactly where I expected.
“You wouldn’t understand!” she shouts.
I fold my hands calmly on the table.
“Then explain it to us.”
The frustration finally explodes out of her.
She throws her hands in the air with a scream that echoes through the dining hall.
“My biggest fear three weeks ago was needles!” she shouts.
Her voice cracks but she keeps going.
“Needles!”
She points angrily at her arm.
“And now look at me!”
Her breathing is uneven now.
“I lost my job, my friends, my faith, my everything!”
The silence in the room thickens.
“All because of dumbass, no-good, self-centered, ugly vampires!”
For a moment neither Xavian nor I move.
Then my brother slowly lifts his head.
He looks genuinely offended.
“You think I’m ugly?” he asks.
She stares at him like she might throw something.
Then she growls under her breath and storms out of the room.
Her footsteps echo down the hallway before the door slams somewhere in the distance.
The silence that follows is almost peaceful.
Xavian looks at me.
Then back at the door.
“In what world,” he mutters, “am I the ugly one?”
I take a slow sip of wine.
“She’ll eat eventually.”
Xavian snorts.
“Oh I’m sure.”
He leans back again, still frowning slightly.
“But I’m not letting that insult stand.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You plan to argue with her about your appearance?”
“Absolutely.”
He gestures vaguely toward the door she disappeared through.
“Did you see her tone?”
I almost smile.
Xavian stares at the door for a long moment after she leaves.
The silence stretches across the dining room, broken only by the soft crackle of the candles and the faint scrape of silverware as I finally cut into my own meal.
He exhales slowly.
“I just don’t get why humans are so attached,” he says at last.
His voice carries the same mixture of confusion and irritation he’s been holding all evening.
“They all die anyway.”
I don’t answer immediately.
Xavian continues, leaning back in his chair.
“They cling to people like it changes anything. Friends, family, faith. It all ends the same.”
I take another bite, chewing slowly before responding.
“You’re attached to people.”
His eyes flick toward me.
“Me, for example.”
He scoffs immediately.
“That’s different.”
I don’t argue.
I simply continue eating.
After a moment I set my fork down and speak again.
“You’ll have to forgive her eventually.”
His expression tightens.
“I am angry with her.”
“You just met her, Xavian.”
The words are simple.
True.
“To humans, time is everything,” I continue. “To her, she barely knows us. From her perspective, it probably feels like the betrayal means nothing.”
Xavian shakes his head.
“No.”
His voice is quieter now.
“It’s everything.”
I shrug slightly.
“That means nothing to her.”
He frowns.
I lean back in my chair.
“Humans are selfish,” I say calmly. “Self-centered. They want control over their lives.”
“I know.”
“And if you don’t forgive her eventually,” I add, “it will eat you alive.”
I pause before finishing the thought.
“Like it did with Jay.”
His eyes snap to mine instantly.
The temperature in the room drops.
“Do not mention Jay.”
The words come out sharp enough to cut.
I raise both hands slightly in surrender.
“I’m sorry.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, irritation still flickering across his face.
After a moment he pushes his plate closer and picks up his fork again.
“I’ll talk to her after I eat.”
“Good.”
He takes a bite.
Then pauses.
“And Xavian?”
He glances up.
“Yes?”
I lift my glass calmly.
“You are the uglier one.”
For a moment he just stares at me.
Then he throws his napkin across the table.
