The Vampire's Luna

"That a mate will choose love every time," Damien answered. "No matter the status. No matter the time."

And with that, the vampire prince stared off into nothing in particular. He had chosen love. Gods, he had. He had risked everything. And still, it wasn’t looking like love was going to choose him back.

Veyron studied him closely. This wasn’t just a prince confiding in an old advisor. This was a man beginning to break under the unbearable weight of hope. Of wanting.

"I need you to tell me the truth, Your Highness," Veyron said finally, sitting forward. The jest had left his voice entirely now, replaced with a steely resolve. "And please know that I ask for the good of the kingdom before yours."

Damien turned his gaze to him, slowly. He looked tired.

"Veyron..." Damien sighed, as though the confession itself might crack Veyron, perhaps himself.

The sage closed his eyes for a brief moment. His ancient bones already knew the answer before it was spoken. "You did, didn’t you? You marked her."

Damien nodded, slowly, the weight of his guilt dragging down even the gesture. "It was an easy choice. I couldn’t watch her die. Morvakar won. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest earlier."

For a man with the wisdom of centuries, Veyron suddenly looked a hundred years older. His entire body sagged as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs and replaced with dread. "Oh... no. Oh goddess, no! Your Highness... no..." His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the arms of the chair, trying to steady himself or maybe the reality they now lived in.

"It was me or her," Damien said. There was pain there, layered and tightly coiled beneath his words.

"No," Veyron snapped. "It was her or us! Without you, we are done for! Without you, there is no us. Your uncle takes the throne. You know his plan, right? To get rid of all vampires not marked by true bloods. Where does that leave us?"

Damien swallowed hard. "Veyron... I will do everything in my power to make things right."