because he said so

"Of course I do," he replies as the strigoi steps closer, kneels at the king's feet as he bows his head. "Of course I have," he states, his head raising.

Myron looks so beautiful, his long locks flowing over his shoulders. "Where have you been?" It's a curious question, not an accusation. He smiles in return, unable to help himself. Those fangs are beautiful, sharp, as are his own. But even still, his throat aches as his mind remembers his want for blood.

myron

among curios and opulent decor, judah sits sullen. he watches, ambivalent and not paying particular mind to their conversation; all formalities and politics.

he isn't entirely sure what he's here for, apart from that the king requests it. he sees something covetous in chevalier's expression, a tension. the king presents his neck and judah knows this is only decorum. nobody drinks from the king.

but neither does anyone drink from judah.

he meets myron's eyes, attention flickering to chevalier for only a moment before he sighs and looks down into his lap. not defeated, nor frightened - bored.

Chevalier

from his throne he rises. the kisses and feathered touches—the words—mere sweet talk, no truth to them. he’s not fooled. but chevalier answers correctly, and no punishment can be given. such a shrewd lover.

“how right you are.” he flashes his teeth in a smile most threatening. “yet someone has been feeding off my pet. who could be so terrible?” to judah’s side he goes to touch lightly his pale skin, his neck. “my pet’s suffered so much. anemia is an awful ailment on mortals.”

in comes a nameless livestock, shoved by invisible energy of myron’s doing.

“go ahead, chevalier. drink. you must be so terribly thirsty.”

Chevalier judah stafford

He feels as though he's meant to put on a show, but if it's a show the king wants, it's a show he'll get.

Once the livestock is pushed, Chevalier can see the fear in that poor person's eyes. So scared as they tremble where they stand.

"Shh, shh, shhh~" He coos as he reaches out a hand, caressing that frightened face. Soft words and touches and soon the human is calm, eyes glazed as if suddenly intoxicated. A dumb smile on their unattractive face. They go limp in his arms and Chevalier pulls them up, licks at their precious neck, and bites down into their flesh. This particular human isn't all that great of flavor, but it doesn't matter. Nothing compares to Judah, anyway.

Drinks and drinks and drinks, the strigoi doesn't stop. He drinks his fill and then some, sucking and lapping up at that liquid life force. He doesn't stop until the body's natural tense ceases and the livestock lays pale in his arms.

Drained.

Dead.

He lets the body fall to the floor with a heavy thud, eyes focused on the king, blood coating Chevalier's plump lips and rolling down his chin.

myron judah stafford

he sees the drowsy, whole-hearted submission in the livestock's eyes. he sees the way she gazes up at chevalier - affectionately. the way goes limp but still smiles, as he drains her. he wonders if that's the way he sees chevalier, under the same glamour, the same ingenious ardency.

judah watches as the body drops, laying with limbs twisted and skin white. it doesn't frighten him. it is a reminder.

myron's lips don't move. the words strike him hard, like myron's hands reaching through his ribs and clutching at his heart. (his hands are cold). his expression remains impassive, blank, as he's learned to keep it; but myron knows he isn't calm. myron can see the panic ringing sirens in his head, and judah's eyes flicker to the body (perhaps it does frighten him). tensed, he leans forward, twisting his head - from this angle, it's hard to catch the king's words, but he knows they must be important.

chevalier isn't the first person judah has let feed outside the king. but they never last long. maybe it's not himself he's scared for, though chevalier's position does make judah's seem precarious.

myron

fear rolls off judah in tsunami tides. who does he fear for, himself or chevalier? judah is a book, opened and easy to read despite his attempts to hide behind cold glares and outward apathy. chevalier, ever stoic, is harder to read yet predictable. his silver tongue has been a saving grace. if myron truly meant this confrontation to be ended on destruction, not even that tongue would save him.

“relax chevalier. i only mean to remind you of your position.” he brushes his fingers along the man’s strong jawline. “nothing gets past me, even your jealousy.” his lips twitch up before relenting to the smile. “but chevalier, if you want my attention, you need only ask.”

Chevalier judah stafford