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Amory held her shoulders a little firmer when she swayed in his hold.

"Are you here for them?" He frowned at how distant her voice was. He placed a hand to her forehead and his frown deepened when he found that she was burning.

"Who?" He asked distractedly as she began to fall onto him.

"Your people." She replied softly and his eyes darted upwards. His people? He didn't have time to puzzle through what she meant. She was delirious with fever.

"No. I didn't come for them." I came for you. But she was already asleep. Concern for her overruled any other emotion he was feeling. He vanished with her in his arms and reappeared in his room. In his castle. With his queen, his precious innocent queen in his arms.

He smiled softly at her parted lips while she drooled on his shoulder. Who knew his wife could be so precious? Why had—how had he never noticed it before.

He was quickly snapped from his thoughts when the heat of her fever began to seep through his heavy clothes. He set her down on the bed and his brow creased at the rags she was wearing.

It must have been torture for her. She'd grown as a princess, and he had treated her like trash, and now…what had she endured with Niran. "The King of Deceit" as the strange creature had called him. That creature.

He would have to ask Yavanna about it. But she was sick, and frail. Amory stared down at her, scanning her thinned body for injuries. He bent forward and removed her cloak. His fingers brushed against her neck and along with feeling her fever, he felt her pulse.

His eyes narrowed in on her soft skin and he felt his vision redden. Slowly, without realizing it, he was leaning forwards. He had smelled her blood before and it had smelled like the sweetest nectar known to man. His fangs nearly hurt for the want to taste her.

Amory didn't wait and just as he was ready to pierce her delicate shoulder, she whimpered. He jolted back. She was having a nightmare. 'Likely about you.' The dark corners of his mind whispered.

He ran. He called maids and the physician. Her personal maids and ladies in waiting were overjoyed to see her. But he couldn't bring himself to even walk near to his room. He wanted her nowhere else, though. His room was protected.

He ordered one of her ladies to begin moving her things into his room. She had barely contained her shock.

"Why haven't you drunk any blood yet, Amory. It's foolish." Clark hissed.

"Because I don't want to." He hated himself for it. He hated his curse. He hated that he wanted to hurt Yavanna because of it.

"You'll only hurt those around you." He said in exasperation.

Amory rolled his shoulders. His head pounding. He knew his eyes were red. That was why he was hiding in his study.

Clark sighed heavily, "Did you at least find evidence of our people?"

"No, sorry. I was too busy finding my wife." Amory replied. The sarcastic tone warning his brother to shy away from the topic.

But Clark was always one to do what he thought best, and his mouth continued moving, "And what happened to make you care so much for her?" Amory's fist clenched on the armrest. "What happened that you found her after her being gone for an entire month?"

In one swift movement Amory had Clark's throat pinned against the floor, "Be careful with your words, brother." He growled, "I do not like what you're insinuating."

Clark glared at him before he lowered his gaze, "Apologies, brother."

Amory released him and immediately disappeared. But he was restless. He wanted to see Yavanna, but the temptation to taste her sweet blood was too much. He could smell it now and it drove him mad.

The witch had told him that he couldn't drink from her because she was made for him. But shouldn't that be the opposite? He thought back to all the times he'd been tempted to drink from her, the times he'd compelled her to allow him to drink from her. But he had never once tasted an ounce of her blood.

He dreamed of it. He was sick. No, he was cursed. He went to his study and saw that Clark was gone. He couldn't go many other places with his eyes being so bright a red. Both Velio and Clark had always called him mad for resisting his urges like this—which he had done many times before.

But, there were some days where he just didn't want to be cursed. And this was how he dealt with it.

The door burst open and Clark rushed in, "Amory, it's Yavanna, come quick."

Amory disappeared in a flash and arrived in his room. She was still lying on the bed, pale but not as flushed and feverish. He scanned the room, his senses speedy, but he found nothing.

The sharp smell of blood pierced the air and he spun to find Clark with a maid in his grip, her eyes dazed with a cut on her shoulder. The blood dripped from it and his gaze followed it, his fangs aching to the point he wished to tear them out.

"You'll drive yourself insane if you wait any longer, Amory." Clark said, but his voice sounded distant as Amory stared at the blood trickling down her shoulder. "I know you hate it, but just have a taste and…" He trailed off, also attracted to the maid's blood.

Amory stepped closer, his body moving before his mind could, and his hands reached out to take her from Clark. He stopped low, his fangs painfully begging for him to sink them into her neck. He was about to heed them when a voice that snapped him from his senses spoke.

"What are you doing?"

Amory turned quickly to find Yavanna sitting up in the bed, though she was now trying to wrestle herself free from the furs and quilts. The horror in her voice sent a sting of horror at his own self through him. What was he doing?

'What you always do.' He answered himself.

"Amory—" Her accusing voice cut off, but all he could do was look at her. Her brow was creased in concern, her eyes were searching. Her sharp gasp echoed around him, "Clark, let her go."

"You don't understand what's happening here, your majesty." Even Amory could hear the tenseness in his voice from how close he was to the maid's easily accessible blood. "Leave. The king needs—"

"Take mine." She said in a tumble of words. The room went silent. When neither he, nor Clark, had managed to reply, she said it again, "Take my blood instead."

Amory dragged his tongue across his throbbing fang. His blood was rushing in his ears, he could hardly hear her rapid heartbeat any longer.

"Leave." He told Clark in a harsh breath.

Clark left, and took the maid with him, likely to quench his own thirst. His eyes levelled steadily on Yavanna and he saw her fear. But her fear largely outweighed his thirst.