Chapter Text
A low fog rolled over the forest, making discreet figures huddled in the bushes even harder to see. It was the perfect time to watch, eavesdrop, sneak in and drop my own two cents. Perspiration and the sweet scent of nectar from the fae village filled my head. I had a suitable target, someone my disguise had gotten close to over many months. Someone who caught me undisguised and… didn’t seem to mind much actually. He seemed to be ogling, but that might just be my ego. But alas, the Witches just couldn’t let me be an only child.
“Zeph, why are we not working?” Oh that brat…
“Cecilia, maybe we would work better if you shut up.” I hissed, whacking my kid sister on the back of the head with my hand. Okay, maybe not my kid sister, she was 18… but she still acted like a child.
“Ow!” She whined loudly. A young fae turned around, and I covered her mouth with a hand.
“Shut up, you dolt, you’re going to get us caught.” I whispered. Cecilia carefully pushed my hand away,
“Why do you keep staring at that one fae?” She asked at— FINALLY— a reasonable volume for a spy mission.
“…he knows me out of disguise. He doesn’t seem intimidated,” I looked at the fae guard.
He had light, wavy hair, smooth, pale skin, and light gray eyes. He looked fragile, delicate, but he could hold his own in battle. We’d sparred quite often, he was deceptively strong. His name was Sylvarin or something stupid like that, but I insisted on calling him Silvie.
Cecilia looked at me as if I had just shed my wings, “You spoke to the fae out of disguise?”
“…don’t tell Master.” I pleaded. If Master Sevarian found out, he’d put garlic in my rations. If he found out after I brought good intel caused by it, however, or even perhaps a hostage… now that was a different story.
“…only if I get half your blood ration for the week.” Cecilia bartered,
“Hmm… 2 thirds of a half?” I offered,
“…deal.” Cici finally agreed. I let out a breath. I hated that girl…
She had a look on her face. She probably assumed this was a romantic endeavour. Cecilia did this with all of my sources. Wanna know a fact? None of them were romantic.
“Look, I’ll use him for information,” I said, clarifying for her, “Then I’ll either drain his blood or take him hostage for more information.”
“Right,” she squinted “Just that.”
“Oh, piss off, Cecilia,” I rolled my eyes, “You do this every time. You’re WRONG every time!”
“It’s not my fault you’re flirty when you try to get information, Zephyrus.” She said my name like “Ze-PHU-RUS”. The attitude…
“Am not!” I said,
“Are too!” She growled, “Or maybe you’re just a fruit! A zesty little fruit bat!”
“Fuck off, Master is a fruit bat!” I flicked her forehead, “You know he doesn’t like you using that term as an insult.”
Cici just crossed her arms and pouted.
You see, Cecilia and I were orphaned in a forest at ages 4 and 8. We lived among forest nomads until we were respectively 18 and 22, until we got ambushed by a flock of vampires. They killed our group, but turned us and left us for dead. That was when Master Sevarian found us and took us in. He took care of us, taught us how to hunt and fly and gave us roofs over our heads. In return, we were to serve him as long as we lived under him. Cecilia and I had no will to leave, so ever since then, we have been his loyal minions. He gave us tasks like researching the tree that gave us the power to walk in daylight and enter kingdoms, watching the fae to make sure they have no intention of killing us for stealing a branch of the aforementioned tree to make rings, and now, he had his sights set on a certain light elf, Paviel. We were to watch the fae queen, Liriel, to make sure she had no intention of keeping Paviel to herself.
Was it petty?
Sure.
Did we ever do what we were supposed to?
Sparsely.
Did it keep a roof over our heads?
Most definitely.
“I’ll go talk to my guard, you find other intel.” I directed. Cecilia arched an eyebrow.
“Your guard?” She smirked a bit,
“Shut up, you know what I meant,” I dragged a hand down my face, nearly nicking myself with my claw, “Silvie— I mean, Sylvarin.”
Cici gasped, “Silvie? You have nicknames?”
“I will drop the rice container in the kitchen, shut UP.” I made sure to give her a bop on the head with my wing as I headed to the bush line closest to Sylvarin.
I quietly watched him speak to his brother, Mercival. The moment the other knight was out of earshot, I picked up a pebble and flung it at his boot. It bounced off the silver of his armor with a quiet clunk. Sylvarin turned around to inspect the bushline, only to be (most probably) met with my reflective eyes. Any normal person would have shot 6 barrels straight through the middle of those eyes, but Sylvarin, (luckily for me), had the survival instinct of a dodo bird and walked up to inspect. The first time he’d found me was 3 months ago. He was hesitant and jumpy the first time, but now, he calmly strutted to the bushed, grin already on his face. He ducked into the bushline.
“Zephy,” he smiled widely, “Good evening.”
“Don’t call me that,” I frowned, “My name is Zephyrus.”
“If I let you call me Silvie, you have to let me call you Zephy.” Sylvarin said,
“But why?” I whined,
“It’s only fair.” He said, ruffling my hair.
“I’m a vampire.” I shoved his hand away, “We don’t play fair.”
“Too bad, fae do.” Silvie grinned, “I’m already stretching, keeping it secret that I’m fraternizing with you in private. Meet me halfway.”
I stubbornly held my ground. Then he did it. The forbidden move. The puppy dog eyes.
My resolve wavered. I let out a deep sigh, “You wretched prince…”
Sylvarin’s eyes lit up.
Oh yeah, did I mention Sylvarin is the prince of the fae kingdom? Not crown prince, of course, but still prince.
“Do you wish to spar today?” I asked, sitting up. My wings involuntarily fluttered before I could tame them.
Sylvarin clocked the movement and smiled, “Of course, the night is still young after all.”
“Has your brother taken your post yet?” I asked, because that would technically be information.
Sylvarin nodded, “Yes, he just got distracted by mother. You didn’t see anyone else breaking in?”
I shook my head, “No.”
“Good. If you lie to me, then I’m afraid we’d have to stop sparring.” Sylvarin said firmly,
Oh. Right. Cecilia.
“My sister is 40 feet westward. She’s going to break in and watch Paviel and the queen, but she’s harmless.”
Sylvarin inspected my face for any hint of deception, then nodded, “Good to know. Thank you, friend.”
A warmth bloomed in my dead heart, which should be impossible because I’m literally dead, there is no blood to blossom, but okay I guess.
“No problem, My liege.”
Together, the prince and I made our way to the clearing where we often sparred at night, when we weren’t speaking with each other or trying and struggling to match each other's finesse in forms of art. I am quite well prosed in literary arts, so I try to teach him some of my skills, and in turn, he teaches me about illustration. All in an effort to get information, obviously. All his writings are on his mother, though he gets a bit fixated on appearances. I now know that she is an amazing chef. Who would have guessed? Their queen is strange, much less this whole kingdom.
I’m getting sidetracked, aren’t I? Oh well. The clearing itself was moonlit, sage green grass that turned teal in the moonlight. It was soft to the touch. It was bordered by flowers, shrubs, and tall trees, seeming as if it was manually carved out from the forest. I got out my staff, while the prince got out his bow and quiver. I perform shadow magic, as taught to me by my Master, not to be confused with the dark arts. It is the manipulation of darkness into physical forms that do your bidding. It’s quite fun, and very purple. I like purple.
Sylvarin is versed in fae magic, that involves channeling the energy in nature and harmony to deal damage for the greater good. Very cheery. Very restrictive too. You can’t harm anyone with fae magic without a reason. That is why fae are the only other magic users that practice through sparring. Shadow magic is based on Intent to harm. If you don’t intend to harm the target, the shadow will simply pass through.
Class is over. Back to sparring. We stood on opposite ends of the clearing as Sylvarin counted down.
“3, 2, 1,” he wound up like clockwork, then paused.
I groaned loudly in protest. He’d recently found amusement in pausing before he gave the signal to start. Did I have free will to go before he gave the signal? Of course. Did I? No. Because then the round would be over in 1 minute.
“G…” he started, “get your spells ready,”
Come on…
“Sssss,” I got ready to go forward “Set yourself up for success,”
Never mind.
He grinned at me in the silence for a moment
“Go—“ I almost leapt at him before he finished his phrase, “pher hole!”
“Silvie, you fucking tease,” I hissed at him.
His eyes sparkled with mirth. He heard that. He definitely heard that.
“Go!”
Both of us flew at each other at full speed. I scooped up a ball of shadow from around us with my staff and launched it at him, but Sylvarin shot it out of existence with a light arrow. I backed off and commanded the shadows into a creature similar to a slime monster— a new trick I’d learned— and sent it at him.
He shot at it in its chest but it didn’t dissolve.
“Oh, you got smart with it, I see,” Sylvarin grinned,
“Find the target!” I called back, beaming with pride.
Sylvarin shot another arrow at its head. Then at its hand, dodging a swipe, then the other. In an effort, he loaded 3 arrows and let them fly, aiming to strike the head and the hands, at the same time. Nothing happened. In the time it took him to make the shot, the slime had caught up and swiped at his leg. Normally the shadow would pass right through him, but the flint riding inside it didn’t care about magical etiquette. I heard the clang of rock against silver. Sylvarin cried out.
“Fuck!” I panicked, immediately dissolving the slime monster as I caught the fae prince out of the air from free fall. I laid him down on the grass and checked up on him, “Silvie, are you alright?”
Sylvarin blinked, seemingly frazzled, “Yes, I’m fine, Zeph, just… startled. Was that you?”
I shook my head furiously, kneeling at his side, “Of course not. I’m your friend. I wouldn’t. I’m pretty sure some flint got caught in the shadows.”
I stood up and looked around the field before finding the chunk, “Here.”
“That explains a lot.” Sylvarin sat up and took off his leg armour to inspect it. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was bruised.
“That looks painful.” I observed, “Do you want me to crush the flint for you?”
Sylvarin blinked, “What?”
“Never mind.” I shook my head, “Do you need any help? A lift back to your quarters?”
“Sure.” Sylvarin nodded, “A lift would be nice.”
“Wonderful.” I picked him up, one hand under the creases of his knees, the other behind his back. “Is this fine?”
He nodded, “Absolutely.”
I started carrying him off to his quarters near the border. In the back of the clearing, I summoned shadow to crush the piece of flint to powder. Going around, hurtling the prince like that… it was civil disobedience! And mean! And I needed my source alive! A corpse can’t give me information. Or spar with me. Or teach me how to drink fae nectar. Which, by the way, is what was happening inside his quarters.
“This is how you drink nectar traditionally.” Sylvarin said, pouring two hearty mugs of fae nectar up to the brim.
“Oh ho ho, the fae prince indulging sinful activity~?” I grinned, leaning on the counter from the stool next to Sylvarin.
“Shut your trap,” the fae rolled his eyes good naturedly, “Mother doesn’t need to know.”
I chuckled, “How rebellious, my, my!” However, a fact weighed on me. A horrible fact.
I couldn’t keep any non-blood food or drink down longer than 5 minutes. It wasn’t even a vampire thing, it was just a me thing. I stared at my upcoming humiliation in the mug in front of me. It smelled inviting. It looked inviting. But still, my stomach churned. If I refused, I’d seem like a horrible guest. If I threw up, he’d think I was disgusting. I devised a plan. I’d drink the nectar, then excuse myself to wash my hands, then turn on every faucet in the bathroom and throw up as quietly as possible. Easy. Right?
“So here, we add lavender extract.” Sylvarin said as he demonstrated, “Then 3 drops of dragon’s breath.”
“Isn’t dragon’s breath extremely hard to come by,” I asked,
“That’s what makes fae style nectar so valuable.” Sylvarin grinned, “now, the final ingredient: 2 drops of fae ichor.”
…
You’re joking.
You’re actually joking.
I watched hungrily as Sylvarin poked a hole in his thumb with a needle and let 2 precious, exquisite , golden drops fall into each cup.
I swallowed past a lump in my throat “…that’s in the actual recipe?”
“Yep,” the prince smiled innocently.
“You’re not being weird because I’m a vampire?” I looked him in the eye, only to be met with that same mirth.
“Nope.” Sylvarin grinned, “Bottoms up!”
I looked at my golden drink, then at Sylvarin. He seemed to know something I didn’t. And he was damn smug about it too.
I took a small sip of the drink, only to feel my soul genuinely leave my body for a second. The drink, it was luxurious, worth millions. It was sweet and buttery with earthy undertones. And the blood… that just made it 10 times better. I looked at the drink and cradled it like it was precious. I took a few more sips. My wings were probably fluttering. Heck, I was probably purring too. It didn’t matter… this drink…
I downed the rest of it like a man starved.
I wasn’t sure if I was tasting the nectar or the ichor, but it nestled in my brain and chest and sent a warm, fuzzy feeling throughout my body.
“Th…” I blinked at my empty cup, “That was amazing.”
“Yeah?” Sylvarin smiled at me.
“Mhm.” I smiled, my brain growing heavy, along with my eyelids, “…Silvie, can I ask for something intrusive?”
“What is it?” The fae seemed unaffected by the nectar, meaning he either had a really high alcohol tolerance, I had a really low one, or I wasn’t drunk off the nectar, I was drunk on the two drops of blood.
I was hoping it was the second one.
“…can I try some of your blood? Just off your finger, while the cut is fresh.” I leaned over a bit,
“Oh… uh, sure, as long as you don’t bite me or anything.” Sylvarin reached out his still-bleeding thumb.
I carefully, and a bit awkwardly, leaned over and lapped at the pearls of ichor sprouting from the hole. The fuzzy rush surged through my body ten times as strong as when I had the drink. Okay… it was definitely the blood. I backed off before I made the situation uncomfortable and thanked him quietly. Sylvarin just offered a tentative smile.
There was something about what it means when a vampire gets drunk off someone’s blood, but my brain was too fuzzy to remember. I had my head down on the counter to hide the bright flush on my face, but it didn’t hide much about how I felt, considering the fact that I was purring like a lap cat and that my wings were fluttering up a small gale.
“You really liked that, huh?” Sylvarin mumbled, rubbing my back and reaching up to scratch behind my ear.
Stupid prince, treating me like I was some kind of animal…
I made a sound of protest, “Nooo, I’m not your cat!”
“I never said it,” The fae raised his hands in a placating gesture,
“You’re treating me like it,” I retorted.
“Nuh huh,” he said,
“I am not doing this, I am drunk.” I whined,
“Aww, you’re no fun.” He said, but he giggled halfway through.
Did I have some place to be? I didn’t quite remember anymore. I faintly remembered I had someone to report to, but I didn’t quite care for the moment. They probably didn’t need anything immediately anyway.
“Hey,” Sylvarin tapped my shoulder, “There’s a little freak in my window.”
I immediately shot up, any feeling of intoxication rolling off my mind. My head turned to the window so quickly my neck almost got stuck. Cecilia stood in the grass, watching. Like a little freak.
“Shit…” I hauled myself off the barstool to head to the door, but I tripped on my own feet and crashed face first onto the floor. I pushed myself up and blinked twice.
What the…
I tried to use my wings and hover to the door, but they were fluttering too hard to control, so I just lay in a useless heap on the floor. Apparently, even though the effects of the blood had left my mind, they still lingered in my body, making my limbs lazy and limp, and my wings hyperactive.
I pulled myself off the floor with great effort and stared at the floor, then turned back to Sylvarin, who seemed drunk on the nectar and definitely intoxicated. I briefly noted the light pink flush along his pale skin that made his freckles stand out. He looked a bit like a kicked puppy as he watched me struggle to the door. I frowned. I didn’t mean to lower his spirits.
“I will return to you shortly, My liege.” I promised, “My sister requires some policing.”
Sylvarin made an indecipherable sound, but I assumed he gave me permission.
I walked outside and looked around. My eyes caught on a green picnic dress— Cecilia’s disguise. She was crouched in the bushes.
“Hey, Cici, a little help?” I called, nearly falling down the stairs, with my legs limp and my wings too fluttery to glide.
She narrowed her eyes, “Depends… will he shoot me?”
I shook my head no. Even that slight action made dizziness swirl in my head.
She walked up and looked inside, “Is that the prince?”
I nodded quietly, “Yeah.” I watched my sister study me, looking me up and down.
“Did he poison you?” She asked, ordering the shadows to move away from my eye, creating the same effect as a flashlight as she checked pupil dilation. Wait… who taught her that?
“No,” I said. The events in the small house sat like a bomb in the back of my throat, “If I tell you what happened, promise you won’t tell Master?”
She paused, seemingly contemplating, then nodded, “Fine. But only because I’ll have to do all the work if you die.”
‘What work?’ I thought, ‘We literally never work.’
“I…” I took a small breath, “I drank the prince’s blood—“
Cecilia cut me off, “Okay, and? Do you want a fucking cookie? Show off…”
“—shut up, let me finish.” I hissed, “I drank his blood and now I’m dizzy and my body is on strike. I can’t seem to recall what that means, but I do remember Master Sevarian saying something about it in one of his lessons.”
“Oh… you actually paid attention during those?” She asked, “I just doodled in my notebook. Sorry, I don’t remember what that means. We should probably get home—“
“No.” I said a little too quickly, “I… I can try to get information out of him while he’s intoxicated. Then I’ll come home.”
“Huh, that’s actually the first good idea you’ve had in a while.” Cecilia smiled a bit, “Well, then I’m going home and I’m gonna eat dinner. Don’t kill the prince!”
She melted into the shadows on the ground. Ah yes, shadow warping. With that skill, you could simply become one with any shadow you’re in physical contact with and teleport anywhere else that has a shadow. For example, Master’s castle.
I paused. Wait… why was I walking, I could just shadow warp and save myself the embarrassment. I melted into my own shadow on the ground and sprouted out from the shadow under a barstool in Sylvarin’s cottage.
“My liege, I’m ba—“ I was greeted by the sight of Sylvarin in a giggly heap on the floor, “Oh my, what have you done to yourself…”
“Hi!” He grinned up at me, “I fell.”
“I can see that, Silvie.” I hauled him up, “How did you fall?”
“I stood up to check on what you were doing out there.” He explained, then trailed off.
“Then?”… no reply, “Hello, Sylvarin?”
He had gone silent. His heart was still beating, he wasn’t dead. His blood smelled the same, he wasn’t poisoned. He just seemed to be content with his explanation.
I sighed. My own rebellious limbs were not helping my state right now. I pooled up all the shadows in the cottage to create a small platform to carry Sylvarin around on as I roamed through the spacious cottage in search of his chambers.
“Is your leg fine?” I asked as I walked beside him,
“No.” He said quietly, in a tone that was almost childish, “It hurts.”
“Do you have any remedies in your chambers?” I rested a hand over the injury.
He nodded. I let out a quiet breath, roaming through halls. He had a small library, a studio that he used for painting, and indoor plant nursery, but seemingly no chambers.
“Sylvarin, where do you sleep.” I asked.
He just pointed up. I followed his finger to see a small loft with a plush, circular bed, surrounded by silver flowers. Of course this fae fucking roosted at night. Why was I not surprised? I carried him up towards his little roost thing and placed him down on his bed.
‘He looks like a pigeon.’ I thought, ‘Like a stupid, white pigeon.’
I dug around through his dresser while he sat up and watched me, looking for the aforementioned remedies. I found a beetle leaf that smelled like sage near a container with a green paste in it.
“Is this it?” I asked Sylvarin, opening the container and sniffing the contents. It smelled nauseatingly herby, with a little bit of gold, and the unmistakable scent of fae rose.
He nodded, “Yeah.”
I gathered myself, the container, and the leaf on the edge of the bed and sat down. What was I doing? Why was I playing nursemaid with the gnat prince? Why did I care? I supposed he was my only source, and a dead guy couldn’t give me information. Yeah… that was it. I had to keep him safe and healthy so he could keep giving me information and blood.
“I’m going to lift your pant leg so I can put this on, okay?” I asked.
“Okie dokie.” He was still smiling dopily. What a nerd…
I lifted the hem of his pants and rolled it up to his knee. The bruise looked horrible; it was black now, standing out against his fair skin. I frowned quietly.
“I’m sorry, my liege.” I mumbled, taking some of the paste and applying it to the bruise.
“What?” Sylvarin sat up, “Why’re you sorry?”
“You got hurt because of our sparring,” I explained, “If I’d been more careful, that flint wouldn’t have gotten caught.”
“It’s fine.” He said, sitting up, “You’re my friend. You didn’t mean to harm me.”
I blinked, then smiled a bit. Friend. I liked how he used that word, sweet and innocent. I especially liked how he used it to describe me. That's what I was. A friend. Not a weird bush vampire. Not a sparring partner. Not a monster. A friend. Someone he liked to spend time with.
“I would never.” I promised silently, playing the leaf over the ointment, “Get well soon, my liege. My Master awaits me.”
I touched my middle and ring fingers to my lips and then touched them over the leaf that covered the injury. A vampire good luck charm. As I melted into the shadow, I faintly caught a light pink covering the prince’s cheeks. Maybe he was getting better? It didn’t matter, because I warped straight into the reporting chamber.
A large throne sat in the middle of a grand hall, decorated with windows into each of the kingdoms. All except for the fae. Tapestries of Master Sevarian granting wisdom to mortal children and adults alike adorned the walls. Blue silks draped along the roof. And right in top of the throne was Master Sevarian…
In sweats.
Eating a pint of ice cream.
I groaned internally. I worked with idiots.
“Ah, Zeph!” He waved, “How was your visit to the kingdom?”
“It was… intriguing, Master,” I said, “I found a gap in border patrol. There is exactly 1 minute between the switch of the princes.”
“And on the queen?” He asked,
“….She enjoys cooking. She’s good at it too.”
Sevarian blinked, “How did you find that out? You can’t even keep food down.”
“I have a… source.”
‘A friend.’ I thought giddily.
“Oh well. Paviel doesn’t eat quite often,” he checked his claws, “Your ration is in your room. Bye!”
“Wait, I have a question—“
“Nuh-uh, important business.” He pointed at his watching sphere. Wait…. Was he watching Heartstopper??
Before I could question further I got sent to my room. My ration sat on the table: 2 blood bags. One was completely empty, the other had roughly a sip left. Cecilia….
Whatever. I wasn’t going to drink that pig’s blood anyway. Not when I had the taste of the most delicious blood possible lingering in my mouth. I didn’t care if I starved, it was worth it. I stared at my ceiling for a moment taking in the tapestry of stars and the galaxies, enchanted to shine at night.
My traitorous mind couldn’t help but drift back to my source— no, my friend. I couldn’t seem to memorize the guard schedules, or the way they switched or any of the locations he’d toured me through. All I could remember was the pearlescent glimmer of his pale skin, the memorized patterns of his wings, and the sweet flavor of his golden blood. Oh, witches, what on earth was wrong with me? What started as a way to get into the kingdom and learn the guard’s fighting style was now careening out of control into a big, lavender mess. A massive, pastel-purple splat right in the middle of my brain, the centerpiece of the table. Well… at least I like purple.
Besides, if I was thinking of my friend target all day, maybe it just meant that I was focused. Really, really focused. That had to be it.
I pulled out a piece of paper and started sketching like how the prince had taught me. The chicken scratch on the paper started to take the shape of delicate, glittery wings.
This is research.
Just research.
Research to add to a heavy binder full of written descriptions and bad paintings and pretty sketches, under my bed, hidden from sight.
Research on the Fae prince.