•°☆On. Vandal. Break.☆°•

You shudder as his grip on your hip digs deeper through the dress. A silent way of urging you to listen to his command, "My lord, I'm afraid I cannot obey your request.", you hands clutch tighter. You feel him drop the jewel back onto your chest, the cold metal now warm from his hands.

"How come, did I not ask you nicely to look at me?", his hands move to grasp your neck, feeling you swallow. "It is tradition that a bride may not see her groom moments before the wedding my lord.", you try to reason, despite the cold wind from the outside blowing into the room, making you clutch your hands tighter from the cold.

He hums, "I'm not particularly fond of tradition, rather I tend to dislike the tales that we carried over from the dead.", the pressure from his hold lasts only for a moment before loosening. "Don't you agree, my dearest?", he leans to whisper in your ear, hot breath contrasting from your completely frozen ear. You shiver from the contact, your mind telling you to pull away, but your body ignores the instruction.

Both his hands move to rub your bare shoulders, "One believes tradition sets a foundation for the future of our people, despite how it is portrayed.", you answer as confidently as you can, eyes opening slightly just to look at the floor beneath your feet.

He moves the sleeves of your dress lower, "Is that so, any reason why you may think that?", his face in your neck, "Does it stem from your parents, friends or that loathsome community that claims you as one of them?". Despite the cold air, you could still feel the harshness in his voice, yet you felt warm inside.

He takes your silence as an answer, pulling himself away from you and exits the room. You breathe a sigh of relief, before opening your eyes, until shutting them closed as he walked right in.

Metal scraping the floor irritates your ears, getting louder as it comes closer. A loud 'thud' stops in front of you and you feel his hands on your shoulders. The gloved hands holding you still and close.

"My beloved, I ask that you only submit to my request. And that is you to open your eyes. I simply wish for you to see how beautiful you are.", he massages the flesh beneath his hands, almost trying to ease you and to his credit, it did.

Slowly, you open your eyes. Your reflection stares back at you, the white glowing dress adorned on you, but not his silhouette behind you. Lifting your chin upwards, he stares at your gaze. Your eyes almost as dull as his other than the fact that their yours. He chuckles.

"It wasn't so hard was it?", you shake your head.

"Good. Now let's have those wedding vows."

He sweeps you off your feet, as he held you I a bridal carry towards the exit. You knew the wedding ceremony was for show, but what would you expect. You knew that your groom would be turning into dust with a stake logded in his heart even before you even reached the altar.

My usual headers weren't working so I had to improvise. I just thought of making a drabble of Vampire/Reader for the month since I haven't been posting as of late.

You wonder if the Demigod of Romance is sending him on these missions to see if he really is immortal as they say. Perhaps using him just to let him taste the same pain the people of Okhema have endured. But you know enough that it's not true.

He's willingly putting himself on death's palm just to save the world, to give his people a chance at life, to give you a chance. So why are you so guilty? Upset? Maybe having to see how not all his wounds heal as fast as others, especially the rare ones on his back. It's near his weak spot, you deduce.

He never had to tell you, but you can see how painful those wounds close up. Usually deeper than average cut and much more gruesome than a slice to a leg, or arm, or-

"(Name)! His highness is asking for his drink.", you snapped out of your thoughts before walking off to him.

He is seated amongst his trusted allies, discussing matter of importance that you couldn't understand. You stand behind his chair as he continues the conversation before reaching his hand out to the chalice.

Before his metal gauntlets even touch the base, you swiftly pull it away from him, almost spilling the juice inside. You tightly hold the chalice as people began to quiet down to look at you both.

"Devoted servant, is there something the matter that you won't even hand me my drink?", Mydeimos asks, with curious eyes behind him to stare at your trembling figure.

You shake your head, knowing that your own words would fail you. Mydeimos sighs, "There is no need to tremble in my presence, simply give it to me, I am parched.", his hand open to collect the drink. How could you deny your prince, especially in front of his people?

Staring back at the redness of the juice, you hand it to him as it felt heavy in your hands like the guilt in your stomach. He nods a 'thank you', before taking a sip. Slowly you depart as the chatter continues.

"Devoted servant.", you stop halfway. "What kind of cheese did you use for this?"

"Goat cheese from the market my lord.", the words left your mouth before you could even stop them. He looks at how you clench your hands together with your head bowed. He nods before taking another sip. "Good, just making sure."

He held you as you cried in his arms, your body shaking as the tears being shed were dripping onto his chest, falling down to his abdomen. " I am not angry, but using spoiled cheese to poison me is a foolish approach. But knowing you, what were your intentions?"

You could only sit in his lap as the tears continued to fall. Feeling ashamed of yourself, you pull away from his hold. Rubbing your arms as if trying to get rid of his touch on your skin, "I know what I did was absolutely disgusting, even I can't look at myself in the mirror. But...", you pause trying to collect your breath.

"I can't continue watching how you might just leave. One of these days, you could-"

"Die. I'm aware.", he says so bluntly, finishing your sentence, saying the word you couldn't bare to say. And he says it so casually, like it's...nothing to him. Like it should be nothing to you. It's revolting. But not to him anyway.

"It's my duty, for the Flame-Chase.", he begins to remove his golden attire, "In order for it to truly succeed, my life has to at the frontlines of the battlefield.", the final piece of jewelry, his armband, on the desk. It glows like the golden blood that they speak of in myths of long ago.

"I know, but,", your nails dig into your skin, "I can't act like everything is okay. I'm aware the Kremnoan Detachment needs a leader, a king.", the nails dig  deeper, "And your name was in the prophecy, but I need you to be human with me Mydeimos."

To not break more of your skin, you move your hands to tear the sheets of the bed. Red, a cruel reminder how the red fabric will be stained with gold one of these days, and you won't be able clean them. You won't be able to heal him. You won't be able to save him.

"I need you to be Mydei, Mydeimos, or even Dei for that matter!", the weight on your chest grows heavy, "Not just the prince of Castrum Kremnos, member of the Flame-Chase, or the son of Gorgo who will be crowned in blood."

He sighs, looking at how the gold armband glows in the candle light, "Stress has made you overly anxious (Name). I will always come back to you.". His words meant to soothe you, but instead tear your heart into shreds.

"But can you promise me that you'll come back to me, not just through body, but mind and soul? I don't want to see the shell of the person I once knew and loved." 

He stares at you with his eyes clouded with anger, not at you, but himself. Looking at how you nearly tear the sheets apart with your nails alone, and the blood blooming from your skin from how hard you had dug your nails into them. Sooner or later, he will be the Demigod of Strife, and you'll be remembered as just another member of the Kremnoan Detachment. Your name lost to the winds of time, while his stands long and proud.

'Mydeimos and his Devoted Servant', the people will sing.

His heart filled with regret, even with your foolish attempt to make him stay longer, he understood where you were coming from. Now he wished he was actually affected by the spoiled cheese.

Slowly, he takes your face into his hand, lips nearly touching as he cradles your face. You couldn't help but melt in his touch, his warmth irresistible to you. Ironic how his rough palms feel soft on your face.

"Spoiled cheese and the Black Tide won't stop me from doing my duty for the people of Kremnos and yourself included.", he whispers, "And it won't stop me from making sure that your efforts, although strange, won't simply go to waste."

His hand slides down to your neck, gently holding it, not suffocating or anything of the sort. His thumb feeling the skin beneath it, as he curls his arm at your waist, and hides his face between your neck and your shoulder. A soft kiss is placed, one after another, until you stopped counting.

"You won't deny your prince, and lover, my dearest (Name)? At least let me make it up to you that your efforts are never in vain."