Nearly two months into Rey’s stay in Ristalia, he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling of familiarity. Of home.

He was slowly losing pieces of his life on Earth. Forgetting, first, the less consequential memories — what a pair of jeans felt like, the sound of an idling car, the taste of a hot cup noodle.

Then he lost the bigger pieces: the name of his college, what medications he’d been taking, the constant instinct to reach for his smart phone.

It had started to feel like he’d always lived in this place. The history he read, the language he’d been spelled into speaking — it bled into his skin. It felt like returning to a warm bath after a cool walk. It felt right.

Now, as he readied for Lady Sophia’s naming day later today, Rey had realized he’d forgotten his mother’s name.

Not who she was. She was his mother, after all, and he loved her so much that it still ached at night. But her first name, so infrequently used when he called for her in those final days, was…gone.

Mom remained. 

But that was it.

“My Lord?” The tentative voice of Icarus. He must’ve been knocking for awhile before he dared crack the door. “His Highness is requesting a feeding prior to you dressing. How would you like me to respond?”

Right. It was probably prudent, especially if he was heading somewhere without the King, given the…enthusiastic response of other vampires at the Dondes’ estate.

“I can go now,” Rey told him, rubbing a hand through his bed-mussed hair. It felt particularly soft between his newly calloused hands, roughened from the long hours spent training with Calvin.

His quarters weren’t far from the King’s. Almost certainly by design, considering his position. His Highness’ door was open when he arrived, the room pleasantly airy and bright considering its occupant. 

“My Lord,” Rey greeted, closing the doors gently behind him. The King, not wearing his crown or cloak in the privacy of his own quarters, seemed younger, somehow. “You called for me.”

“Yes.” Some of the awareness returned to His Highness' bejeweled eyes. “We should ensure you’re less…perfumed for Sophia’s ceremony. You were notable during our last public outing.”

Rey moved further into the room, noting the sparse belongings and clinical furnishings. It was bright, and beautiful. But it was also sterile. Impersonal. “Yes, your highness. I’m feeling okay, so please take what you need. Don’t be overly cautious.”

They done at least one feeding since the ball, but even still, Rey hadn’t quite gotten used to the feeling. It felt well-tread, now, as the King slid his fangs into the pale skin of Rey's wrist. There was a muchness about it — no specific sensation more powerful than the other. Rey could hardly describe it. Maybe like the cresendo of an orchestra or the breathless moment after a confession.

“Oh,” he murmured, despite himself, when the King shifted his mouth to drink deeper than he ever had. It felt like a living thing, this feeling inside of him. Like his blood was surging towards a fixed point on his wrist, eager to be savored.

Those piercing eyes met his, but Rey urged him on with a nod. 

He didn’t know why this didn’t affect him the way it was supposed to, but Rey always left the feeding feeling…fuller, somehow. As if in losing blood, he had gained something else.

The library had been little help in his investigation into why. The information on royal concubines was sparse, and other humans used as a dedicated source were rarely learned enough to write down their own experiences. It seemed it was typically impoverished commoners taken in by a wealthy sponsor, eager for even a meager amount of stability.

“Rey.” The King’s voice was soft. A drop of blood rolled from one of his fangs and dropped down onto Rey’s wrist. “Are you still well?”

Rey blinked. He had hardly been paying attention, content in this strange feeling of…completeness? “Yes, completely. You can keep going.”

His Highness made a sharp sound. A laugh? “I’m fully sated. There’s no need.” Their gazes locked. “I can’t say I’ve ever had that happen without detrimental side effects.”

Rey paled, just a little. “I’m glad,” he said, instead of anything more honest. It wouldn’t do to forget that, no matter how well-mannered, to the vampires in this palace he was little more than chatty livestock. 

Rey rolled his sleeve down, wiping the drop of blood away from the neat little wound on his wrist. It was already clotted and closing. 

The King tilted his head a little, assessing.

“I’ve said something wrong,” he guessed. The way he moved was graceful but…serpentine. Like a predator assessing a landscape of dinner options. “Are you uneasy? Was it my behavior when we first met? I assure you that the bravado is…performance. I’ve long been told I’m too mild-mannered by my advisors. They suspect a strong personality will quell dissent.”

“No, uh…” Rey hesitated. “I wouldn’t dare say you’ve done something wrong.”

“Please speak freely with me, Rey.”

Rey flushed, rubbing one of the callouses on his palm with his thumb. Back and forth. He may have forgotten a lot of his life on Earth, but he’d never forget how good it felt to have him — his skin, his body, his everything — whole and healthy. He touched his skin, his hair, a lot — recognizing the magic of a body that felt vital. 

That vitality was a lot scarier with an apex predator starting at you, your blood still drying on his teeth.

“Yes, your highness.”