Chapter 6: A Careless Promise

The news traveled faster than any rider could have carried it.

By the second night after Asher’s arrival, the lower districts were already whispering that a ragged human soothsayer had saved the Vampire Lord’s life with a single accurate fortune. By the third night the story had reached the merchant houses and the lesser courts. By the fourth it had arrived at the royal palace itself.

King Eric of the human realm did not waste time with messengers.

His eldest son, Crown Prince Aaron, lay in the high chambers of the palace burning with a fever no physician, no herbalist, and no court mage had been able to break. The illness had settled into the boy’s blood like a living thing, refusing every remedy. The king had watched his heir waste away for weeks. When word reached him that a human fortune teller possessed the rare gift of true sight, and that the same man now resided under the protection of Marcel Thorne, he ordered his guard to ready the carriages before the sun had fully risen.

He arrived at the Vampire Lord’s estate with the full weight of his authority and very little patience.

The gates opened for him without delay. Vampires were many things, but they were not fools; a human king at the door with an armed escort was not a guest one turned away lightly. Servants bowed, the great hall was cleared, and Marcel Thorne received him in the formal audience chamber, standing beneath the high arched windows with the calm of a man who had already measured every possible outcome of the meeting.

King Eric did not bother with pleasantries.

"You have taken one of my people," he said, voice carrying the hard edge of a man who had not slept properly in days. "A human soothsayer. I am told he saved your life. That does not give you the right to keep him like a household pet."

Marcel’s expression remained unchanged. "Asher Brown is not a pet. His gift is useful to me, and he remains under my protection by mutual agreement."

"Mutual," the king repeated, the word dripping disbelief. "I doubt the boy was given much choice. Produce him."

For a moment the air in the chamber grew colder. Then Marcel inclined his head once, the barest concession, and a servant was sent.

Asher arrived looking pale but composed, still dressed in the simple dark clothes that had been provided for him. The marks on the side of his neck, though already fading, stood out clearly against his skin. King Eadric’s eyes found them at once, and color rose in the monarch’s face.

"You dared," he said, turning on Marcel with sudden fury. "You dared to feed on him. There are laws, Thorne. Ancient agreements. Humans are not livestock for your kind to keep and drain at leisure. This is a violation."

Marcel’s voice stayed level. "The situation is not what you assume—"

"I assume nothing. I see the evidence on his throat." The king took a step forward. "You will release him into my custody immediately. He is needed at the palace. My son is dying, and this soothsayer will tell me whether the boy can be saved—and if he can, he will prepare the cure himself."

Marcel’s gaze flicked briefly to Asher. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes, but he did not speak further, after all the king was no longer listening.

Asher could feel the tension in the room growing every second, and it made him very uncomfortable. He knew King Eric, songs praised his work, but Asher never really believed the king was as good as the songs said. If he were, then he probably wouldn’t have spent half of youth surviving in the slums.

But that was not the issue now. He had to defuse the tension before the king jumped to conclusions, and it was clear the monarch wasn’t listening to Marcel. The lie formed on his tongue before he had fully decided to use it. He stepped forward, heart beating too fast, and kept his voice steady.

"I asked him to," Asher said.

Both men looked at him.

Asher lifted his chin, ignoring the residual weakness still lingering in his limbs. "The marks. I wanted them. We are... involved..." The word felt strange and dangerous in his mouth. "...lovers if I must say. The feeding was consensual. He didn’t force me."

Silence crashed through the chamber.

Marcel turned his head slowly and stared at Asher. The look was sharp, assessing, and utterly without expression. He said nothing. He neither confirmed nor denied the claim. He simply watched, as though weighing the new shape of the story Asher had just handed him.

King Eric’s anger cooled into skepticism. He studied the human for a long moment, clearly unconvinced, but the urgency of his purpose overrode the argument. His son was dying. Everything else could wait.

"I did not come here to debate your private arrangements," the king said at last. "My heir is gravely ill. No remedy has worked. I require this man’s sight and his skill. He will return with me to the palace today."

Marcel spoke then, voice quiet but edged with steel. "How long do you intend to keep him?"

"Until my son is cured."

"One week," Marcel argued. "No longer."

The king’s expression hardened. "You do not rule humans, Thorne. You have no authority to set terms for one of my subjects. The boy comes with me for as long as he is needed."

Asher felt the tension between the two men tighten like a wire. They had agreed that Marcel would feed on him once every week for half a year to fully recover. If he missed a week, especially when his situation was dire, he could relapse, and further elongate the feeding time. Asher didn’t want that. He had already calculated how many weeks he’d have to be bitten, and he didn’t want another extra one or two. At the same time, the king’s desperation was genuine. A dying prince was not a problem one could simply refuse.

He stepped between them before the argument could escalate further.

"I’ll go," Asher said. Both pairs of eyes turned to him again. He drew a breath and made the promise carefully, deliberately. "Give me one week. I’ll determine whether the prince can be healed, and if he can, I’ll see it done. Then I return here. You have my word."

King Eric studied him, then gave a short, reluctant nod. "One week. If the work is unfinished, you will remain until it is."

Marcel said nothing. His silence was heavier than any protest. Asher could feel the weight of that stare on the side of his face, but there wasn’t much he could do besides this.

Preparations moved quickly after that. The king’s men waited in the courtyard. A carriage was readied. Asher was given only a short time to collect the crystal ball and the few belongings he had been provided. Marcel did not follow him to the rooms, but when Asher returned to the entrance hall the Vampire Lord was already there, standing with the same controlled stillness as before.

For a moment the two of them faced each other in the relative privacy of the corridor while the king’s party waited outside.

Marcel’s voice was low. "You did not have to claim what you claimed."

Asher managed a thin, crooked smile. "Seemed better than letting him declare open war over a couple of bite marks." He hesitated, then added more quietly, "I’ll be back in a week. I promise"

Marcel’s gaze lingered on the fading marks on Asher’s neck, then rose to meet his eyes. Something possessive and reluctant moved behind the calm surface.

"See that you are," he said.

The words carried the weight of an order and something closer to a warning.

Asher was escorted out into the daylight. The king’s carriage waited, dark and heavily guarded. As he climbed inside, he glanced back once. Marcel stood at the top of the steps, bare of any visible expression, watching until the carriage doors closed and the wheels began to turn.

Asher drew a deep breath, his life had changed so much in very little time. Who would ever imagine he’d be riding in the same carriage as the king? But that excitement didn’t matter like the burden he carried now. He didn’t even know what the prince was suffering from, yet he had confidently said he’d get him well within a week. It had been reckless, but it was probably better than starting a war with the Vampires.

So why then, why did he feel like failing to return to Marcel in a week will bring about more destruction than a war ever would?