It's three in the morning and this party wasn't dying any time soon.

A deeply sorrowed man with raven locks leans against a white marble pillar, as if wishing it would swallow him whole. Arms crossed against his broad chest and an antsy hand coming up to tug at his tie. Narrow eyes scanned the entire ballroom, watching as people he didn't know or could care less about swung around the gilded room, smiling underneath painted angels as if they weren't all sinners. Irony is the word, isn't it?

His white suit was a stark contrast compared to the rest of the attendees, who either wore dark red or black. He found it rather...unfashionable. But then again, it would be distasteful to outshine the main star of the event, right? Taeyong would have their heads if anyone dare show up the prince and rightful heir of the most deadly coven, Mors.

And yet here he is, the rightful heir of said most deadly coven, dreading this God-awful party and wanting to get the hell out of here.

He hated things like this. Matchmaking events that were disguised as parties or celebrations. This year it was in celebration of Jaemin's twenty-third birthday (and irregularly so, that is his real age. He's a rather young vampire, unlike all the rest of the decaying corpses dancing in this room). It would just be yet again another one of Taeyong's attempts to set him up with a qualified, 'perfectly bred' (Taeyong's words, not his) royal to secure his claim to the throne.

Not that there's anything to claim. The throne has been his since the day he was born and his father was murdered by the leader of the Nox Venatores. He was put in a position of leadership at the young age of fourteen, though they disguised it as Taeyong making the decisions until Jaemin was of age--just because it'd be easier for the city to believe an adult was making the decisions rather than a child.

The throne has always been his. Now he's just of age to play the part.

He wasn't sure where Taeyong had wandered off to. Probably fretting over the appetizers or drinks, but Jaemin knew that if he saw him moping in the corner he'd be furious--sometimes he liked to compare the older man to a crazy, flustered mother hen.

Yet, he couldn't hold a grudge against him. After all, Taeyong has only wanted the best for him after his father died.

His eyes scanned the crowd, ballgown dresses sweeping the floor and velvet black gloves holding champagne glasses, spilling all over the marble floors. It had to be well past three in the morning and yet the party was still in full swing.

Jaemin would rather sleep.

In the midst of the flock, a raven-haired man almost as dark as he met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. They didn't have to exchange words to understand each other. With just the flick of his brow, the raven-haired emerged from the crowd and joined his side with crossed arms, tilting his head to look at him with an amused smile.

"You're not dancing." He comments after a moment of silence.

Jaemin lips quirk slightly. "So observant."

The man sighed, full-heartedly and deep in his chest as if this thought was truly troubling, and leans against the same pillar as him; their shoulders touching. "Taeyong organized this whole event for you and you aren't dancing."

"That's right." Jaemin nods solemnly.

A small chuckle of disbelief passes his lips as he shakes his head. "Taeyong's going to be pissed."

"I know, Jeno. We have this conversation every year." He shrugs as if he really could care less.

They don't continue the conversation, or they don't get a chance to, because then a girl their age approaches them with a small, shy smile. Jaemin recognizes her--Karina. He's spent too many events with her to not remember her; they've always been shoved together one way or another. Jaemin's positive that this is Taeyong's idea of a perfect match and is no doubt behind this.

Her hair is pinned up in pretty curls, and she looks absolutely beautiful as she bows before him. She looks up underneath her lashes and asks, "May I have this dance, my prince?"

His mouth is agape in hesitation, and he fights back the urge to sigh. He can see Taeyong watching in his peripheral vision--having resurfaced from hell or something. If he denies her, the daughter of one of the wealthiest noble families in the coven, it will spread faster than he can think. People will talk, word will spread and it won't paint a pretty picture. After all, Karina is the most obvious and most eligible lady to wed the prince--if not her, then who else?

With his heart pounding in his chest, he takes her awaiting hand. "Ah-"

Suddenly, someone urgently tugs on his sleeve from behind. He turns with a raised brow and is pleasantly surprised when he's greeted by his servant. "Renjun? What is it?" He asks, hand all too eagerly leaving Karina's embrace as he turns to completely face the other.

Renjun is panting as he forces himself to bow slightly before looking up. "Your grace-" he huffs. "It's about Jisung."

******

Jaemin doesn't remember much on the to way that accursed, blood-stained alley.

In fact, he wasn't even sure how he made it there in the first place. Once those words left Renjun's mouth, he saw black. He couldn't think anything other than Jisung--his friend, his brother.

He didn't need to ask what had happened--he will find out himself.

When he enters the alley, he wishes he had asked first.

Jaemin's entire life has been all consumed by blood. There has never been a time in his life where blood didn't reign in him, and he had never felt particularly queasy about it.

But this.

This was an entirely different feeling.

Seeing his brothers blood splattered against the graffitied brick wall and his lifeless body lying on the flooded, tattered asphalt of the backway alley felt like getting struck with a stake for the first time--an unstoppable force that left you breathless and craving either more blood or more death, but never both.

Forcing himself to keep a composed image, he kneels down to Jisung's lifeless body and turns him over, head tilting to the side and mouth agape, and eyes still wide open. His neck is drenched in blood, a clean slit carved straight across.

A shudder courses through Jaemin's body, and he fights the tears that he knows are bound to come.

A gentle hand cups his shoulder, and it's meant to comfort him, but it does the exact opposite. He sucks in a sharp, sudden breath, bares his teeth, and shoves the hand away from him. Abruptly standing, he paces back and forth in the small, narrow alleyway; hands running through his perfectly styled hair.

"Your Grace, please collect yourself--"

Jaemin turns and points a threatening hand towards his guard, whose eyes are filled with unsurety and fear. "One more word and I'll have you beheaded."

Suddenly, a sniffle comes from the farthest, darkest corner of the alleyway. Jaemin raises his head and peers around the filthy garbage can, only to find a meek human boy sobbing behind it. He's covered in blood, and his eyes are dark with misery and pain so naive that only a mortal could effortlessly feel.

Jaemin stalks towards him and pulls him up by the collar of his shirt. He squeaks in fear and closes his eyes.

He doesn't have to pull the trembling ravenet close to smell the sour tang of Jisung's blood on his hands, encrusted under the bed of his nails.

"Who. Are. You." He seethes, lip curling in disgust.

His cold, dead heart is filled with rage and grief and unsolicited anger that takes every ounce of strength in his brittle bones to not tear this weak excuse of a mortal apart.

When the mortal fails to answer, he pulls him closer and flaunts his sharp fangs and his crimson eyes akin to spilled blood. It almost makes him laugh when the mortal shivers in fear; anticipating the pierce of his bite.

As if he would ever succumb to the unearthly desires bestowed upon him, and taint his pure blood with one of a mortals.

He has never taken one's blood, and he will not start now. 

"Unless you want to die, then tell me who you are and what you saw."

A tear slides down the mortal's cheek. He turns his head before raising his head, revealing a black ring wrapped with small ruby gems on his ring finger.

His guards and coven gasp. He hears Jeno step forward, placing a precautious hand on his shoulder. Jaemin fights back the urge to bite him.

Finally, the mortal opens his eyes, an expression of feigned placidity settling over his chiseled features. "You cannot harm me."

It takes everything out of Jaemin to not snap his neck, just to prove that he, in fact, can. He was all too aware of the consequences of harming a mortal claimed by one of the Mors. He would be charged with treachery, and sentenced to death. To touch a loved one is a direct act of treason.

Even as a prince, soon-to-be king, he still must abide by the rules. He is not exempt from the law.

Exhaling slowly, he begrudgingly sets the mortal on his shaking legs. He stumbles slightly before catching himself. He glares at them through unshed tears.

"I am Zhong Chenle, Park Jisung's betrothed, and I know who murdered him."

******

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