His steps met the bramble of stone beneath his boots, the shade of night casting silver glow upon the palace grounds. Painting each crevice, swaying flowers bloomed in the deep darkness of Selene's what should be a blissful night.

On a different night, Ronove would admire its beauty with true appreciation. Smiling to the soft winds, to the petals in the garden, how the silver moon would kiss your brow with the same cherishing that burned in Ronove's chest.

"You-" Ronove muttered, rushed in the cool air as you pressed onward. "il mio angelo, I can explain!"

Ronove's hand still held yours, his fingers against your wrist as you turned to a sprint with the advisor still in tow as the two of you ran through the bare halls of King Ronaldo's palace. The demon swallowed, his tongue licking over returning fangs as you didn't look to him.

"Tesoro... please!" Ronove begged, his voice a whisper, gently squeezing your wrist as you attempted to flee from the moment.

It'd been a mistake, a slip of judgement. For a year he'd kept the mask of being a simple, mortal man up. A new advisor, for an ailing king, a vengeful fool with too much wealth and too many secrets in each fracture of a reign patched over by controlled words or a quiet discharge of staff that had gotten too close to discovering unseen truths.

Ronove had come for him, for the king on a dying throne. Promising fame, a long, beauteous bloodline and control over farther lands. For a price. For a year, he cultivated the king and queen's trust, as a simple advisor from a humble birth. He had had everything prepared, knowing every line that needed to be said, and every tender caress to have the mortals bowing to lick his boots.

But you.

The beau of the land, the prince guarded and loved by the people of the kingdom, said to have been born by help of God, by gentle fingers, your eyes opening to golden light with mirth rather than wails. He hadn't expected you to catch his eye, to crumble what desires for late nights or to slaughter the race of the kings you were born from.

Foolish? Perhaps. But your laughter undid him, your smile brighter than the hellfires. But he fell by cupid's bow before the arrowhead had hit his heart. He played the role of advisor for the king and queen, but for you, he played a confidant. A friend. Someone who understood the life of a prince, someone to speak softly with, to know was a lover. Nothing to fear. Nothing to fear of mistrust.

Then you saw something you shouldn't have witnessed.

You had walked in on Ronove in the bathhouse. In the bare. A black, slicked tail dripping with water. Curved, black horns, visible rather than how he typically hid them. The demon saw you, a year of cracking the mortar and brick of your walls. Only for seconds to rebuild them in diamond. A demon in your lands, with crosses, with holy men, yet undetected, with you allowing the closeness of the devil's bastard the most.

"You!" Ronove spoke once more, voice a desperate whisper as you attempted to rid him from your wrist. The demon and prince's legs ran against tall grasses and flowers, the darkness shrouding visions of the forest and the palace grounds. "Mio principe, per favore!"

The demon reached, taking your waist in his other hand, slamming you into a nearby tree trunk. The two of you breathing heavy, cloth rumpled, hair unkempt as he felt you attempt to writhe from his grip. He sighed shakily, one arm caging you against him, the other holding your hand. Your fingers intertwined, his lips pressed to your knuckles, feeling the blood beneath his fanged maw.

"You, il mio angelo, il mio principe..." Ronove breathed, his lips placed desperately to the skin of your soft neck. Hot breath wafting over your skin, skin he'd worshiped time and time again. "Calm for me, listen, it's... it's not what you fear."