Aiden sipped his wine, slow and deliberate, letting it linger against his tongue before swallowing.

The taste was sharp, a blend of sealed grapes aged past their prime, heavy with the metallic ghost of alcohol.

It clawed at his throat, searing hot as though it wished to remind him that mortals needed such things to burn life into their veins.

He did not.

He did not need food, nor water, nor wine, nor the thousand petty indulgences that men clung to for survival.

And yet here he was, sipping it anyway, measuring the weight of its heat as though testing how far it could reach into him.

He had not expected the dizziness. A faint haze coiled around his temples, as if the strong vintage carried a whisper of some forgotten poison.

His lips curled faintly. 'So even I am not immune. Strange, how easily one forgets weakness when it rarely knocks at the door.'

But the wine was not his concern. His attention was fixed on the cup yet to come—the one in the maid's hands as she moved carefully between the nobles, her tray gleaming with crystal and firelight.

At the front of the hall, Sabrina stood radiant, an empress of shadows, her presence ruling over all eyes and breaths.

She wore a black dress that seemed to drink the light around her, its fabric hugging her curves like night woven into flesh. She had said once she wore such things for him. Perhaps she had meant it.

Perhaps not. It mattered little. The sight of her in it made his body stir with a hunger far older than wine.

'I want her again,' Aiden thought, molten, unrepentant.

She had tidied herself since their earlier tryst—hair combed smooth, lips painted once more into noble grace, dress tightened to conceal the marks of passion.

Yet he knew. His seed still lingered within her as she moved across the chamber, smiling at guests, bowing her head to her husband, radiating poise while carrying the secret of what she had taken into herself. None here knew.

Truly, she was like the vintage in his hand—mature, potent, dangerous in excess.

The maid approached, her steps measured, the tray trembling just slightly with the weight of the two cups balanced atop it. One cup for him. One for another.

Her eyes lowered in obedience, but her shoulders bore the invisible yoke of fear. She carried more than wine tonight.

Aiden's gaze followed her as she drew near the corner where the Baron sat—sad, forgotten, abandoned even within his own hall.

A man surrounded by whispers and mockery, ignored by his peers as carrion is ignored by wolves who have already fed.

His fief's daughter had been the latest to fall to scandal, and now every noble present picked him apart, feather by feather, until little dignity remained.

But Aiden's attention did not stay on the Baron's shame. His eyes turned instead to the woman at his side.

She was young. Too young to be his wife. Her beauty struck sharp as steel glinting in torchlight.

'Did he remarry?' Aiden wondered, brow arched, lips curling with amusement. 'Or is this some cruel twist of bloodline? She is too radiant for his grief-stained arms. Too alive.'

And in that thought, a spark lit within him—half curiosity, half hunger.

He drained the rest of his wine, feeling the last ember of heat drag down his throat, and began to move.

His steps were slow, deliberate, each one echoing against the stone floor as if heralding something unseen.

He knew Augustus would not like this intrusion, this breaking of the silent walls between lords and knights. But Augustus's displeasure mattered little.

What mattered was the taste of despair Aiden could already sense radiating from the Baron. Despair was fertile soil, and he had long since mastered the art of sowing within it.

He approached them, a shadow within light, and let his voice unfurl soft as silk.

"Greetings, Baron Melodias. And Baroness."

The Baron's head lifted, slow, weary, startled. For a moment, hope cracked through his despair, brief and flickering, like the twitch of a dying flame. Someone—anyone—had chosen to acknowledge him.

"Oh… it is you," the Baron said, his voice hoarse with disuse. "Sir Aiden… knight of the Leoni..fief." His lips twisted around the name, bitterness lacing every syllable. He did not even attempt to speak the name of Leonidus. Hatred rooted too deep within him for that.

"Indeed," Aiden replied, lips curving with practiced humility. "Though not yet. Only after the ceremony shall I bear that title fully."

The Baron gave a dry, broken laugh, more cough than mirth. "I will clap my hands for you then. Louder than all of them. You look young… the same age as my son." His voice cracked, the wound reopening. "I will cheer for you. And so will my wife."

The Baroness said nothing. Her silence hung fragile in the air, but her gaze was not silent. Her eyes were on Aiden, wide, unblinking, filled with awe.

She stared at him as if seeing something unearthly, as if his presence alone unraveled her poise.

Aiden smiled at her, slow and dangerous, and watched her startle back into herself, as though his golden eyes had dragged her from a dream.

"Yes," she stammered finally, her voice trembling yet eager, her lips shaping his name like a prayer. "For Sir Aiden."

The Baron glanced at her sharply. "Shina," he muttered, warning in his tone.

She flushed, lowering her gaze. "Forgive me… I only meant—he carries himself with honor. It is… inspiring."

Aiden chuckled softly. "Do not fault her, Baron. The young often see more clearly than we who are clouded with grief. Your lady only speaks truth."

The Baron muttered something under his breath—half curse, half sigh. He reached for the glass the maid held. His hand shook.

Aiden lifted his own cup, steady. "Please, my lord."

The Baron hesitated. His lips pressed thin. He had no appetite for food, nor drink, nor even breath itself.

His lungs only expanded because they must. His son's murderer was here, the Crimson Knight, basking in the fawning of lesser nobles across the chamber, surrounded by women whose laughter chimed like silver chains.

But Aiden's voice slid in again, silk against raw skin.

"Not for me," he said softly, "but in loss for your son."

The Baron's eyes closed, shoulders sinking. At last, he nodded. He raised the cup.

The Baroness reached as well, her voice ringing clear though her hands trembled. "Yes. To his honor."

Aiden watched her closely as she lifted the glass. 'Strange,' he thought. 'Her words ring sorrow, yet her heart beats like a drum in heat.'

The Baron drank first. Not a sip, but a single, shuddering gulp, as though swallowing his grief whole. The Baroness followed, slower, her lips barely touching the rim before she lowered it again, her gaze locked on Aiden's.

He let the silence linger, then leaned in closer, his voice pitched for them alone.

[Daniel Von Meliodus]

Status: No possession → Charmed possession.

Personality: Grief / Depressed / Angry.

[Shina D. Meliodus]

Status: No possession → Charmed possession.

Personality: Happy / Excited / Horny.

"You loved him dearly," Aiden murmured to the Baron.

The man's eyes watered. "More than life itself."

"And yet," Aiden's tone hardened, sharpened, "life remains. For you. For her. For vengeance."

The Baron stiffened, his grip tightening around the empty cup. His lips trembled. "Vengeance…"

The Baroness spoke suddenly, her voice cutting through like silver bells. "Then help us, Sir Aiden. If what you say of corruption is true—help us tear it out by the root. Do not let my husband's son, my step son be forgotten."

Her words startled even the Baron, who turned to her, pained. "Shina—"

But she did not look at him. Only at Aiden.

Her eyes glowed with something raw, unashamed. Excitement. Longing. Hunger.

[Shina D. Meliodus]

Status: No possession → Charmed possession.

Personality: Happy / Excited / Horny.

Aiden's lips curved into a smirk. 'Ah. So that is your truth, little dove.'

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