Dion stands. Ruby reaches for the open book, but his hand snaps down, pinning the paper to the mahogany.

His skin is marble-white. The nails are trimmed, rounded, and polished. Ruby tilts her head, her gaze anchored on his fingers.

"I thought you guys had... claws?" she asks.

Dion's gaze drops to his hand. He jerks his arm back, hiding it beneath the table.

"I want to feed," he says. His voice is a low vibration. "Come here".

Ruby stays in her chair. She glances at the dark window. "It's not midnight. My stomach is louder than your teeth right now".

Dion's jaw tightens. He stalks to the gold intercom on the wall and snaps the lever down.

"Breakfast," he barks into the horn. "Now".

He leans against the stone. His fingers tap a frantic rhythm against the switch. The scent of sugar and warm skin fills the room like a heavy drug.

His pupils expand until the ruby-red is a thin, vibrating ring. He looks at the corrected numbers on the page, then back at her.

Three sharp knocks ring out.

"Hide," Dion whispers.

Ruby looks at the empty corners of the library. Her brow furrows.

"Do it!" Dion's voice is a sharp, desperate hiss.

Ruby lunges for the velvet curtains. She vanishes behind the heavy fabric. Dion slides his chair over, masking the hem of her skirts.

"Enter," he commands.

Servants roll in the silver carts. Trays clatter onto the table. The door clicks shut, and the lock engages.

Ruby's head pops out from the velvet. She scans the room, then steps into the light.

Dion watches her. His nostrils flare. The barrier he threw up keeps her scent in, but for how long? If an Elder catches that smell....

"Can I eat?" Ruby asks.

Dion nods once. He moves to the table. Ruby grabs the back of a chair, her knuckles turning white as she pulls.

The wood stays glued to the floor. She heaves, her breath catching in her throat.

Dion flicks a finger through the air. The chair lifts, hovering for a heartbeat before it slides into place at the table.

Ruby doesn't wait for cutlery. She grabs a warm roll, her fingers sinking into the crust.

Dion dabs his lips with a silk napkin. He watches her. Ruby leans back in the velvet chair and lets out a long, slow yawn.

His lesson is starting. Time for her to go. Ruby bolts for the door, her lips curling into a wide, irrepressible grin.

"Wait."

Blue silk blurs. Dion Lancaster is a wall between her and the exit. Ruby hits the wood, her chest heaving as she stares up at him.

Dion rolls back his sleeve. He doesn't look at her. His fangs catch the light for a split second before he sinks them into his own pale forearm.

Dark, heavy blood spills over his skin. He drags a silk handkerchief across the gash, soaking the fabric red. "Hand."

Ruby pulls back, her face twisting. Dion snatches her wrist. His fingers are iron bands, anchoring her in place while he shoves the damp silk into her palm.

"Keep it," he rasps. His eyes pulse with a dark heat. "My blood hides your scent. If another noble catches you... I'll drop you in the Crimson Pool."

He lets go. The skin on his arm knits back together in seconds. The wound vanishes. He turns back to the mahogany desk without another word.

The routine sets in. Every twilight, Ruby makes the trek to the study in Durell Palace. Dion Lancaster stares at arithmetic charts like they are a death sentence.

Ruby watches from the velvet chair. The problems are easy... almost insulting. He doesn't snap when she points to a solution anymore, though the arrogance remains written in the line of his jaw.

A guard drops a stack of parchment on the desk after breakfast. The envelopes smell of heavy perfume and desperation. Noble ladies from across Châtelet want a moment with the Prince.

Dion tosses them into a pile. Ruby reaches out when his head is buried in a textbook. She needs the gossip to survive the silence.

The descriptions in the letters are graphic. Golden boy. Masterpiece. A painting brought to life. Ruby glances at the vampire across from her. Beauty is his only currency.

"What's that face for?" Dion asks.

Ruby snaps the letter shut. She stuffs the parchment back into the pile, her cheeks flushing. "Nothing. Just reading."

Dion watches her. He doesn't touch the mail. Hollow praise is a chore he prefers to ignore.

He notices the way her eyes change. They look like wet grapes when she finds a shortcut in a problem or catches a sliver of the fading sun. He remembers the curve of her smile with a clarity that makes his skin itch.

Black ink drips from his quill. It forms a dark pool on the parchment. "Stuck again?" Ruby asks.

She leans over the desk. Strands of black hair brush against his knuckles. The scent of sugar and adrenaline slams into his senses.

Dion's hand snaps around her wrist. He pulls her forward. Her pulse jumps under his thumb.

"Come here," he says. His voice is a low, dangerous vibration. "It won't hurt much."

Ruby thrashes. Her eyes go wide. Dion doesn't wait for her to run. He flicks a finger, and the air turns to lead around her.

She freezes. A puppet on invisible strings. Her jaw stays locked, her eyes reflecting the ruby-red of his pupils.

He buries his face in her neck. She smells like a bakery at dawn. His fangs graze her skin, and the first drop of heat blooms against his tongue.

The silk collar turns red. He drinks. He strokes the back of her head, his eyes fluttering shut in the shadows.

A jolt of cold energy hits the room. Dion snaps his head toward the hallway, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

The Queen is in the palace. Bellaceline is coming.