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San woke up with a crick in his neck and the uncomfortable realization that he had slept sitting up again.
The luxurious chair in Hyme's room was deceptively soft. It lured him in like a trap—plush enough to make him stay, but just unforgiving enough to leave his spine protesting every morning.
"Ugh..." San cracked his neck as he stood up and glanced over at the bed.
Hyme was still asleep, tangled in a nest of blankets like a kitten that had rolled itself into a cocoon. One paw-like hand peeked out, clinging to a plush shark toy. His mouth was slightly open, and his tail twitched lazily in dreamland.
San allowed himself one long look, then quietly padded out of the room.
He made his way to the kitchen, where the automated espresso machine hummed to life. Just as the smell of dark roast started filling the air, the doorbell buzzed.
San frowned. Who would come this early in the morning?
He approached the door cautiously, checking the security monitor. No one was there—just a sleek black envelope left in the oversized mailbox slot.
He retrieved it, turning it over in his hands. The envelope was elegant, made of thick paper with a wax seal pressed into it. The emblem was unfamiliar—something like a snake curled around a rose.
"Creepy," San muttered, breaking the seal.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
> To Hyme Renault,
You are requested to appear at the Moonstone Council Summit this Friday. Your absence will be taken as a refusal to accept your responsibilities.
You may bring one human escort.
—V
San blinked.
Moonstone Council? Escort? What the hell is this?
He read the note again. And again. It didn't make sense—Hyme was a pampered rich kid, not some political heir.
He turned as he heard shuffling behind him.
Hyme, now awake and draped in a velvet robe, appeared in the doorway. His ears were twitching with suspicion.
"What's that?" he asked, yawning.
San held the letter up. "Something you wanna tell me, kitten?"
Hyme blinked. Then groaned.
"Oh gods, they found me again."
"What is this?" San asked. "Council? Responsibilities?"
Hyme sighed and leaned against the wall. "I may have... run away from a very fancy family obligation. Like, heir-to-a-supernatural-faction kind of obligation."
San stared. "You're royalty?"
"Technically, yes," Hyme muttered. "But I hate politics. So I left. I told them I needed 'a year of spiritual growth.'"
San pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hyme…"
"I'm still growing! Emotionally."
San glared at him.
Hyme fidgeted. "So... you'll come with me, right?"
"Absolutely not."
"They'll feed you. Fancy food."
"No."
"There will be expensive showers."
"I don't care."
Hyme's tail swished, and he narrowed his eyes. "You do realize you'll be the only human in a room full of purebloods, right? Everyone will want to touch you. Especially the ladies. They love gym arms."
"…What's your point?"
"My point is," Hyme said flatly, "If you don't come with me, I might get stolen by a vampire duchess or something. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
San scowled. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"
"No. I'm trying to make you worried."
"…It's working."
Hyme grinned like a cat who just trapped a canary.
"Great. So you'll be my escort."
San groaned. "I hate you."
"No, you don't," Hyme said cheerfully, grabbing a croissant from the counter. "But don't worry. I'll make sure they don't flirt with you too much. You're mine, after all."
San blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I meant—my employee!" Hyme shouted, blushing furiously. "Obviously!"
San raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
"Shut up and make me coffee."
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