Amor awoke with a broken gasp, one hand striking blindly against the silk sheets while the other clutched at his throat as though invisible fingers were still closing around it.
For several disorienting seconds, the darkness surrounding him did not belong to the lavish bedchamber of House Moons. The heavy canopy above his bed became a collapsed ceiling sagging beneath smoke and decay, while the faint crackling of the dying fireplace transformed into the distant roar of burning buildings. Even the soft pressure of the blankets twisted beneath his half-conscious mind, becoming grasping hands, torn clothing, and blood-slick bodies crushing him beneath their weight.
He could still hear the monsters.
Their shrieks had never sounded entirely human, though fragments of human agony remained trapped within them, distorted by hunger and whatever infection had reshaped their bodies. Nails scraped against metal, teeth snapped near his face, and dozens of warped voices wailed from mouths that had forgotten language but remembered how to scream. Somewhere beyond them, two familiar figures ran without looking back.
His mother. His father. They had abandoned him together.
Amor’s eyes snapped fully open, revealing only the shadowed elegance of his bedroom, yet his body remained convinced that death waited inches away. Sweat dampened his temples and clung beneath the collar of his nightgown, while his heart battered painfully against his ribs with the frantic rhythm of prey trapped beneath a predator’s claws. He forced himself to breathe through the lingering terror, drawing air slowly into lungs that insisted they were still filled with smoke.
"Haah! Haah! T-This is House M-Moons..."
He whispered. The words came out rough and unsteady.
He repeated them beneath his breath, naming what he could see until the nightmare loosened its grip:
The embroidered curtains surrounding his bed, the moonstone lamp resting on the bedside table, the fire reduced to glowing embers across the room, and the clay medicine cup Valdor had left behind. Nothing in the chamber carried the stench of rot, blood, or burned flesh, and no monster waited beyond the locked door.
He was safe. At least, that was what he told himself.
Nightmares had followed Amor into this world from the very first night, though in truth, they had begun long before he awakened inside the body of a doomed noble villain. Even before he became Amor Moons, before he knew anything about Alphonsins, Celestine, or the twisted destiny written inside a romance novel he’d read to distract himself from the chaos, sleep had rarely offered him peace. Dreams merely returned him to the world he had escaped.
His name had not been Amor then. It had been Lovell.
Lovell had once been an ordinary young man living in an ordinary modern city, where his greatest concerns had involved rent, part-time work, keeping his sexuality a secret, and the exhausting negotiations required whenever his divorced parents attempted to make him choose sides. He had not been wealthy, beautiful, or powerful, and there had been nothing remarkable about his life beyond the bitterness surrounding his birth. Both parents had made it painfully clear that he existed because of one drunken night neither wanted to remember.
They had married briefly out of obligation. Then they had spent years blaming Lovell for the failure.
His mother claimed his father had trapped her by refusing to disappear after the pregnancy, while his father insisted his mother had used the child to force him into responsibility. Neither story ever included the possibility that Lovell had been an innocent person rather than evidence in their private war. They passed him between them like an unpaid debt, each household treating his presence as proof that the other had ruined their future.
Then the virus came.
At first, the news described isolated incidents involving unexplained fevers, seizures, and outbreaks of sudden violence. Hospitals filled faster than governments could respond, cities established emergency zones, and frightened officials promised the infection would be contained within weeks. By the time the public understood that the dead were rising—or that some infected people transformed before death—the ordinary world had already ended.
Millions died. Many stayed dead. Too many did not.
The virus twisted the human body with grotesque creativity, reshaping bone, muscle, and instinct until people became creatures driven by hunger and violent mutation. Some moved in massive hordes, while others evolved into solitary predators capable of climbing buildings, tearing through vehicles, or tracking living humans by sound. Every city became a maze of barricades, abandoned homes, and bloodstained streets where survival depended less upon morality than upon who could be sacrificed first.
Lovell’s parents found him useful. For the first time since their divorce, they worked together with remarkable efficiency, though their cooperation offered their son no comfort. They sent him into abandoned stores ahead of them because he was younger and faster, forced him to test uncertain food and water, and made him sleep nearest doors so any creature entering their shelters would reach him first. Whenever danger approached, they pushed Lovell forward and fled behind him.
They called it necessity. Lovell understood it was cowardice.
Still, he survived because hatred could become its own form of strength. He learned to move silently, recognize infected cries, and identify which buildings were likely to collapse beneath their own weight. He had always been a survivalist, able to identify plants he could eat safely and how to source clean water. He collected supplies, patched injuries, and endured every cruelty because some stubborn part of him refused to give his parents the satisfaction of watching him die.
That stubbornness failed at the end.
A horde found them near an overturned transport station, spilling from the underground tunnels in numbers too great to fight or outrun. Lovell’s father grabbed his arms from behind while his mother tore away the bag of supplies strapped across his shoulders. Together, they shoved him toward the advancing monsters. They did not hesitate.
His father threw Lovell hard enough that he struck the pavement on both knees, while his mother screamed for the creatures to take him as though they could understand bargaining. The pair escaped through a maintenance gate while Lovell struggled to rise, leaving their only child to become the distraction that purchased their freedom. Their final act of cooperation had been his murder.
’How pathetically... ironic.’
The thought had passed through Lovell’s mind with almost hysterical clarity as the first creature reached him.
His parents had hated one another for most of his life, but when given the opportunity to torment the son born from their shared mistake, they became perfect partners. They agreed whenever punishment was involved, coordinated whenever his usefulness could benefit them, and united completely when his death became convenient. Lovell had laughed even as blood filled his mouth.
Then he accepted his fate.
There was nowhere left to run, and no one who would come for him. Claws tore into his clothing. Teeth descended. Lovell closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was Amor Moons.
The transition had been so impossible that he initially believed his mind had created a final delusion to shield him from pain. Instead of a ruined street, he awakened beneath silk blankets surrounded by weeping servants, perfumed air, and a beautiful father begging him not to die. The body he inhabited was healthy, wealthy, cherished, and so breathtakingly beautiful that Lovell had barely recognized the face reflected in the mirror.
He had survived. Or perhaps Lovell had died, and only the frightened, furious part of him continued through Amor. The distinction mattered less each day.
Amor pushed the blankets away and lowered his bare feet onto the carpet, welcoming the cool fibers beneath his soles because the sensation belonged entirely to the present. His nightgown clung unpleasantly to his damp skin, the soft fabric twisted around his legs after hours of restless movement. He wanted the sweat removed before any maid entered and saw evidence of the terror he preferred to keep hidden. He stood slowly.
The room remained silent beyond his breathing, while pale dawn light began filtering through the edges of the curtains. Amor crossed toward the bathing chamber, leaving faint impressions in the thick carpet as his pulse gradually returned to normal. Every step carried him farther from Lovell’s final moments and deeper into the impossible second life waiting around him.
He had wealth now.
He possessed safety, beauty, servants, and a father who nearly declared war upon an entire farm because a ram frightened him. Amor could spend every morning surrounded by warm water and silk rather than waking beneath broken concrete while listening for monsters. The difference should have erased the past.
It had not.
Comfort did not prevent nightmares from finding him, just as Lanslet’s devotion could not reach backward through time and teach Lovell what parental love should have been. Amor understood intellectually that the monsters were gone, yet his body still woke prepared to fight, flee, or be betrayed. Some nights, even the silence of the estate felt dangerous because silence in his old world usually meant something was hunting nearby.
Amor entered the bathing chamber. He paused near the wide marble tub and began unfastening the ribbons of his nightgown, eager to wash the nightmare from his skin before dawn fully arrived. The long silk garment slipped from one shoulder, then the other, gathering around his waist before falling in pale folds at his feet. Beneath it, his body remained cool despite the sweat drying along his spine.
As he stepped free of the fabric, Amor forced his thoughts toward the day ahead.
He had survived things no person should endure, and every luxury available now felt like compensation collected from a universe that had attempted to devour him. He could order an extravagant breakfast, purchase another estate, or spend the afternoon selecting jewels simply because no one could prevent him. Each act of indulgence became a small revenge against the life Lovell had been denied.
’What should I do today?’
The question should have produced images of markets, theaters, wardrobes, or travel maps.
Instead, Valdor appeared.
Amor froze with one hand resting upon the edge of the tub. The warrior formed within his thoughts with unexpected vividness:
Obsidian eyes fixed upon him from the foyer, scarred hands preparing medicine, and an enormous body placing itself between Amor and danger without hesitation. He remembered being swept from the path before the ram’s horns could reach him, held securely through the impossible leap into the tree, and lowered afterward with such care that even the placement of his heels mattered. Valdor had protected him once and cared for him repeatedly within a single day.
The memory settled his breathing. Amor had spent years associating strength with danger, because those possessing power in his previous life had always used it against someone weaker. His father’s hands had restrained him while monsters approached, while his mother’s grip had ripped away the supplies Lovell gathered. Even Alphonsins’s strength had manifested through fingers closing around Amor’s wrist, using physical superiority to declare that Amor’s choices did not matter.
Valdor was different.
His size should have frightened Amor. The warrior could break him with little effort, yet every display of strength had been directed toward keeping Amor unharmed. Valdor carried him without trapping him, treated his bruises only after asking, and stopped his own hand above Amor’s sleeping head because concern did not grant permission. His power felt like shelter rather than a threat.
Amor’s shoulders gradually relaxed. Perhaps that was why the thought of Valdor calmed him so quickly.
Valdor had become associated with safety in Amor’s mind before either of them consciously chose it, his presence replacing the instinct to search every doorway for betrayal. When Amor pictured those broad shoulders nearby, the room seemed warmer and the nightmare less capable of crossing into the present. Strangely, he did not resent that dependence.
He did not mind it at all. The admission felt dangerous, but not unpleasant.
Amor turned the taps and allowed steaming water to pour into the tub, filling the bathing chamber with a gentle rush that drowned the last echoes of monstrous screams. He added lavender oil and a handful of mineral salts himself, preferring the small ritual to waiting for attendants. By the time the water reached an acceptable depth, fragrant steam had softened the cold air.
He stepped into the bath. Heat climbed over his tapered ankles, plush thighs, and round hips before he lowered himself completely, releasing a quiet sigh as the water embraced his body. Amor sank until only his shoulders and head remained above the surface, allowing the warmth to loosen the tension left by the nightmare. Lavender drifted around him, familiar and clean. He remained there until his heartbeat steadied.
The estate gradually awakened beyond the bathing chamber. Floorboards creaked in the bedroom as servants entered through the outer door, followed by the soft scrape of curtains being drawn open. Amor heard his maids whispering among themselves while they prepared his morning clothing, their voices lowered out of respect for what they believed was continued sleep. Fabric rustled, jewelry boxes opened, and one attendant quietly complained that another had selected shoes unsuited for whatever the young master intended to do that day.
Amor leaned his head against the marble edge.
"You may speak normally..."
He called.
"I’m already awake."
The whispering stopped. A maid approached the bathing-chamber screen but did not cross without permission.
"Good morning, Young Master. Did you sleep well?"
Amor looked down at the water. He could have answered honestly, though the nightmare felt too raw to place within the gentle normalcy of morning conversation. His attendants already worried excessively whenever he appeared tired, and Lanslet would probably summon every physician, priest, and dream interpreter in the capital if he learned how often Amor woke in terror. Amor had no desire to become the center of another household crisis.
"Well enough."
He replied. The lie emerged easily. His maids accepted it.
"Would you like breakfast brought here, Young Master?"
Another asked from the bedroom.
"The kitchen has prepared fresh honey rolls, fruit, eggs, and the remaining glazed ram."
Amor’s stomach reacted favorably to the mention of honey rolls, though the ram reminded him of Valdor too quickly to ignore. He wondered whether the warrior was already awake, perhaps roaming somewhere upon the estate grounds or eating a breakfast substantial enough to alarm ordinary people. The thought brought the faintest smile to his lips.
"I will eat downstairs."
Amor decided. A delighted murmur followed from the attendants. One of the maids, a quick-witted young woman named Elsie, stepped closer to the screen.
"What does the young lord plan to do today?"
Amor lifted one arm from the bath and examined the water sliding over his pale skin and compared it to the bandaged one left out of the tub.
"I had not decided."
"You could visit the jewel district..."
Another maid, Mary, suggested.
"Master Pellin sent word that several new moonstones arrived from the western mines."
"The weather is pleasant enough for the riverside promenade..."
Elsie added.
"Several noble families are expected there this afternoon."
Amor considered both possibilities. He did want to leave the estate, particularly after spending three days rearranging his life and avoiding the social consequences of the breakup and an additional day spent showing a particularly heroic envoy around. The capital offered shops, cafés, performances, and entire districts the original novel had mentioned only when a scandal required a public location. Exploring it as a wealthy noble rather than a doomed villain sounded wonderfully indulgent.
Yet leaving meant spending less time with Valdor.
The thought arrived with enough immediacy that Amor became annoyed with himself. Valdor would remain beneath their roof for a month, and there was no reason Amor needed to occupy every hour of that visit beside him. They had already spent nearly the entire previous day together, sharing cakes, touring the estate, surviving livestock, eating dinner, and sitting beneath the moonlight. A sensible person would allow some distance.
Amor did not feel inclined toward sense. He wanted to learn more about Valdor’s tribe, discover why the warrior’s first remembered envoy stay had been so unpleasant, and perhaps persuade him to smile again. He also wanted to see whether Valdor would mention the medicine or admit he had learned Amor was never ill. Most importantly, Amor simply wanted the quiet comfort of his presence. He said none of that aloud.
"I might go into the capital..."
Amor replied slowly.
"Although remaining here would allow me to oversee our guests."
Silence followed. The maids exchanged looks beyond the screen. Amor could hear the looks. Elsie spoke with suspicious gentleness.
"There is no reason the two choices must remain separate, Young Master."
Amor tilted his head.
"What do you mean?"
"You could take Lord Valdor with you."
The suggestion settled into the steamy air. Another maid, Junia, immediately joined the conspiracy.
"Our honored guests have traveled to the empire before, but I wonder whether anyone has properly shown them the capital. Noble hosts usually arrange formal dinners and political visits, but those are hardly the same as seeing the city itself."
Amor sat straighter. He remembered Valdor describing his stay with House Merrow:
Locked weapon rooms, suspicious servants, hidden daughters, and meat cooked until it resembled ash. Such hosts had likely treated the envoy tradition as an unpleasant diplomatic obligation rather than an opportunity to share anything meaningful. Valdor might have spent an entire month inside guarded rooms without ever experiencing the capital beyond carriage windows.
The idea became more appealing with every breath. He could show Valdor the river markets, artisan streets, public gardens, and grand central plaza. They could sample food from the kingdom, visit shops selling monster materials, and observe how ordinary people viewed Blackstone warriors beyond the disdain of court nobles. It would satisfy Amor’s desire to leave while keeping Valdor beside him for the day.
"That is a fabulous idea!"
Amor said. The maids smiled. Amor reached for a cloth and began washing the remaining traces of sweat from his skin, his energy restored by the possibility taking shape.
"Do we know whether he has toured the capital during previous envoy visits?"
"No, Young Master..."
Elsie answered.
"Though if House Merrow hosted him last, I doubt they permitted him near anything they considered valuable."
Amor snorted. Duchess Merrow had spoken at the royal ball about cultural refinement while wearing enough northern monster fur to clothe half the Blackstone Tribe, so the hypocrisy seemed entirely believable. If her household had treated Valdor with suspicion, Amor would ensure his experience with House Moons surpassed it beyond comparison. By the time the month ended, Valdor should consider every previous host painfully inadequate.
The competitive desire rose so naturally that Amor failed to examine it.
He wanted Valdor to remember House Moons as generous, welcoming, and unlike every other noble family. More privately, he wanted Valdor to think of Amor as the finest host he had ever encountered—the most entertaining, considerate, beautiful, and impossible to forget. If Valdor compared this visit to House Merrow’s and found the earlier month dull by comparison, Amor would consider the day a triumph.
"Prepare an outfit suitable for the capital..."
Amor instructed.
"Something elegant enough that no one mistakes the importance of our outing, but comfortable enough for walking."
"Of course, Young Master."
"And I want the lavender-gray traveling coat."
Mary hesitated.
"The fitted one with the pearl closures?"
"No, the softer one with the split sleeves."
Elsie’s voice brightened.
"The coat that emphasizes your waist?"
Amor narrowed his eyes toward the screen.
"It is well tailored, humph!"
"Certainly, Young Master."
He could hear suppressed laughter again. Amor ignored it and continued washing, running a fragrant cloth over his shoulders and arms before rinsing the soap away.
"Select matching boots with a reasonable heel, not the narrow ones from yesterday. Valdor already believes kingdom footwear exists solely to cause injury, and I refuse to provide him with evidence."
"Would you like your hair braided?"
"Partially."
"With silver cords?"
Amor considered how the metal would contrast pleasantly with Valdor’s dark clothing and obsidian eyes, then caught himself before the thought went further.
"Yes. And prepare the moonstone earrings Father purchased last winter."
The maids became quiet. Amor frowned.
"What now?"
"Nothing, Young Master!"
Their collective innocence was entirely unconvincing. Elsie began arranging the selected clothing across the dressing couch while Junia opened a jewelry case.
"We merely wish to ensure the young lord looks his best."
"I always look my best."
"Today you seem especially determined."
Amor leaned deeper into the bath, allowing steam to conceal the faint warmth touching his cheeks.
"I am representing House Moons before a foreign envoy. My appearance reflects upon the family."
"Of course."
"And the capital will undoubtedly stare at Valdor, so someone beside him should demonstrate that he is an honored guest rather than a spectacle."
"A very thoughtful concern."
"He should also see what proper hosting looks like after House Merrow treated him so poorly."
Elsie’s smile became audible.
"Naturally."
Amor recognized their tone.
"You believe I am dressing for him?"
No one answered immediately. Junia, being the youngest maid, attempted diplomacy.
"Would that be objectionable, Young Master?"
Amor opened his mouth. The instinctive denial failed to emerge.
Was he dressing for Valdor?
He wanted the warrior’s dark eyes to follow him as they had upon the staircase, wanted that stoic expression to soften when Amor approached, and wanted to see whether Valdor could be rendered speechless by beauty a second time. Those desires certainly suggested that Valdor’s opinion mattered, though Amor refused to label the impulse courtship before understanding what he wanted from their rapidly growing connection. He lifted one shoulder from the water.
"It would be objectionable only if I failed..."
The maids erupted into delighted giggles. Amor rolled his eyes, though a smile threatened his lips.
"Remain professional."
"Yes, Young Master!!!"
They replied in synchrony, still laughing.
He finished bathing while they debated fabrics, jewelry, and whether a pale rose sash would appear too romantic beside the lavender-gray coat Amor insisted he needed now. Amor corrected them whenever their enthusiasm crossed into absurdity, but he allowed more ornamentation than an ordinary morning excursion required. Deep down, he understood precisely what he was doing even if he refused to confess it aloud.
He wanted Valdor impressed.
He wanted the warrior to enjoy the capital, enjoy House Moons, and enjoy Amor’s company enough that every previous envoy stay faded into irrelevance. The need had nothing to do with political hospitality and everything to do with the private pleasure Amor felt whenever Valdor looked at him as though no one else existed. Amor wanted that gaze again.
He rose from the bath. Water streamed down his pale body before he wrapped himself within a warmed robe and stepped behind the screen. The maids immediately surrounded him with towels, combs, oils, and enough enthusiasm to prepare a royal bride rather than a nobleman planning a day in the city. Amor surrendered to their work with amused resignation.
Outside the windows, morning light spread across House Moons.
The nightmare had not disappeared, but it no longer controlled the shape of the day. Lovell’s world had taught him that life could become horror without warning and that people claiming to love him might use his body as a shield. Amor’s new world offered no guarantee that pain would never return, yet it also contained warm baths, foolishly devoted fathers, conspiring maids, and a warrior who made medicine from moonlit herbs because Amor sneezed twice.
That was enough. For today, Amor would choose something pleasant.
He would dress beautifully, take Valdor into the capital, and show him every luxury the empire had failed to share during his previous visits. He would eat whatever caught his eye, purchase anything that amused him, and remain beside the man whose presence made even old nightmares feel less powerful. If that meant admitting Valdor had already become important, Amor could postpone the admission until later.
The maids fastened the lavender-gray coat around his waist. Amor examined himself in the mirror.
The outfit was soft, flowing, and unmistakably elegant, emphasizing every delicate feature without making him appear fragile enough to be dismissed. Silver cords gleamed within his lavender hair, while moonstone earrings caught beneath the pale strands whenever he turned his head. The image looking back at him seemed born for comfort, wealth, and admiration rather than surviving ruins.
Lovell had never possessed the freedom to choose happiness. Amor did.
"Perfect."
He said. Elsie smiled knowingly.
"Lord Valdor will certainly think so."
Amor lifted his fan and concealed the curve of his lips.
"He better."