FSRBD CH 01

Chapter 1 

The man — or perhaps the monster — was crouched helplessly under the moonlight.

Even animals and insects seemed too frightened to make a sound. The entire area was eerily quiet.

Agnès felt fear, too.

“Ugh… ah…”

But the man’s painful groans kept her from walking away.

Gathering her courage, she gripped her dress tightly and approached him carefully.

“Your Grace, Duke Basteron, are you all right?”

At her voice, Dylan Basteron lifted his head sharply.

His face was paler than moonlight, sweat dripping from his forehead, and his lips were cracked and bleeding — he had clearly bitten them hard.

Anyone could see he was in agony.

“Go… away…” he said through clenched teeth, his voice rough and strangled.

Agnès crouched slightly, not daring to move closer but not stepping back either. She could barely hear him.

“If you tell me who can help you, I’ll bring them here, Your Grace.”

“I told you to leave!”

His sudden, sharp voice made her flinch, but she didn’t obey.

“I can’t ignore someone who’s hurt. If you tell me who you trust, I’ll fetch them—”

Before she could finish, Dylan’s arm shot out and grabbed her wrist.

His large hand twisted her slender wrist with enough force to make her lose her balance and fall to her knees.

Dylan glared down at her, his eyes burning with madness.

“If you don’t want your blood sucked dry, leave. Now. Do you understand?”

Even in the dark, his red eyes gleamed — like freshly spilled blood.

And in that moment, Dylan wanted nothing more than to taste blood — the heart pounding right in front of him was all he could hear.

Normally, anyone would have screamed and run away by now.

After all, everyone knew the rumors — that Duke Dylan Basteron was a monster who drank human blood.

Though the truth had never been proven, people feared him all the same.

But Agnès didn’t run. She met his gaze and asked calmly:

“Are the rumors true?”

That made Dylan stop and really look at her — not to scare her this time, but to understand her words.

To see if she was insane.

But she wasn’t.

Her round, golden eyes trembled violently. The wrist in his grip shook like a leaf, and he could feel the pulse beneath her skin fluttering like a fish out of water.

Her heart was racing in fear.

She was terrified — but she didn’t flee. She stayed.

Dylan, trying to drive her away, found himself asking something unexpected.

“If the rumors are true, then what?”

“If they’re true… then I can give you a little of my blood.”

Agnès swallowed nervously.

“Not too much, of course. If I faint here, it’ll be trouble for both of us, right?”

Her light, joking tone didn’t fit the situation at all. She even gave a shaky smile.

She was kind — and foolish.

If Dylan really was a monster, starving and desperate, he could easily drain her dry.

But she didn’t seem to think about that.

“If you really meant to hurt me, Your Grace, you wouldn’t have told me to leave in the first place, would you?”

How naïve. People didn’t always mean what they said. Didn’t she know that? Was she so sheltered she couldn’t imagine danger?

Dylan’s thoughts scattered. The more he looked at her — that frightened yet steady face — the harder it became to resist his thirst.

Then Agnès took off one of her long gloves and extended her pale arm toward him.

Dylan’s eyes flashed.

In the next instant, his fangs sank into her arm.

“Ah…”

Dylan wasn’t human anymore in that moment.

Every sensation — her scent, her trembling breath, the sound of her dress rustling — was sharp, almost intoxicating.

When she twisted in pain, her skirt crumpled and scraped softly against the ground.

He wanted to stop. He truly did. But the taste of her blood — rich and unbelievably sweet — shattered his self-control.

He pressed his lips gently against her skin, letting the blood flow more freely.

The pleasure of it nearly erased his sanity.

He had tasted the blood of many people before, but never one so sweet.

He forced himself to take only a little — just enough to recover his strength — because if he didn’t stop soon, he might actually kill her.

“Haa…”

When he finally pulled away, his mind cleared, and shame flooded in.

He had drunk a woman’s blood in the middle of the royal palace.

Like a beast.

Unable to meet her eyes, Dylan pulled a handkerchief from inside his coat and gently wrapped her bleeding arm.

“Are you all right now?” she asked softly.

“…Yes. Thank you,” he replied quietly.

He was standing straight again, his voice steady, though his hands still trembled faintly.

“This must remain a secret,” he said firmly.

Agnès smiled lightly. “Of course.”

“If anyone learns of this, I’ll have to harm you — for the sake of the royal family’s honor. I don’t wish to do that to someone who saved me.”

“I understand,” she said calmly.

She lifted the handkerchief, hesitating for a moment — should she give it back to him? It was stained with her blood.

Normally, she might have offered to wash and return it, but this was the royal palace, and he was a man of such high rank that even speaking to him again could be dangerous.

Dylan Basteron, Duke of Basteron —
the late emperor’s beloved son and the current emperor’s cherished younger brother.

In normal circumstances, a viscount’s daughter like Agnès would never even be allowed to talk to him.

Understanding her hesitation, Dylan said quietly, “Do with it as you wish. You don’t need to return it.”

Agnès smiled once more and bowed politely before leaving.

Dylan watched her retreating figure disappear into the darkness, then turned away himself.

He didn’t want to remain at the palace banquet any longer.

***

Back in the ballroom, Agnès was immediately grabbed by her father, Viscount Everchen.

Unfortunately, his hand closed right over the fresh bite wound, and pain shot through her arm.

“How dare you make such a face in public! Follow me, now!” he hissed.

He dragged her away roughly, caring more about appearances than her comfort.

Agnès bit her tongue and stayed silent.

Still, she couldn’t help but think of Dylan — of his desperate grip, his trembling hand, his pain.

His strength had been far greater than her father’s, yet his touch hadn’t felt cruel. It had felt… sorrowful.

Pathetic, even. She’d almost wanted to comfort him, to stroke his dark hair and tell him it was all right.

Of course, he would’ve been shocked if he knew that.

But as she thought of Dylan, she couldn’t help but think of her five-year-old son, Noah.

Noah had always clung to her skirts the same way, holding on as if his life depended on it.

And every time, he would whisper,

“It’s okay, Mama. Noah can do it alone.”

Yet his eyes always looked so lonely.

Just like Dylan’s.

While Agnès was lost in thought, Viscount Everchen shoved her into a small sitting room.

Inside were the furious Viscountess Everchen and her half-brother Harber.

The door had barely shut when the Viscountess flung a cup of water straight into Agnès’s face.

It hit hard enough to sting like a slap.

“So it’s true — you turned down Count Paula!” she screamed.

Agnès calmly wiped the water from her face.

“I told you from the beginning that I had no intention of marrying him.”

“I told you I don’t care what you want!” the Viscountess shouted. “Do you have any idea what kind of chance this is? You were divorced and thrown out by your husband! Do you think it’s easy for someone like you to remarry a man as wealthy and powerful as Count Paula?”

Count Paula was over seventy years old — even older than Agnès’s own father.

But no one in that room cared about that.

Not even Agnès herself.

“I asked Count Paula one thing,” Agnès said quietly. “I asked if he would allow me to raise my son with me. He said no. So I told him I couldn’t marry him.”