o hunter! my hunter! (yandere!prince!epel x gn!reader)

Part 7

a/n: hi besties, sorry for the long wait on this update. as usual, there are warnings for thoughts of violence and nudity. 

i'm happy to hear what u guys think in the comments, it makes me really glad to see what people think of my writing :)

You stop in front of one of the large, polished mirrors lining the walls to check your reflection before you finish your walk to the room that Prince Schoenheit is staying in.

You're not exactly sure why you've done it; in your time here, you haven't felt particularly drawn to maintaining your appearance other than staying hygienic and neat, but an audience with Vil made you feel a bit short-cut. Perhaps you don't want to doll yourself up, but you certainly don't want to go in looking like a mess either. You can't do much about your outfit, diminished as it's become, but the neckline is higher than it has been in the past few weeks and your shoes are walkable, so you quell down your internal complaints and continue on your march forward.

The East Wing seems farther away than it used to. You're pretty sure that its your nerves going haywire—which must be why you keep wiping your palms on the fabric covering you and why you can feel your heart against your ribcage—but the knowledge does nothing to calm you. This won't be anything like talking with Epel—no, you're already in deep with that boy, feigning acceptance of his interest in you and figuring out the bits of his life that could break him. This isn't a lovesick boy who's plagued with delusions of grandeur and is holding onto a crumbling kingdom held up only by the efforts of aging, weary staff. This is a true prince you're going to meet with. This is a man who doesn't spend time trying to smooth out the problematic people and threatening them into compliance; this is a man who will pull you up by the roots and let you wither and die if he doesn't find you valuable.

Vil's door suddenly appears in front of you. How long have you been walking? You hadn't even noticed that you'd gotten this far. Either way, you're here now, and you know that Vil won't be happy if you stall for too long. You raise your fist and knock once, twice, thrice—and then you wait.

You barely hear Vil's voice when he instructs you to enter. It's not exactly quiet, but it is smooth, like oil gliding over water; had you not been paying attention, it would've slipped right past you and you would've stayed standing outside like an idiot. The handle is grabbed and turned and pushed inward, and you're stepping into the room before you can second-guess yourself.

Even perched on the edge of a bed that's not his, Vil's presence commands the entire room. He's not waiting for you; no, you're waiting for his orders and for his attention. You suddenly realize how little power you have in his company—he's the perfect image of a soon-to-be ruler, something that you hadn't been exposed to in your time with Epel. Your back stiffens as his pale gaze lands on you; there's nothing telling you not to breathe, but you're starting to find that Vil has a tendency to freeze you in place—perhaps it's the danger that lingers around him like a sweet perfume.

You wait for Vil to give you an order. Vil seems content just to stare though, giving you several up-and-downs, taking in the fabrics pulled tight around your body with an expression you can't read. You try very, very hard not to stare at him, but the glint of jewels across his neck and the soft waves of lavender-on-platinum hair distract you more than you'd like it to. Eventually, you're snapped out of your trance by Vil clearing his throat and lacing his gloved hands together on his lap.