"Ma..." Lukas breathed, his eyes still closed and his body curled up into a foetal position. "M-Math..." he repeated again, and his hand reached up to rub the sleep off his eyes. Slowly and arduously he withdrew the duvet from his body, as if the thick, silk sheet was filled with a thousand stones instead of the finest feathers it actually contained. Then he rose from the bed, and with the same manner he examined his surroundings with tired eyes. It seemed like a familiar room, as he noticed the items that were in it: gold and silver trophies and dusty antiques stood atop shelves; a collection of swords with each being of unique shapes and sizes hung proudly on a wall to the right; and there was the distinct grandfather clock at the far end of the room which, by its moving hands, proved that despite its old age it still functioned.

Then it dawned on him. "Herregud, no..."

Lukas sprang up from the his master's bed, his head shaking frantically as he backed away as far from it as possible, until he collided against the prince's wardrobe. Never before had his eyes conveyed the utmost horror until now. Like his eyes scanning every inch of his room, his thoughts were all over the place, with each thought exchanging from 'surely it is not possible' to 'this must be a dream'. It was absurd, rebellious, unacceptable; and even in his wildest dreams would he not conjure up this sort of situation!

Then, there was the weird thrill of disobedience.

"No, no, no, no, no." He covered his face with his hand, yet it did not stop the red radiating from his cheeks. He shook his head at the last thought. He needed to get out. Now.

After fixing the bed and making sure that there was no evidence of his unprofessional deed, such as any locks of hair, he bolted his way to the door.

THUMP!

Lukas let out a low whimper, rubbing his sore nose. It could have been a servant, or even Ivan, and he would have surely expressed his unseen rage - if only he hadn't looked up at the figure before him.

"Hm? Bondevik?"

Sturdy like stone, Lukas ceased any action. There was no need to look up to find out the owner of the voice. After all, there was only one person that called him by his last name.

"Are you okay?" After looking down at the smaller man, Mathias immediately noticed his butler's red nose and winced as if he was the one in pain. "Ah! Did I do that? I'm so sorry!"

Lukas flinched. "No, it was my fault. I should be the one apologising for running into you."

"Nonsense. Let me see."

"I am fine." Lukas responded sternly.

Mathias ignored his butler and reached out to take a look, but Lukas swooped around the arm and paced past the prince. The Dane turned to call for his butler, but before he could even react there was a screeching crash. A trolley of plates had collided with his butler, causing him to collapse onto the floor surrounded by a sea of porcelain shards, once of which had cut his butler's neck.

"Bondevik!" Mathias cried, and he hurriedly went to the Norwegian's side. He turned to the servant controlling the trolley and instructed them to get the nurse, and in reply the servant bowed and followed the prince's orders.

"Just let me see." Mathias leaned over and inspected the bloody gash. There were two cuts, and seeping from them was a foul stream of red dew, which trickled slowly down the skin - like a victim bitten by a vampire; it was quite Gothic. Mathias could just smell the metallic scent and it almost made him gag.

"The nurse will be here soon."

Lukas bit his lip, his left ear resting on the prince's shoulder. "I know." The prince was too close: he was beside him, head to neck, cleansing the wound with one of the fresh towels in the trolley. The prince's sweet fragrance was so strong it was intoxicating, such that it essentially became the anaesthetic that relieved him from his pains. The prince's shoulder was stiff, but how skilful was the tender limb that, despite possessing a muscular structure that would aid the prince in his most laborious work, had the capability to ease the pain on those who lay upon it.

Thump.

His heartbeat quickened. That's when he remembered sleeping on the prince's bed. Soft. Comforting. His teeth sunk deeper into his lips - hard enough to make it bleed. Without warning, a warm but damp object traced the scar on his skin which made Lukas shiver.

"I'm sorry. Did it hurt?"

Lukas shook his head, yet the stinging sensation betrayed his actions. The object continued to roam around his skin and soon enough the pain eased away. When the towel was removed, Lukas groaned in displeasure. But it wasn't long before the towel was shortly replaced by a much warmer one, which elicited a sigh from the butler. When Lukas looked to his side, he was startled. The prince was latched onto his neck, like a vampire sucking the blood out of its victim – except he wasn't just sucking the blood off the man – but was also lapping the area with his moist and gentle tongue. Afterwards, the prince licked his bloodied lips, as if pleased with his meal.

Lukas closed his eyes and moaned wantonly. He could feel the prince unbuttoning his shirt, popping each one with great tenderness, like opening a present carefully as to not damage its contents. A hand was placed carefully on Lukas' chest and it started to move, caressing the flat surface.

"And to think you were just starting to recover..."

"What?"

Lukas snapped out from his thoughts and quickly peered down to inspect his chest. When he saw his buttoned up shirt, he breathed a sigh of relief and he glanced up at the prince.

It was just an hallucination.

Mathias raised an eyebrow at his butler's actions. "Oh, I mean from the nose injury, obviously! What else?" The prince laughed, but upon seeing the hurt look on his butler's face, his face grew somber. "Sorry."

"It's fine, I just—"

Lukas paused. All too quickly, came a swirling surge of nausea. It proceeded to blur the butler's vision and he was suddenly at a loss of energy. Eventually, he passed out in the prince's arms.

Eyelids batted open like wings taking flight. Upon seeing the cream yellow walls around him there was no doubt Lukas was lying on his bed. The butler groggily sat up and held his sore head, at the same time, wondering how he ended up in his own room. He then moved his hand down to rub his neck. Unbeknownst of his previous injury and thus unaware of the piece of cotton strapped to it, he applied way too much pressure to the sensitive skin, causing him to emit a high pitched wince.

Suddenly, Lukas' expression fell, as if the sharp pain had triggered his memories. He got up and approached the mirror. He hated the white fabric bound to his neck. He hated how it blended with his pale skin. He hated how it essentially became a reminder of his unthinkable deed. So he reached for the inflicted area and, with the utmost care, peeled off the plaster, to which beneath, had he exposed a perfectly round, perfectly pinkish wound.