BLACK KNIGHT
Vampire Court
Ingrid Seymour
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BLACK KNIGHT
First edition. August 27, 2019
Copyright © 2019 Ingrid Seymour
Written by Ingrid Seymour
Cover Designed by Deranged Doctor Designs
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
Get Notified
Also by Ingrid Seymour
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Rook Sanda was dead, killed by Rook Datcu.
I’d hoped to cause a rift in the Black Court ranks, and I’d succeeded. The problem was I’d also brought something dreadful upon myself.
With Sanda dead I had to fight to become a Rook.
If I lost, I was dead. And if I won, I would have to drink vampire blood.
Against all my expectations and wishes, I had to fight the Second Quadrant’s First Pawn.
The Board must be complete.
This rule was respected while others were ignored, especially those meant to protect Acedrex’s citizens.
I stood in the Challenge Hall in front of Horasiu Skullflare, my opponent. He was about five inches taller than my six-foot height but appeared much taller. He was a massive beast of a man, thick as a barrel. The sides of his head were shaved and a deep scar cut across the top of his skull to his right ear. Multiple others marked his forearms, and the ring finger was missing from his left hand. He was battle-hardened, more than anyone I’d faced so far.
Skullflare slowly made fists as we waited to pull a chess piece from the Challenge Vessel. His fingers cracked audibly in the large hall. The spectators—Knights, Pawns and the only surviving Rook, Datcu, sat quietly in the gallery, observing the proceedings.
King Maximus was here, too, sitting on his fancy chair at the dais. No one seemed surprised by his presence anymore. They expected him to be here any time I fought. He was smiling from ear to ear, as if he couldn’t wait to feed me his blood.
The mere thought made my throat constrict as if I were about to vomit. I’d already had a taste of vampire blood that ill-fated night when I tried to rescue Timotei. Maximus had force-fed me from his torn wrist with the intention of showing me what it was to be a creature of the night.
He had used my own brother to tempt me. His Trove blood had smelled sweet and had stirred a terrible hunger in me. Still, I had been able to resist, had proved the Black King wrong. I was better than him.
That was the night when Maximus decided to make me his “favorite,” and today he would get another opportunity to try to break me. He looked so satisfied with himself. He’d been waiting for a chance to feed me a sizable dose of his blood, one that would permanently change me. That night, he’d only given me enough to heal my broken hand and put that horrible blood-hunger in me. He had thought it would be enough to undo me, to prove I was weak, but I’d made a fool of him, and I guess he hadn’t liked it.
Bishop Dragoslav and Bishop Balan stood behind the King. Maximus had brought them. It was the third or fourth time they’d been present at a challenge. Their presence sent shivers down my back, even though they wore heavy cloaks and hoods that kept their features hidden.
Rumor had it they wore the cloaks because their faces were hideous, because the vampire blood made them look like monsters, but that made no sense. Maximus didn’t need a cloak, and he had pure vampire blood running through his veins. Why would the lesser amount in the Bishops’ systems cause such a side effect?
The King had also brought Talyssa. She sat at his feet on the floor, wearing an elaborate peach-colored gown that was more appropriate for a ball than a violent confrontation. He hadn’t brought my brother, however, for which I was endlessly grateful.
I didn’t want Timotei here. Not today. He didn’t need to see what would happen, how his big brother had failed and had decided to die rather than become the monster capable of drinking his blood.
CHAPTER 2
Knight Traian, my Quadrant leader, stuck his hand in the Challenge Vessel. He stood tall and slender, a tight expression on his aquiline features. It was obvious he didn’t like this turn of events. No one did. All the members of the Board hated me for the way I’d quickly advanced through their ranks.
Well, their worries would die today.
“A Rook,” Knight Traian said as he pulled the chess piece out of its small box and held it up between his thumb and forefinger to show everyone.
I swallowed thickly. I would have preferred a Pawn. Death by a sword would have been much cleaner and less painful. Hand-to-hand combat would be messy, but maybe I deserved it, for being a coward, for bailing out on Timotei and leaving him to a life of slavery and suffering.
Pleased with the outcome, Skullflare chuckled, baring yellowed teeth. Not bothering to unbutton his shirt, he tore it off his body and threw it to the side. Metal buttons plinked on the ground and rolled away. His torso was broad like a bulls. It rippled with huge muscles. An elaborate tattoo of a dragon snaked from one pectoral muscle and continued over the opposite shoulder, the mythical animal’s tail disappearing behind his back.
Making a tight fist, he pounded his chest right where the dragon’s maw spewed fire over Skullflare’s ribs.
I removed my own shirt, taking my time. My blood seemed frozen even as my heart pounded against my ribs. I never thought death would scare me so, but I was terrified. Not of the pain that Skullflare would certainly put me through, but of the things I would not get to experience: seeing my brother become a man, making Bianca mine in every possible way, growing old.
My heart ached fiercely. I had such passion to live and, yet, death was my only alternative.
“Tonight, First Pawn Nyro Stonehelm faces First Pawn Horasiu Skullflare. Whoever wins the fight will become Rook for the First Quadrant.”
Skullflare and I stepped to the middle of the checkered floor. We circled each other, measuring our worth. A glint in my opponent’s eye let me know what he thought of mine. Could he see the decision to die in my gaze? Could anyone?
I hardened my features and crouched low, determined to take my suffering as retribution for my cowardice. I charged.
As I lunged in his direction, Skullflare put a stiff arm out and stopped me in my tracks. His long, thick fingers wrapped around my throat and squeezed. A choking sound escaped me as my windpipe collapsed. Fingernails digging into my neck, he pushed me backwards.
Survival instincts taking over, I rose on the tips of my toes and dug my fingernails into his arm, trying to get him to release his death grip. He didn’t budge. Without thinking, I kicked as hard as I could, aiming in between Skullflare’s legs. My boot connected with his genitals. He immediately released me, growling in pain.
We both dropped to the floor. Me, holding my neck, and Skullflare holding his balls. I gasped and gasped for air, the pain in my throat unbearable. My lungs ached. I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling, willing myself not to breathe. I could die now. This was enough pain, wasn’t it?
But it wasn’t, and I knew it well.
This moment of pain was nothing compared to what Timotei would have to endure at
the hands of the Black King.
A few paces away from me, Skullflare stumbled to his feet, holding himself and growling like an injured animal. His red-tinted eyes seemed to burn with fire and hatred. He limped over to where I lay and kicked me in the ribs.
Something cracked and delicious pain exploded in my side, radiating like a heatwave to the rest of my body. Another kick landed on my hip. I skidded a foot or two across the floor. Skullflare’s Quadrant, as well as mine, cheered for him, taking satisfaction in my pain.
He reached down and picked me up by the neck. Pain rolled in waves across my body. My brain was a haze. Skullflare set me on my feet. I didn’t fight him. Maybe I could have, if I’d tried, but I didn’t.
I started to fall backward as he let me go, but before I did, his boulder-sized fist connected with my jaw.
My head snapped to the side. Blood filled my mouth. I fell backward. The dais flashed before my eyes as I fell. There was Talyssa with a hand over her mouth, the Bishops standing stiff and faceless behind their King, and Maximus staring angrily through bright red eyes.
At the sight of his face, a slight smile spread across my lips. In a way, I was winning, beating him at his game. It should have given me more satisfaction than it did, but the shadow of Timotei’s suffering didn’t allow me to enjoy the moment fully.
My heavy thud to the ground knocked the air out of my lungs, leaving me empty. Blood flooded my mouth, threatening to drown me. I coughed, spraying crimson droplets.
Skullflare stomped over to my side and glanced down at me with disdain.
“They will call me Rook Skullflare while you... will be forgotten forever,” he said with a sneer, then lifted his boot and prepared to smash my brains in.
Forgive me, Timotei.
I took a deep breath and prepared to die.
The King cleared his throat from the dais. Skullflare’s foot froze in midair. He glanced in Maximus’s direction with a scowl.
“I always knew you to be a compassionate man, Skullflare,” the King said.
“What?” Skullflare blurted out, his face twisting in a stupid expression of confusion.
Footsteps broke the pin-drop silence. Maximus appeared in my field of vision. He stood to my left and stared at Skullflare on my other side. I blinked at the bottoms of their chins, their dark nostrils, trying to process what was happening, but pain clouded my thoughts.
Maximus lifted an arm and placed it on Skullflare’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Rook Skullflare,” he said with a calculating smile that made me shiver where I lay. “You will drink my blood tonight, and it will be an honor. Now... someone, take this pardoned contender to the infirmary.” He made a dismissive gesture in my direction, then turned and walked away.
Pardoned?
The word echoed in my mind until its meaning registered. The King had stolen my death. He wasn’t done toying with me.
Impotence entwined with my pain. I grabbed my side and let out a wet cough. Maybe I would die after all. And with that comforting thought, I passed out.
CHAPTER 3
A terribly sweet smell permeated my dreams. The path I’d been walking on suddenly turned into an orchard. Trees heavy with fruit sprang from the ground one after the next. Their leaves rustled in the wind, and the honeyed scent of their fruit made my mouth water.
Slowly, the dream faded. I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was an angelic little face.
Timotei!
Had I died and gone to heaven? No. That would mean my brother would have to be dead, too, and I knew better than that. Maximus would not let his favorite Trove die.
“Hi, Nyro,” he said in a small, shy voice.
I glanced around, confused. I was on a large bed in a room I’d never seen. This was not the infirmary. I’d been there a few times to treat cuts and bruises, and this was not it. The canopy bed, the curtained windows, and the blond woman standing by my bedside clued me in—not to mention the child sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching me intently.
I was inside the Black Palace. With the King’s Troves.
Scrambling to a sitting position, I pressed my back against a cushioned backboard. As the sheets slipped off of me, I realized I was naked. Talyssa’s eyes widened and traveled down my torso, then lower.
I snatched the covers and pulled them up to my chest.
A deep chuckle sounded from the back of the room. “So modest.”
Maximus came into view and stopped at the foot of the bed. A strange sensation filled my chest, like restlessness and yielding combined. Three pairs of eyes watched me expectantly. My mind reeled as I tried to understand my situation.
I was in a bedroom in the Black Palace, and I... I wasn’t hurting anywhere.
Forgetting about the sheets, I let them go and patted my ribs, my face.
“What...?” I began, but then I knew.
My gaze lifted to the King’s. He blinked slowly, a small smile twisting his lips. “You are welcome,” he said.
“Why? Why do you break your own rules for me?” I demanded.
Maximus didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his back on me and walked toward one of the many windows that lined the room.
“Give him the mirror, Talyssa,” he instructed.
She reached slowly toward the night table, her slender, pale hand trembling slightly. I should have been worried about the purpose of the mirror, but I was suddenly distracted by Timotei and the hopeful twinkle in his eyes.
“Hey, rascal,” I said, looking him over.
“Hey,” he said with a quick head bob.
I reached out and took his hand in mine. I hadn’t seen him since my challenge to become First Pawn. He was a bit pale with circles under his eyes, but I’d seen him in worse shape. Maybe he was growing stronger despite... despite serving as Maximus’s blood slave. He had always been resilient. A fighter.
Shame washed over me. I’d stop fighting for him, and here he was still adapting, doing his best to survive. My cowardice knew no boundaries.
Talyssa extended the mirror in my direction. I glanced away from my brother and stared at the silver-plated object with a frown. The expression on her face was much different from Timotei’s. There was nothing hopeful in her blue eyes. Nothing at all.
Dread crawled up my chest like a creeping spider.
I took the mirror and stared into it. What stared back felt like a stab into my heart as if deadly, venomous pincers had latched onto it and were trying to snap it in two.
My eyes were red, not glowing like the King’s, but still red.
“What have you done?!” I demanded.
Startled, Timotei pushed away from me and got off the bed. He pressed his small hands to the tall mattress and watched me from a distance. His fear should have curbed my anger, but it only made it worse.
I flung the mirror across the room. Talyssa yelped and backed away. The mirror crashed against the wall and shattered, its silver frame clattering to the floor.
“What have you done?!” I asked again, jumping to my feet and standing naked on a thick rug.
I was facing the King, my chest heaving, but he ignored me and continued staring out the window, impassive.
“I didn’t want this,” I growled.
“Nyro, he saved you,” Timotei said, tears wavering in his eyes.
“No!” I yelled, fists clenching as my anger grew.
“He did,” Timotei said. “Your lung had a hole in it from a broken rib. You were dying.”
“I wanted to die!” I blurted out without thinking.
Timotei shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. But I didn’t care what he thought, what my confession did to him, all I wanted was to...
I ran toward the King and lunged. I was there in an instant, my muscles feeling as if they would burst from the power trapped in them. I reached for his neck, ready to strangle him, but before I could, Maximus whirled, grabbed me by the shoulders and smashed me against the ground as if I were nothing but a weak child.
As I
tried to get back up, he leaned down and pressed a hand to my chest, pinning me down.
“Calm down, Nyro,” he said in a soothing voice that slithered into my ears like a damn snake.
The power I’d felt in my muscles quieted down, leaving me limp on the floor. I grabbed Maximus’s wrist and tried to wrench it away, but it was like trying to pull on a plastered column.
I bared my teeth at the bastard. He hadn’t only stolen my death, he had also stolen my humanity.
“I didn’t choose this,” I said between clenched teeth.
“Ah, but you did, dear Nyro. The day you chose to join my Board, you signed your life over to me. Remember?”
I wanted to deny it, but it was true. I had signed in blood, when I could have very well walked away. But what other choice had I’d been given? He had taken Timotei. Besides, I hadn’t been a coward then. I’d still been brave enough to fight for my brother.
Growling in frustration, I scratched and shoved Maximus’s arm to no avail.
“You really need to calm down,” he said in a patient tone. “You’re upsetting the boy.” He glanced toward Timotei, who had backed away from the bed and was now peeking from behind the folds of a curtain.
Seeing him there, scared of his own brother, broke something in me. Tears sprang to my eyes.
“I didn’t want this.” I covered my face with both hands to stifled the sob that broke from my lips. “What am I? What have you made of me?”
The pressure on my chest eased, then was gone. The King stepped away. A blubbering man was no threat, so why bother to keep me down?
“You’re naught but a Rook,” Maximus answered. “Is not that bad?”
I peeled my hands away from my face and stared at him. “I can’t be,” I said, stupidly. “There already are two Rooks in your court.”
He waved a hand in the air as if that were a trifling matter. “That is nothing to worry about. Rooks die all the time.”
I sat up, head swimming.
Rooks die all the time?
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