by Ali Winters
The door slams shut behind us. Cassius and Lawrence stop as if that were a cue. Together, we wait at the edge of the room, away from the crowd.
“What a waste of time,” Cassius mutters under his breath. “All to prove to Alaric that she has him under her pretty little thumb.”
Alaric continues until he stands at the foot of the dais before the queen. He kneels down on one knee. The queen shifts her attention to him, her face somber. The demon bird above lets out a caw that echoes through the room, silencing the barely audible whispers.
“Stand and come to me, my prince,” the queen purrs.
“Prince?” I nearly choke on the words.
“You truly did not know?” Cassius asks, his voice filled with amusement. “Our dear Alaric didn’t tell you…” He feigns a scandalized gasp then murmurs, “This is fantastic…”
Lawrence shoots him a warning glance.
Things that have been said and done start to piece themselves together. How Alaric ordered the three vampires, the footman calling him Sire and the guard not arguing with him…
I pry my gaze from Alaric and look at Lawrence from the corner of my eye. I’m embarrassed that it has taken this moment for me to learn the truth.
Lawrence’s expression changes, taking me in as though seeing me for the first time. His features soften to something akin to kindness. I swallow thickly. That can’t be right—he hates me.
“Who did you think he was?” he asks under his breath.
Alaric stands and walks up the dais and into the open arms of the queen. She wraps herself around him. He doesn’t return the embrace, but he doesn’t fight it. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest.
“I… I don’t know. I suppose I thought he was just a vampire,” I say. I probably shouldn’t admit anything to him, but I don’t think he’s asking out of malice or trickery.
“Just a vampire?” he scoffs.
I cringe.
He shakes his head, genuinely shocked that I never had a clue—as if who and what Alaric is was common knowledge among humans.
As the queen releases Alaric, the crowd resumes movement and sound. Conversations pick up, but the path leading to the queen remains clear.
“You had no idea he was the first of Elizabeth’s creations and the most powerful of us all and fated to be the vampire queen’s consort? You didn’t want him for his money or the things he could do for you?”
His questions rip the air from my lungs—painful realizations. My face heats with every word that comes out of his mouth because I naively believed everything was simple. I believed Alaric was an ordinary man.
“How could I?” I ask, voice cracking. “I’ve never seen him until he claimed me.”
He looks at me for a single heartbeat then throws his head back and lets out a sharp laugh. I cross my arms and wait for him to finish.
“Look,” I say, attempting to keep my temper in check. “I never wanted anything from him. Not his money, or that manor, or…” I trail off shaking my head, feeling foolish. I wrap my arms around my middle. Then in a small voice, I add, “I still don’t want anything of his.”
“Then what is it you do want?” he asks.
Then I understand. When he questioned me about where I would want to be if I could choose, his cold demeanor, trying to scare me off in the library the day he arrived at the manor, and all the accusations that I might want what Alaric has… Lawrence was worried about my intentions. He must be a good friend to worry for Alaric like that. Even from someone with such a limited lifespan, such limited strength… someone powerless.
“I want—” I shake my head. “I don’t want anything,” I say.
Lawrence’s eyes narrow on me.
I only want him.
I don’t dare speak the words aloud. How can I admit that to Lawrence when I haven’t even admitted it to Alaric, let alone to myself?
I can’t.
It would only complicate things, but knowing that doesn’t stop the words from building and bubbling up to the surface. I lo—
I close my eyes for a brief moment and push the thoughts back down, locking them away.
The rest of our conversation dies on the air as Cassius pushes off the wall, clearing his throat. He moves across the floor toward the queen. Lawrence grabs my arm and drags me along.
The queen and Alaric descend the steps of the dais and walk toward us. He avoids looking at me as if I don’t exist, but I can’t help but frown at her arm linked with his.
Our two groups meet in the center of the room. The crowd closes in behind us but spreads out, giving us privacy.
I study Alaric’s face.
A prince…
And he’s fated to be with the vampire queen—to be with this unearthly woman standing among us.
It’s hard to believe. Not because I think it’s impossible, but because he looks every inch the part in the way he holds himself and I never noticed before. He knew it and never saw fit to tell me.
I feel as though I don’t know him. Have I ever known him? If he hid this from me, what else is he hiding? It stings. He didn’t trust me enough over the past three days and nights alone in the carriage to tell me this. He had to have known that I would find out once we reached Nightwich.
“Cassius, Lawrence, I am glad to see you both here as well,” the queen croons. Her voice is saccharine sweet and dripping with false joy. “I don’t see Victor. Where is he?”
There’s something dangerous in the way she asks the question, and her voice sends a shiver down my spine.
My stomach knots, and I’m grateful she has chosen to ignore my existence.
Lawrence pales, but before he or Cassius can speak, Alaric waves a hand dismissively and says, “Elizabeth, my queen.”
She smiles at the way he says her name and title.
“We have traveled a long way over the past few days. I am tired, and there is no reason we cannot discuss these things another time.”
She looks as though she might refuse, but when Alaric gives her a sultry smile, Elizabeth returns the look, victory glinting in her eyes.
“Very well,” she says, reaching her arms up around his neck.
Cassius grabs my arm and spins me around, leading me away. Lawrence follows closely, blocking my view of them, but not before I see the queen place a kiss on his mouth.
The second we leave the throne room, I jerk my arm out of Cassius’s grip. My breath hitches. They all knew what we were walking into, but no one warned me about any of it.
I walk over to a window on the far side of the hall and rest my forehead against the chilled glass. The outside view looks inward to the palace grounds. I grip the ledge and focus on my breathing. A slimy feeling blooms inside me. I hate how it feels. It’s ugly, dark, and twisted.
I feel betrayed. I feel lied to, and—
I swallow down the thought, not ready to face it. I focus on the anger and hurt, holding on to them and willing them to grow until they drown out anything else.
Soft footfalls sound behind me. Alaric’s hand lands softly on my shoulder but I don’t turn to face him. If I do, I’ll give in to whatever comfort and accept any reason he might give for what happened.
“Come, Clara.” His hand slides down my arm to take my hand.
I don’t fight or resist as he leads me down through the halls. I’m too angry with him to pay attention to my surroundings as we meander toward his room.
The queen kissed him. Not a chaste kiss on each cheek, but on the mouth. I could brush it off if she had greeted Cassius and Lawrence in the same manner, but she didn’t.
I sneak a glance at Alaric, but nothing in his expression gives away his thoughts.
We climb two flights of stairs before we reach a landing and continue walking until we reach the only door halfway down the hall.
Alaric drops my hand and places his on my lower back, guiding me inside. I walk a few paces into the room and stop, focusing my unseeing gaze on the floor.
A prince… fated to be the q
ueen’s consort.
The door closes with a soft click.
“Clara?”
I don’t respond.
Alaric turns me around and cups my face, tilting my head up and forcing me to look him in the eye.
I push away, and he lets go. I stumble back a few steps before catching myself. Warm pressure builds behind my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink, and hot, angry tears slide down my face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My words are sharp and cutting.
At my outburst, Cherno startles somewhere across the room. Leathery wings flutter erratically until the demon settles above us on one of the thick beams.
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
I suck in a breath. “How can you say that? You’re fated to be with the queen.”
He goes deathly still. “Who told you that?” he asks sharply.
“It doesn’t matter.” I throw his words back at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He takes a tentative step closer and, when I don’t back away, another and another. Alaric reaches out and takes me by the shoulders. He swallows hard, the knot in his throat bobbing. “Because of the way you’re looking at me now. I never wanted you to see me as the others do, but to see me for who I am.”
That strikes me like a physical blow. In the short time since learning who he was, I put up walls, blocking him out. If I had known all along, I never would have accepted his deal. I never would have allowed him to give me any of the marks, and I never would have returned to Windbury after Kathrine’s wedding.
When I don’t speak, he continues, “Being a prince means nothing. It’s an empty title that I hold only because I had the misfortune of being her second victim.”
“Second?” I frown. “Lawrence said you were her first.”
Pain darkens his eyes. “Her first creation.” Alaric turns his face away, glowering at a distant place I can’t see. “She nearly killed Rosalie. I had no choice but to submit to Elizabeth’s will so I could keep her from dying—” His voice breaks.
My hurt and anger melt away. Forgotten. I move closer and take his hand. His fingers squeeze mine—the only physical sign of his pain he allows himself to show.
“I turned my own sister because of her. I robbed Rosalie of the future she should have had… but I couldn’t let her die.”
“I understand,” I say.
And I do. I would have done the same if I had been in his place. I am thankful now that he refused to give me the final mark on the way here, but I don’t think I can ever allow him to mark me when he is essentially betrothed to the queen. I can’t allow myself to be tied to a man who can never be mine.
Alaric wraps me up in a hug, but I don’t fully relax into him as I would have in the past.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and I can feel the relief in his posture.
After a long moment, he pulls back and lets me go.
“You’re still upset,” he says.
I want to deny it, but I can’t. “Yes.”
“Why? How do I fix it?”
“It’s not your title. You are fated to be with the queen.” I spit the words. The ugly feeling from earlier returns with a vengeance, roiling in my gut.
Alaric flinches.
He is not mine. Knowing this—seeing him stand with the queen on the dais, watching her kiss him—forms a hollow shell out of my heart. I’m afraid that he’ll slip through my fingers. I have lost everyone else I’ve ever loved in my life, and now I am afraid I will lose him, too.
It’s selfish, but I wonder what will become of me when he is hers.
“Fate is what will come to pass, but we can control it by deciding for ourselves what we want. We can forge our own path. I will not have Elizabeth or anyone else choose for me… for us.”
I pull in a breath and hope he’s right.
Chapter Three
Clara
Strong hands grip my shoulders, pinning me down. A heavy form settled on top of my body keeps me immobile. My eyes fly open, and all I see are bared fangs. I blink at dark sapphire eyes ringed with a thick, red line. Morning sun gilds Alaric’s tousled black hair and thick eyelashes.
He’s beautiful, even as my mind struggles to understand what’s happening.
My heart hammers in my chest. I’m frozen to the spot, too shocked to remember how to move.
“Defend yourself,” he snarls, bringing his face within a hair’s breadth of mine. “Defend yourself or die.”
The air whooshes out of me in a single breath. “A-Alaric?”
A growl issues up from deep within his chest. I flinch.
He’s going to kill me.
The space between heartbeats stretches on as time seems to slow to a stop.
I don’t understand. Sleep clings to my mind as I struggle to come up with an explanation for his mood change.
An ache forms in my chest. Somewhere in the time that I had fallen asleep, he changed from my friend into a monster that is seconds from ripping my throat out. I squeeze my eyes shut against the burning that rises. A single traitorous tear slips out of the corner of one eye.
Alaric’s weight is gone as he shifts to the side. “Clara?”
I don’t move.
Alaric’s thumb brushes across my temple, wiping away the tear. Then his arms are around me, pulling me into him. “I’m sorry. That was obviously the wrong way to do things.”
My eyes snap open. I press my hands against his chest and shove backward. He releases me without a fight.
I flop back onto the pillows. “The wrong way to… what?” I snap.
He ducks his head. “You need to learn to defend yourself. I should have been adamant about it long before now.”
I rise to sit, glaring down on him. “And you thought attacking me as a wakeup call, without warning, was a good way to go about that?”
“You must always be prepared. You can trust no one here—and even if you think you can, you must treat them as if they will turn on you when you least expect it.” He reaches his hand up, but I push it away.
I set my jaw, teeth clenched, and ask, “And you? Can I trust you, Alaric?”
He takes me in as my heart continues to drum against my chest. I tell myself that it’s from the way he woke me and not because of the way his messy hair falls across his forehead, half obscuring one eye… or the way he seems to look through me to who I am… as if he knows me even when I don’t.
Slowly, he rises and leans forward. “I will do everything I can to keep you safe while we are here, but no, my dear, Clara, you should not even trust me.”
Exiting the bathing room, I pause to take in the opulent main room. Brocade curtains and a wall-to-ceiling double door leading to a rotund balcony. The four-poster bed is large enough to fit several people. Drapes hang from each post, tied back with thick, braided, golden ropes. The bed is situated on the opposite wall of the black stone fireplace. A large painting above it has been turned around to display only the back of the canvas.
I forget about the oddly positioned painting when movement catches my attention. Alaric leans against the bed, straightening out the cuff of a sleeve. Cherno is perched on his shoulder, quiet and barely moving. The demon’s entire demeanor has changed since arriving.
Alaric looks up and smiles, uncertainty lingering in his expression. “I really hope you can forgive me for this morning. There’s no excuse for my actions, regardless of my intentions.”
He lifts Cherno off his shoulder and whispers something to him before setting him down on the bed.
“It’s all right,” I say, waving off his apology. I don’t want to dwell on it, I don’t want to examine how betrayed I feel or how my chest aches as if a fissure has ripped its ways across the surface of my heart, threatening to rent it in two. “I was startled, that’s all.”
I don’t meet his gaze as I cross to the mirror and run my fingers through my hair to keep my hands busy.
“I will teach you how to defend yourself,” he says.
The words g
lide across my cheek. He takes my hair and lays it over one shoulder. I watch his reflection in the mirror. His gaze is locked on the bare skin of the crook of my neck.
“I don’t trust anyone here.”
I feel the urge to lean back into him and have his arms wrap around me. I want the subtle scent of him to envelop me…
It’s only the mark, I tell myself.
“I would appreciate that,” I say. Stepping off to the side, I turn to look at him. “But the next time you want to do something for my benefit, talk to me first.”
He agrees and leads me out of the room and down the halls.
I notice my surroundings for the first time, having been too tired and hurt to care last night. The outside of the castle was polished and gleamed, but inside, the walls and floors are made of gray, unpolished stone.
The windows are spaced so far apart there is a need for torches and sconces even during the day. It is dreary inside, and it reminds me of an impending thunderstorm. Swaths of material draped along the walls, and framed art pieces of landscapes hang in places where one would expect to find a window. It’s as if whoever decorated this castle closed everyone inside off from the real world while attempting to create the illusion of wide, open spaces.
I follow Alaric down two flights of stairs then once more through the servants’ halls until we reach a hidden staircase that leads to the dark underground of the castle. He grabs a torch off the wall and heads lower into the shadowy abyss.
A shiver of unease crawls down my spine, but I shove it away and follow Alaric down the narrow stairs. Following him blindly, with my complete and utter trust, I don’t question him for a second. I doubt it will ever matter how often he urges me not to trust him. I do.
The air is sticky and damp and smells of soured wood. We walk through several more halls with twists and turns until I think I’d be lost in this labyrinth without his guidance.
“How do you know about this place?”
He stops walking but doesn’t turn around. The torch light flickers and dances on the walls, making his shadow waver, and the steady drip, drip, drip, of water in the distance echoes all around us. Gossamer silk webs cling to everything.
