by Keary Taylor
Cyrus lets out a laugh, four short bursts of gleeful spite. He turns away from us, and the two guards grab me. I don’t fight them, and Ian watches me, ready to spring, so I try to convey the message of it’s okay through my eyes.
The guards don’t have to force me as we turn and head out of the enormous room. Ian’s footsteps follow just behind.
And just as we’re ten feet through the doorway, Raheem rounds the corner.
His eyes grow wide and his expression pales. Not once do his eyes leave my face as he rushes forward. These guards must not know of Raheem’s betrayal because they do not stop him when he reaches forward and takes my chained hands in his.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes searching me over. “Are they beginning?”
And I feel heat clawing up my neck, spreading to my cheeks. My eyes dart to Ian, and sure enough, he’s staring, a hard expression in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say, unable to look him in the eye. “And they’re beginning at daybreak when Christian and Markov arrive.”
Finally, Raheem seems to catch on that we have an audience. His eyes dart to Ian. But he doesn’t back down, doesn’t seem embarrassed. But his eyes do harden. “Mr. Ward,” he says. “I see you’ve been released from prison.”
“Yep,” Ian responds. His voice is tight. He crosses his arms over his chest, revealing the stake in his hand, exposing the long blade dangling from his hip.
“I assume you will be staying for the trial?” Raheem asks as he finally lets my hands go.
I groan. Romantic drama is the last thing I want right now. I step forward, dragging the guards behind me.
I don’t wait for them to react. Don’t turn around to see their heated stares.
Suddenly, isolation sounds like heaven.
THE ROOM THEY MOVE ME to is a massive improvement over the cell.
A simple double-sized bed sits in the middle of the small room. A dresser is on one wall. A mirror on another. A small bathroom. And then there’s a closet with a few simple items of black clothing.
But it’s heaven compared to the steel and stone walls I’ve been staring at for the last month.
The very first thing I do is shower. X was cruel, but right. I do smell awful. The last shower I got was the one I took in Raheem’s quarters weeks ago. The hot water cascades down over me, rinsing off the filth and time.
When I’m done, I braid my hair, which has gotten so long, over my shoulder and pull on the clothes.
A knock sounds on the door and a moment later, a woman opens the door. My throat instantly burns.
She’s human.
She’s barely closed the door behind her, saying something with a heavy Austrian accent, before I’m across the room and my fangs sink into her neck.
The human woman goes instantly still, her head lolling to the side, exposing easier access. My fingers dig hard into her flesh, holding her upright, as my fangs sink in deeper. I take long pulls, drawing from her body what I’ve been craving for over a month now. Fresh blood.
But my age is showing. Just last month, I would have easily kept sucking until I drained her dry, but as the burn in my throat and belly begins to be extinguished, my thoughts clear. I release her after just a few deep pulls.
“Thank you,” I say, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. And it’s the first time it’s come away clean.
“Bitte,” she says in German, offering me a pleasant smile. She turns to the door and knocks three times. A guard opens the door and lets the woman out.
I collapse into the bed, feeling both satisfied and disgusted with myself. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed something fresh to drink. So much better than the bagged stuff.
And maybe it’s finally getting to drink. Maybe it’s finally knowing that something is going to happen. I claw my way up to the pillow and tuck myself into the blankets. Maybe it’s having a real bed once again, but finally, I sleep for the first time in a month.
I’M WOKEN BY THE SOUND of talking outside the door to my room. I sit up in the dark and push a few loose strands of hair out of my face, just as the door is pushed open.
“Markov,” I call in delight. I’m out of the bed in a blink and my arms wrap around his neck. “Christian.” He gains a hug, as well.
“Told you they wouldn’t just a let a Royal rot in a prison cell,” Christian says with a smirk in Markov’s direction.
“Actually,” I correct him as we walk into the room and I settle back onto the bed. “I’ve only just been moved from the prison a few hours ago. I’ve been down there all this time.”
Markov fixes Christian with a cold glare. “She may be a Royal, but she was removed as a prisoner. Are you well, my queen?”
The softness in his voice makes my heart swell. A kind word. A hint of loyalty. “I’m okay,” I say, offering him an appreciative smile. “Even better now that you two are here. I guess three. Lillian is here, too.”
Markov’s eyes flash red for a moment, a look of disgust and frustration upon his face. Their expressions tell me they knew she was here. “She was your first ally, yet first to doubt you,” Markov says, anger in his voice. “Did you ever see this coming?”
“No,” I respond honestly. “I thought she was my friend. I thought—”
“She is your friend,” Christian says. “That’s why she’s so hurt. The evidence does look pretty damn bad.”
“Did you two find anything to prove that I’m being set up?” Suddenly, my voice is desperate.
Markov takes my hand in his, patting it between his two wrinkled and aged ones. “King Cyrus has mandated that we are not allowed to tell you anything before the trial. But I do believe we have a good chance of exonerating you.”
There’s enough doubt in his voice to make my heart race.
“Our case kind of all hinges on one important key, and it hasn’t exactly been secured yet.”
“That’s enough,” Markov hushes Christian. “You’re a fool if you think Cyrus isn’t listening to every word.”
Christian takes two fingers and zips them over his lips, giving Markov an annoyed glare.
“How long until daybreak?” I ask as they stand to leave.
“About an hour,” Markov responds. He smooth’s his hands over my shoulders, clearing away the wrinkles in my clothes. “I’m sure they will come for you soon. Do not be intimidated by their numbers. You have loyalty at your side, people who know you did not commit this heinous crime.”
“Chin up, princess,” Christian says as he opens the door. “See you on the stand.”
THEY DO INDEED COME TO get me in exactly one hour. The same two guards chain my wrists and ankles. I’m pretty sure it’s all a mental game because surely, I could break them with just a few good yanks. But it would be foolish to fight them. I’m sure either of them would yank my heart from my chest without hesitation if I struggled.
Up two floors and down a long hall. It opens up to reveal a colossal room. A huge, massive table is set up, set in the shape of a square. The room is empty except for a few guards stationed at each of the entrances.
“Here,” the female guard says, sitting me in a chair in the middle of one of the square’s legs. She un-cuffs my bonds. “Don’t try anything. You’ll be staked before you can move a meter.”
I glance back at her. Her fangs are extended, her eyes glowing red with black veins on her face. And in her hands, she holds a crossbow with a wooden stake set and ready.
“Deal,” I say.
The sound of feet on stone draws my eyes to the hallway once more, and a flock of bodies begins crowding into the room.
Godrick, Judith, Serge, and Raheem. A dozen other faces I do not recognize. Then Christian and Markov. A moment later, Ian. A few others. And finally, the judges. Lillian, who can’t seem to quite look me in the eye. Elle, who is always unreadable. The two men I do not know. And finally, last of all, Cyrus.
“Welcome everyone,” he says with false cheerfulness as everyone fills in around the table. But no o
ne is allowed to sit beside me. The judges sit directly across, facing me, and everyone else fills in on the sides to my left or right. “Thank you, so much, for being here and being witness to this rare occurrence of treason. Why, the last time someone tried to kill me, the entire House of Greenland had to be executed!” He laughs at this, as if truly enjoying the replay going on in his head.
Cyrus stands at the head of the table, his fingertips resting on the wooden surface. “The trial will take time. We must be certain that we have all the pieces, that those who believe they have something of value to add have said their piece. So today, we only embark on the first leg of this voyage. Alivia—Lady Conrath—will give her statement. Her defense. She will answer the questions of the judges. But first,” he says as he claps his hands. Suddenly, the room is filled with servants carrying dishes. “We eat.”
The tables are stocked quickly. Gleaming metal dishes are placed before everyone, except me. Smells of roast and vegetables and bread float into the air and my stomach growls fiercely.
Plates are set before everyone and they do not hesitate in dishing up.
My mouth waters at the scent of everything. It’s been so long since I ate a proper meal. When looking at myself in the mirror earlier, I guessed I’ve lost at least fifteen pounds, fifteen that I didn’t really have to lose in the first place.
Vampires have to eat, just as humans do. But starvation won’t kill us.
“I suppose,” Cyrus says as he butters a roll, “since you are yet an infant in our world, and this is your first visit to Court, introductions should be made.” He indicates the vampire to his right. “This is my grandson, Malachi, or as he is commonly referred to, the seventh son. And this,” he indicates the other, “is Dorian, the third son. Of whom you are a descendent.”
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you,” I say, bowing my head, “but under these extreme circumstances, I don’t think I’m leaving the best impression.”
“She’s a Conrath, alright,” Dorian says, a small smile crooking his lips. “Sounds just like Elijah; looks just like her father.”
“No one has doubted her being a Conrath,” Markov speaks up. “Very few have questioned her birthright.”
“Royal lineage and rights or not,” a woman from the crowd says. “Treason is treason.”
I can barely concentrate on the conversation being had. I’m so hungry. My eyes dart around the table, drooling over those sautéed mushrooms. Dying for a taste of that buttered asparagus.
Suddenly, Ian stands and stalks over to me. To my great relief, he has a plate in his hand, filled with different foods. He sets it down in front of me.
“And who gave you permission to do so?” X demands, practically spitting fire.
I don’t wait for someone to rip the plate away; I’m digging in with my hands, ravenous.
“You expect her to defend herself when she can barely think straight from starvation?” Ian manages to defend me in a calm manor. “You let her rot with nothing for a month and then expect her to perform in front of a jury? Carefully, your royalnesses. You’re starting to look like you don’t want this to be fair, at all.”
“You will-”
“Now, now,” Dorian interrupts X. “This man has been cleared of any crime, released from prison. His presence here makes him a guest. Perhaps we will treat him as one.”
At once, she gains her composure back, throwing her hair over her shoulder, her eyes dropping to the table in silence. She may be the King’s chancellor, but she was just put in her place.
“Before we begin,” Cyrus moves on, “I must warn you all. Lady Conrath here is quite the actress. She, for some time during my visit to the States, made me believe she truly was Sevan, our beloved queen, returned to me after so long. While in the shadows, she was spending some very intimate time with our most decorated spy. I had no idea for some time. She hid her true feelings well. So please, let us keep that in mind as she tells us her tales.”
I feel the eyes burn into me, see them shift to Raheem. Hear the intake of breath and the mutterings. I’m tempted to look at him, but I just can’t.
“It’s true,” I say as I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Raheem and I have…had feelings for each other. And it’s true that I toyed with Cyrus. I was suffering from a broken heart, and I needed to hurt someone in return.” My voice drops and my eyes fall from the crowd momentarily. “And, I think in the end I hurt two…” I shake my head, feeling sick over myself. “Three people.”
I swallow hard, squaring my shoulders. My messed up love life is not the reason we are here. I need to focus. “But the point is that, having lost everything so quickly, having everything ripped away, has made me realize I am just one being and that control is a relative thing. It has made me realize that I own nothing but the truth.”
The chair scrapes against the stone floor as I stand, pushing it back from the table. The chains that prove me prisoner clang against the table, sounding through the quiet room. “My father had a reputation. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I know almost nothing about him, know nothing of his past, really, other than that he is a descendant of Dorian. But something in his past happened that made him turn his back on the monarchy and our system. You all have been around long enough, I’m sure you know what I am oblivious to.”
I search their eyes at this statement. And see it there. They do know. Cyrus. Dorian. X. Probably others. They know so much more about Henry Conrath than I.
It’s not fair.
I’m a girl who never knew her father.
“When my uncle was killed in 1875, leadership of the House of Silent Bend should have fallen to Henry’s shoulders. But he refused. So the house fell into shame. Disgrace.”
I swallow, shame and regret crawling up my throat.
Somehow, Rath plays into all of this. How old he is, I have no idea, but I’m sure he’s seen so much. Advised my father, stood at his side.
And now, I’ve chased him away.
“I was born to a single mother twenty-three years ago,” I say. At the memories of her, of our simple life, my lip threatens to quiver for a moment. But my vampire body has far more control than that. “I lived in Colorado. For those not familiar with the United States, that’s most of the way across the country from Silent Bend. My mother always told me that we were strong women, that we could do anything without a man. That my father wasn’t real, and that we were all each other needed.”
This does prick emotion at the back of my eyes. Because she taught me to be strong. But she was also wrong. I needed my father, and I never even knew it until I found him, only it was too late. He was already dead.
“I never even knew his name,” I say quietly. The room around me is dead silent. They each hold onto my story with baited breath. “Not until a will showed up in my mailbox and I got a call from his attorney the next day saying I was his heir.
“I showed up at his house, and his staff wouldn’t even look me in the eye,” I say. “They seemed to be afraid of me, and I didn’t understand why. I started talking to people in town, and they seemed to hate me when they found out who my father was.”
I take a deep breath. This is emotionally draining, and I’m only at the very beginning. “I was attacked by a Bitten the very first day I left my house,” I continue the tale. “I didn’t understand what was happening. Why someone would bite me. Why I couldn’t move or scream. I didn’t believe any of this was real.”
Oh, to go back to that day. To not have left my house. To have just gone back to Colorado after two days in Mississippi. How different my life would be right now.
I look over at Ian because I can’t tell the rest of this story without involving him. Everything changed that night he intended to kill me.
“Ian knew everything,” I say as I hold his eyes. And he stares deeply back at me. There it all is, there in his eyes. So much history in such a short amount of time. “He saved me from the Bitten, but knew it should have been too late for me. He was going to kill me. So I di
dn’t become one of them.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” one of the Court members pipes up, the first word spoken from one of them yet.
“She was terrified!” Ian yells back in my defense. “She really thought she was dead. She didn’t know anything!”
“Hold your tongue, Mr. Ward!” Malachi bellows from the head of the table. “This is not the day for witnesses. You will refrain from speaking or you will be thrown out of this deposition. That goes for you, as well.” He spits this at the man of the Court who interrupted.
With everyone quiet, Malachi nods his head for me to continue.
And so, I do. With how I hid at Ian’s house right after that because he and Rath were afraid Jasmine would come after me and try to sway me with only partial truths. How I confronted Jasmine, took control of my own fate.
How she killed Ian, and how I vowed to take the House from her.
Every move I made to gain my House members’ loyalty. All the games I had to play with Jasmine.
The attacks that happened at her Broken House. All the people who went missing. How the town turned against me once more, just as I was gaining their trust.
As I tell it, the picture I was a part of becomes darker and darker. More sinister.
More gray.
“And then the King arrived,” I say. “Just one day later, I died, and Resurrected. And, yes, I toyed with the King. Yes, I played the political games. Survived the King’s own. Grew my House. And some of them might think I did this,” I say as I meet Lillian’s eyes. I’m hopeful when I see doubt there. Maybe she isn’t as sure as I once feared. “But my House is my family. And I would never turn on my kind. Because I didn’t know it then, but before I found my birthright, I was simply floating through life without a purpose. This is my calling, my home. I would never turn against my fellow Born, much less my King.”
I bow my head then, letting my eyes slide closed.
It’s true. The concept of a King is so foreign to my very normal upbringing in a land that has never had a king on its soil. But I stand before one now. He may be a sadistic man. He may have had far too much time on this earth. But I would never kill him.
