Blood Prince (Heir of the Blood Curse)

by Melinda Terranova

  Elisabetta turned to face him, her dark eyes glistening in the moonlight. She reached one hand up and gently placed it on his cheek before she pushed him aside and hurried away from him, down the staircase and out the front doors. The warmth of her touch clung to his skin for a ghost of a second. Toviah knew not to chase after her, even though his heart ached. He would go to her in the early morning light, like he did every day and tell her he loved her and nothing else mattered.

  Bastian found Toviah on the balcony. He could tell Toviah was upset in the way he gripped the balcony railing. “What are you doing up here all alone? Where is your dance partner?”

  Toviah looked out over the Grand Canal one last time before answering Bastian. “She fled.”

  “Not to worry my brother, there are plenty more fair maidens down there vying for your attention,” Bastian laughed.

  “I cannot be bothered with any of them.” His voice was tinged with arrogance, only a royal could achieve.

  “Who was the beautiful one you chose for the dance then?” Bastian raised his eyebrows, keen for the answer.

  “No one.”

  “Didn’t look like no one.”

  “Leave it,” Toviah snapped.

  “Your mother most certainly won’t leave it be. She is down there looking for you as we speak.”

  Toviah breathed deeply, the cold air filling his lungs. How he wished he could live a normal life, a life without royal duty. “Queen mother always interfering. She thinks she knows what’s best, but she has no clue.”

  “Do you want me to distract her for a while?” Bastian asked.

  “No, lets go drink until we can drink no more.” Toviah smiled, his mood changed instantly at the thought of drowning out the rest of the evening.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Bastian laughed as he followed Toviah down the stairs and straight to the bar.

  It wasn’t long before the Queen found her son and nephew drowning their sorrows. “Might I remind you that you two need to be on your best behaviour tonight.”

  Toviah rolled his eyes at his drink. “Yes mother.”

  “Look at me,” Queen Margherita whispered.

  Both Toviah and Bastian turned at once, they knew when the Queen meant business and at this moment she seemed angrier than usual.

  “What you did earlier Toviah was unacceptable. How dare you embarrass Veronica? I don’t ask much of you my son but when I do, I expect you to obey me.”

  Toviah stared at her in astonishment. Never had his mother told him to obey her. He knew what he did was out of line and he would do it again, without hesitation. “I’m sorry mother.”

  Queen Margherita leaned towards her son before she spoke. “Who was that young girl?”

  “She was no one important.” Toviah felt his heart break because she was all that was important to him.

  “I will ask once more. Who was that beautiful young girl and why did you choose her for your First Dance?”

  “Her name is Elisabetta and she is a merchant’s daughter.” Toviah glared at his mother.

  “How do you know her?”

  “I don’t. I met her tonight.” Toviah did not allow his eyes to leave his mother’s.

  The Queen watched her son carefully. She knew he was not telling the truth and she could see the heartbreak in his eyes. “What does her father sell?”

  “Trinkets and glassware made of venetian glass.” Toviah thought better than to lie anymore and he knew his mother would find out exactly who Elisabetta and her father were. He just hoped that she would leave it at that. What had he done tonight? The regret weighed heavily on his chest, it pressed deep into his heart.

  “Where is she now?” The Queen asked.

  “Gone.”

  “Gone?” The Queen seemed confused.

  “Yes, she left not long after the dance,” Toviah answered.

  “You weren’t rude to her? That poor child,” Queen Margherita sighed.

  “No, he was not rude, my Queen,” Bastian answered. Toviah gave him a thankful smile.

  “She had to leave early,” Toviah added.

  “Whatever for?” The Queen said more to herself than to the two young men.

  “Something for her father,” Bastian answered.

  The Queen ignored him and turned her attention back to her son. “Please seek out Veronica. You will be wed in the coming months and she is a lovely young woman.”

  It was not a question, more of a demand. Toviah nodded in response, his eyes roamed the ballroom floor and landed on Veronica. Her fiery red hair stood out against the sea of masks, her white skin almost translucent under the harsh lights. Toviah shuddered at the thought of spending his days with her. When Toviah turned his attentions back to where he stood, he noticed his mother was gone.

  “Go spend some time with her. Make your mother happy. Maybe show dear Veronica the true Toviah and she may not want to wed you after all,” Bastian roared with laughter, obviously already affected by the amount of port he had consumed.

  Toviah thought it not a bad idea and without uttering another word stalked toward Veronica.

  . . .

  Veronica laughed at another of his crude jokes, she did not seem affected by his pig like behaviour. Toviah knew if his mother found out about the way he acted, he would be on toilet duty for the remainder of his short life. Toviah eyed Veronica as she laughed, her musical tone mesmerising. All around her, the other guests were enraptured with her beauty, only Toviah was not interested it seemed. He wondered what his life would be like, wed to this fire haired Countess, with her intoxicating laugh and self-assured demeanour. Toviah grew tired of her company and wanted nothing more than to retreat to the bar where Bastian still drank. He licked his lips, where remnants of port remained and the sweet memory of his Elisabetta.

  “What are you thinking about?” Veronica interrupted.

  Toviah took in the woman who stood before him, a small smile crept across his face. She mistook it for affection and placed her delicate hand on his, a tingle shot up his arm and he flinched. Veronica seemed pleased with his reaction, unaffected by it. If nothing else, it made her more eager to touch him. Toviah watched as she closed the gap between them, she stood mere inches from him, her hair tickling his arm. He was unable to move away from her, as much as his heart wanted him to. He stared into her alluring eyes and licked his lips before coming to his senses and backed away.

  A small giggle escaped Veronica’s lips, she leant up and whispered, “what is the matter, my Prince?”

  “Nothing.” Toviah blinked.

  “You can have me, all of me, whenever you want.” Veronica bit her lower lip.

  Toviah swallowed. He did not expect Veronica to be so forthcoming. “Now that would not be very Princely of me.”

  Veronica stepped forward until she was flush with him, she looked up innocently before she took his hand in hers and placed it on her breast and pressed herself into him. “Do you not want me?” She pouted.

  Toviah cleared his throat, stunned into silence.

  “You can have all of this, any time of the day, my Prince. I will make you forget your Royal duties when you are with me,” she promised.

  “I am flattered,” Toviah managed to stutter. He was caught off guard, no one had ever spoken to him this way.

  Veronica batted her eyelashes and pressed herself against him, her hand snaked its way to the top of his trousers before Toviah snatched it away. He held her delicate wrist firmly, a mixture of excitement and anger boiled within him.

  “Not here, my Prince?” Veronica smiled at him. She knew he was uncomfortable and did not want to draw attention.

  “Not here.” Toviah stepped away from her. “I will see you at the Puppet’s Lunch tomorrow. Until then.” He spun on his heels and made his escape.

  He caught the eyes of his mother as he snaked his way back to the bar. She did not look pleased, her icy glare moved to Veronica and Toviah knew at once he did not need to do another thing to make his mother dislike her. Silly Ver
onica managed to do all the damage herself.

  “Well you look pleased with yourself.” Bastian grinned.

  “Oh I am. You have no idea how pleased I am. That stupid Countess just signed her death warrant with Queen mother,” Toviah chuckled as the bar tender placed a glass of red rum in front of him.

  “And here I thought you were grinning because you were going to get lucky tonight.” Bastian elbowed Toviah in the ribs.

  “I still could.” Toviah shrugged before drinking the rum in one go.

  “You deviant drunk. How you manage to get your way all the time, astounds me? Bastian shook his head.

  “It’s a talent,” Toviah laughed before slapping the bar for another round of drinks.

  The night wore on as the moon slowly made its way across the sky. Toviah and Bastian had long stopped drinking, by order of the Queen. They sat in the foyer playing cards with anyone stupid enough to challenge them. Very rarely did they lose a game, and on the rare occasion, the winner was invited to join their private gambling circle. Toviah sat with the Queen of hearts in his hand, his thoughts turned to Elisabetta and how she would always be the Queen of his heart. The Kingdom and all that came with it, meant nothing to him without his love by his side.

  “I am retiring for the night,” Toviah announced.

  Bastian yawned in response.

  The two young men packed up their cards and retreated upstairs to their palatial rooms. Toviah half expected Veronica to be waiting for him in his bed, to his relief she was no where to be seen. He took a quick shower, changed his clothes and picked one of his lesser elaborate masks to wear in the streets. He had a date with his love, but first he needed to see a merchant about an order he had placed in secret.

  Chapter Three

  The theatrics of Carnevale spilled into the early morning light as revellers and merchants went about their busy day. Toviah hurried to where his gondolier waited, hidden in one of the lesser used canals. This morning they were travelling in a borrowed gondola, one without the recognisable Royal ferro. Toviah did not want to be seen heading to the darker side of Venezia, a Prince had no purpose to visit such a place.

  The gondolier knew better than to repeat all that he new of Toviah. Marcello worked for the Royal family before Toviah was born, he had been Toviah’s gondolier from the very beginning. Often collecting Toviah and Bastian from various parts of town and never speaking a word of it.

  The ride to the wrong side of Venezia was short and choppy, the buildings were dank and grey. This part of the city reeked of putrid sewerage and it was not uncommon to find rats in the streets.

  Toviah leaped from the gondola before it had come to a complete stop, he knew Marcello would wait for him. With rapid steps, he made it to his destination in record time. He kept his head bowed and his shoulders square as he tapped on the peeling door. A pungent smell of cloves circled the entrance. The door creaked open just enough to allow Toviah to slip in and he was greeted with a swirl of smoke, making him cough.

  “Welcome my new friend,” said the old man behind the mahogany counter. His eyes were the color of coal and his features were elf like.

  “Thank you,” Toviah replied.

  “What has brought you here so early this morning?” The old man’s eyes were dark and questioning.

  “I am in need of a certain gift.” Toviah scratched behind his ear, uncomfortable with his surroundings.

  “For a special someone I suspect?” The old proceeded to rummage through the shelves.

  Toviah eyed the endless bottles of dried herbs and liquids. One, he was sure contained dead mice and another an eye ball. Toviah did not ask questions, he knew better than to make comment.

  “I have here, two very different potions. Now tell me, my new friend, do we love or loathe the young lady this is for?” The old man did not even blink and Toviah wondered how many times he was responsible for the death of another?

  Toviah cleared his throat and looked at the ground. “Loathe.”

  “You will have to speak louder my friend, I am hard of hearing in my old age.”

  Toviah looked the old man in the eyes and saw there an empty soul staring back at him. “Loathe,” he spoke louder.

  “Right.” The old man turned and placed one of the bottles back on the shelf.

  “How much do I pay you, kind sir?” Toviah asked.

  With his back to Toviah, the old man wrapped the bottle in an old, stained rag and secured it with twine. “For you my new friend, nothing. I could not accept payment from someone like you. I can trust you to not speak of this exchange?” The old man turned to face Toviah once more.

  “I cannot take your merchandise without paying,” Toviah protested.

  “Hush my new friend.” The old man held up a hand. “I trust you will not speak of this exchange?”

  “I will not speak of it,” Toviah answered.

  “Then take your goods and leave here before someone sees you, my Prince.” The old man stared at Toviah.

  Toviah’s heart thudded in his chest. He thought his disguise, dressed in the clothes he once swapped with a commoner on the streets and his plain mask would be enough to ensure not a soul recognised him. The feeling of dread dropped to the pit of his stomach.

  “Don’t fret, my Prince, I will not tell a soul you were here.” The old man nodded once before turning to allow Toviah to escape.

  Toviah hurried to his gondola, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he scurried through the streets. He was sure a presence was watching him, but he did not stop to look around. Once back in the gondola, he told Marcello to hurry back to the palace. The parcel sat, cradled in his hands the whole ride home. He would need to send a message in secret to his Elisabetta, this morning being the only one in a year, he did not visit his love. She would think he did not care after lasts night events. He had allowed her to run from him and his royal duties.

  Back at the palace, Toviah managed to make it to his room without being seen. He carefully stuffed the parcel in his bottom drawer, covering it with a set of his trousers. His heart skipped a beat when a knock echoed through his door.

  “You may enter.” Toviah closed the drawer and sat on his desk.

  The Queen entered and shut the door behind her. She stared at Toviah and clicked her tongue. “You are attending the Puppet’s Lunch today and you will be sitting with Veronica.”

  Toviah opened his mouth to speak but his mother silenced him with her glare.

  “You will be on your best behaviour. I am not fond of this young woman, but her family will bring a much-needed alliance with their region. Do you understand?”

  Toviah sighed in defeat. “Yes, I understand.” He could not look at his mother, he kept his eyes on his folded hands in his lap until she left his room.

  Toviah headed to his balcony and gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white, anger building inside of him. He watched the gondolier he sent to deliver his message to his Elisabetta and wished he was going instead.

  . . .

  The Puppet’s Lunch was the who’s who of aristocratic Venezia. Anyone that was someone was there, dressed in their finery with their ever-present masks. Gold drapery swirled with turquoise, candelabras scattered on every possible surface and mimes performing their tricks filled the grand hall. Toviah had a hard time digesting Veronica’s presence, he wished his mother had banished her and her family from all future events.

  “My Prince, I’m glad you came,” Veronica breathed into his ear.

  “Like I had any choice.” Toviah stepped back from her.

  “Don’t be like that my brother.” Bastian intercepted. “Think of all the port we can drink.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Toviah laughed and lead Bastian towards the bar, leaving Veronica on her own.

  “Why do you defy such beauty?” Bastian shook his head as he looked back over to where Veronica stood.

  “Why don’t you claim that beauty.” Toviah shrugged.

  “Now, I would not want to
disobey the Queen mother. I value my life too much.” Bastian sipped his port, grinning like a fool.

  “To Queen mother.” Toviah held his drink up.

  “To Queen mother,” Bastian echoed.

  The two Princes stood at the bar drinking port and brandy until lunch was served. Toviah had missed breakfast and the effects of the brandy started to show, he found himself in a heated discussion about witchcraft and the laws of prophecy. Toviah did not believe in such nonsense. So much so, he agreed to sit with the Seer that had been hired to tell the future of the guests, if they so dared.

  “You are a coward,” snorted Bastian.

  “I am no such thing. I will sit with that fool and allow him to tell my fortune.” Toviah stood abruptly. “To the future.” He saluted his glass of brandy and drank it in one swift motion. The room spun and Toviah felt queasy. He ignored his drunkenness and marched toward the back of the ballroom with Bastian hot on his heels.

  The small tent like fixture, draped in dark purple and gold fabric, smelled of mugwort and sandalwood. Toviah pulled the curtain aside and stepped inside to come face to face with the old man he had visited that very morning.

  “Welcome, my Prince.” The Seer smiled.

  “I’m sorry, I must go.” Toviah grabbed the curtain ready to leave. His head spun in circles.

  “Stay for a moment, my Prince.” The Seer’s calm voice was enticing.

  Toviah hesitated before being slapped on the back by Bastian. “You afraid of your future, my brother?” Bastian teased.

  “Not in the slightest.” Toviah swallowed his nerves and yanked the curtain closed, cutting off any sight of his cousin.

  ‘Sit, my Prince.” The Seer gestured to the chair.

  “Thank you.” Toviah sat cautiously, looking at the crystal ball on the table in front of him.

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid.” Toviah cleared his throat and placed his elbows on the table.

  “Shall we begin?” The Seer lit the remaining candles.

  “Let’s get this over with so I can go back to drowning out my life with sweet port.” Toviah smiled.

  “As you wish.” The Seer nodded before lighting a bunch of herbs, tied together with something that resembled coarse hair. The blue tinged smoke filled the small space within seconds, creating a world away from the other guests.