by Susan Harris
My father had been delighted when the court decided to convene in Ireland, his home country, but we had been here for only three years when they were killed. Lots of vampires had died that day, the day we were betrayed by those within our confidence. Entire families had been wiped out. Our numbers were now less than a hundred true-born vampires.
Not as glamourous as the books and movies made it out to be, was it?
Our aging process also differed from what humans portrayed in books and movies. We weren’t frozen at the age we became vampires; rather, we aged until around our mid-twenties, depending on the individual. Our bodies then slowed, a decade of human life the equivalent to one year in vampire time. Up until then, we aged just like humans—other than that, we were nothing like them.
Vampires were preternaturally stronger and faster, with sharper senses. A vamp toddler could manage to lift a car just a tad. At full strength, a male vampire could stop a train in its tracks. I was stronger than the average female vampire, but only because I made it so. I wasn’t content to sit around and paint my nails, hoping to catch the eye of a suitable male—especially one whose family was of notability.
The only reason I was indulged was because my mother and Queen Katerina had been as close as sisters. My mother had defied social conventions to become the first woman in the Royal Guard. All our histories tell the story of Imogen Callan, the soldier who petitioned the crown to marry and remain an active member of the Royal Guard. Every single vampire knew that once my mother set her mind to something, she was stubborn in her pursuit and would not relent until she achieved her goal.
I guess you could say I got my stubbornness from her.
We began training in childhood. Both my parents trained me, but in different ways. My mother trained me in the art of swordplay, Imogen Callan favoring a twin set of sai—a present from my father. Tristan, my father, trained me not only to defend myself and use misconceptions against my opponent, but also to still my mind.
My heart clenched again as I stretched out on the mat, closing my eyes to see my mother and father smiling with such an abundance of love. I had always felt safe with them, never alone—not like this—but this was now my reality and had been since I was seven.
When I lost them, when they were taken from me, I decided I couldn’t go through that kind of pain again. The queen had tried to take me under her wing at first; however, after many a time where I refused to stay in the royal quarters, sneaking back to the attic area where my family had once lived, she let me be. Even my friendship with Nickolai, the crown prince, turned to ash as I pushed him away for fear I would one day lose him, too.
So, I spent my days trying to live up to my parents’ legacy, trying to ignore the name-calling, the women who regarded me with both pity and contempt, the continuous attempts to beat me into submission. My peers called me Frosty the Ice Queen. I heard them whisper about me when they thought I was not listening, wondering if I were so broken, I had no feelings.
It wasn’t that I had no feelings. In fact, I had too many. I’d just perfected how to wear the mask of a girl who was indifferent to it all. I made sure I spurned any attempts they made to befriend me. I had hundreds of years ahead of me, and I intended to spend them alone.
Assuming, of course, I didn’t die in a pool of blood like my parents.
Yanking the buds from my ears, I lay there for an age, staring at the ceiling and trying to still my mind. I could almost hear my father’s lilting tone as we sat perched in the gardens, surrounded by night blooms under a twinkling night sky. Our legs were crossed, and as I huffed out a breath, my father ruffled my hair and cupped my cheek.
“Réalta beag, my little star, you are fire and fury, shining brighter than any star in the sky. In order for you to be strong, just like your mother, you must learn to be strong in your mind and your body. One day, when you are grown, and your mother and me are old and gray, you will be the absolute best of us.”
Beating my fists against the mat, I choked back a sob as hot tears slipped past my defenses. I longed to scream, yearned to shout out my pain so I could be rid of it.
My senses prickled as I felt eyes watching me from the royal viewing balcony. Lurching upright, I gulped in a breath and wiped tears from my face. My gaze snapped upward, clashing with eyes the color of the night sky. Scrambling to my feet, I dragged my gaze away from the crown prince, my cheeks heating in embarrassment. I was usually so careful, but with tomorrow looming, I was ready to fall into the abyss.
Gathering up my belongings, I stormed off down the hall, fleeing the prince’s scrutiny. The halls were full of bustling vampires finishing preparations for tomorrow’s memorial, but they quickly moved out of my way when they saw me coming. I needed to escape to my rooms, lock myself away until the morning. I needed to cry and scream and rage against the night in order to function tomorrow.
Rounding the corner, I ran straight into two people I would have rather avoided, my most ardent tormentor and her royal squeeze.
“You need to watch where you are going, Ryan.” Natalia Smyrnoi snapped, snaking her arm around the waist of Prince Kristoph.
“Leave her be, Nattie,” chided Kristoph, giving me a small smile. When I tried to return the smile, I earned a click of the tongue from Nattie.
Kristoph was a year younger than me, three years younger than his brother. Kris had always been kind to me, but Nattie… I refused to attend one of her lavish birthday parties when we were teens, choosing instead to spend the time training, and she and her cronies have done everything they could since then to make me feel inadequate.
Nattie threw Kristoph a look before casting her gaze back at me, hatred in her eyes. She sneered, pulling Kristoph away from me before he could say any more. I could have caused a fuss and pointed out Nattie was only with Kristoph because Nickolai had cast her aside, but that would have led to even more drama, and I just wanted—needed—to be alone.
Taking in a breath, I rested my head against the wall, listening to the steady rhythm of my heart. As I worked to calm myself, the throne room door opened ahead of me and Queen Katerina strode out. The queen was beautiful, with long blonde hair and a smile that never wavered. There was a warmth in her bright blue eyes that infected everyone around her; Katerina truly was a monarch whom everyone loved and adored.
When her eyes landed on me, her smile deepened, even as panic flared in my chest. She took a step toward me as I flattened myself against the wall, unable to move from my spot as my mother’s best friend pursed her lips. Every year, the queen tried to get me to speak about my parents, and every year I politely declined. I had my own pain to carry; I could not endure hers as well.
A figure stepped in front of my line of sight, blocking the queen from me. I heard the hushed tone of his voice, telling his mother to leave me be, and I took the opportunity to dart up the stairs and away from the prospect of having to once again be The Girl Who Had Lost Her Parents.
I did not spare them a second glance as I rushed to the safety of my room, but I could feel the weight of Nickolai’s gaze upon me as I fled.
2
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I fastened the lapel of my uniform and smoothed down the edges, trying to get rid of creases that were not there. Though I wasn’t a sworn member of the Royal Guard yet, we still had uniforms to wear on formal occasions: a deep black material stitched with a rich crimson trim, long sleeved, with black pants that echoed the top half. It was the same uniform that the sworn guards wore; what they’d always worn. The only indication I was not yet a full soldier was the yellow armband fastened to my jacket announcing me a Trainee.
Slipping my feet into my black combat boots, I glanced once more into the mirror and tried to ignore my tired eyes with the dark circles under them. Sleep had evaded me for most of the day, dreams of my parents haunting me even ten years on. When I’d finally given up on any chance of rest, I lay staring at the ceiling until the faint chime of dusk rang through the compound and the shutters lifted
for the day.
Looping my belt around my waist, I reached out and grazed my fingers over my sai where they lay on my bed, wishing I could sheath them and have their comforting weight to anchor me, as if my mother’s spirit came with the weapons she had favored. Glancing up, my eyes settled on my father’s katana, resting on the wall above my bed for the last ten years, only to be taken down when it needed cleaning or I needed to unwind. Instead, knowing full well I had little need of weapons at a memorial service, I sighed, peering back into the mirror and trying to decide what to do with my stick-straight hair.
I’d spent my life training to become a member of the Royal Guard under intense rules and regulations; most of which had to be tailored to suit the lone female in the class. The boys in my class were asked to keep their hair neat and off their faces when training. I was never asked to do that but once, when Zayn had grabbed hold of my hair and yanked me off my feet in training, his father, Idris, had remarked that if I’d not had such long hair, then it might not hinder me.
Only a cry of anguish from Queen Katerina herself had halted my attempts to shave my head. She’d chided Idris for his behavior, remarking that neither Tristan nor Imogen would have stood for his words, and said any attempt to cut my hair would be dealt with by her.
I’d been so angry with her for that—for the queen coming to my rescue when I hadn’t needed saving. I’d flinched when she cupped my cheek, a monstrous rage swelling in my chest as I recoiled from her grasp and retreated to my room. I had seethed and boiled for hours until I decided to take back control.
The very next day I walked into class with the ends of my ice-blonde hair dipped in lime green. My teachers were appalled, but their gazes turned silently to the queen, waiting for her to intervene. Katerina had not, and, from that day on, my hair had been a rainbow of colors. Even today, my hair was sprayed a dark red that glittered toward the ends.
For the occasion, I pulled the stands back off my face, wrapping a hair tie around and fixing the mass into a sort of messy bun, leaving the strands of color visible. The audible ticking of the clock grated on my already frayed nerves as I glanced around my tiny kingdom.
The attic room ran from one side of the building to the other, nestled firmly on the roof of the residential wing. With high ceilings and an open-plan layout, it felt small but also somewhat grand. I’d used my family trust to outfit the whole place, and it wanted for nothing. The simple layout and windowed roof were everything I ever dreamed off. Special tinted glass that prevented sunlight from searing through was the biggest luxury I had splurged on—well, apart from an antique record player.
A small kitchen unit had been installed, as had steps leading up to a bed so close to the overhead windows that it sometimes felt like I could reach out and dance my fingers across the sky. Obviously, over time, my taste in décor had changed somewhat, but not much. As my mother once said, I’d been born with an old soul and unicorns and fluffiness were never my things.
The chime of the downstairs-lobby clock alerted me to the time. Inhaling a breath and watching as the Ryan my peers called the Ice Queen fell into place, I steeled my resolve and left behind the comfort of my sanctuary, heading down to the last place I ever wanted to be.
But on the bright side, there would be food…
As I made to leave my room, my eyes fell on my mother’s wedding ring, a blood-red ruby my father had had mounted in a setting especially for her. It had been given to me shortly after their deaths, but I never wore it. My hands needed to be free every single day as I fought my way to be where I wanted to be.
Chewing my bottom lip, I snatched the ring up, slid it over a thick chain, and then, before I could change my mind, fastened it around my neck, tucking it inside the collar of my uniform and out of sight.
Tears welled in my eyes and I swallowed hard, putting one foot in front of the other as I made my way down the small staircase that led to the main residential area and then down the master staircase. This area was empty, but I knew it would be; most of the vampires were already out in the gardens, ready for the memorial service to which I knew I was late… but hell, I hadn’t wanted to go in the first place.
I quickly strode across the lobby and through the conservatory, pushing open the double doors and stepping out into the crisp night air. On most days, spending time in this garden would be a treat—the silence and serenity made it one of my favorite places, plus it was a space in which I’d spent time with my father. But now…
Now, the tranquility was broken by the gathering of maybe a hundred vampires, some who had come from outpost missions for this yearly event. The murmur of voices cracked the peacefulness of the night. I stood rooted to the spot, my feet digging into the grass as I turned my head to look out at the lake, wanting to dive headfirst into the water just to get out of this fucking painful loop of misery.
It was the exact same thing every year—rows and rows of seated vampires on either side of a pathway leading down to the lake. An entire congregation of vamps who’d lost loved ones in the event, all wanting to wallow in the sorrow they felt linked us all together. I may have been the only child who had lost everything that night—someone they felt they should pity, whose sorrow was greater, somehow, than theirs—but what none had ever understood when they remarked on my quiet, brash, and sometimes insolent demeanor was that under the layer of expected sorrow, under the sadness etched in my walled-up heart, burned a rage so hot it would explode if I did not control myself so. Blood would be spilled.
Chairs to my right and chairs to my left. Lanterns illuminated the path to the dais where the royal family would preside, where the queen would give her yearly speech, her own sadness so painfully visible that the little girl in me wanted to reach out this woman who shared in my grief and cling to her as if a simple embrace could erase the weight in my chest.
Gulping in a breath of air, I rolled my shoulders and strode forward, used to the pointed stares and whispers by now. I kept marching, one foot in front of the other, my eyes fixed forward until I found my chair, the solitary family seat two rows back from the royals. When I reached my spot, I sank down, tucking one ankle behind the other, hands folded neatly in my lap.
One of the caretakers struck a match and ignited the firepit sitting in front of the lake. Orange flames roared to life, casting shadows against the water, and I felt the blazing heat rippling against my skin. My heart began to thunder in my ears as the side doors opened and we all stood in one fluid motion as the royal family stepped into the garden.
Escorted by her husband, King Anatoly, Queen Katerina wore a skirt of crimson and a tailored jacket of the same color. If not for the crown of glistening, blood-red diamonds on her head, she would have looked like any other well-dressed businesswoman. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and she lifted her eyes to scan the crowd, smiling softly when they landed on me.
I didn’t return her smile.
Where Katerina was soft and inviting, Anatoly was all hard angles. I had memories of him smiling and laughing with my father, but it was hard to imagine the man before me doing that. Lean and tall, with eyes that watched you like a hawk, the moment Kristoph strode into view, it was easy to see who he resembled in the family. The youngest son followed his parents out, no crown on his head, wearing a suit matching his father’s and a shirt of the same color as his mother’s.
Did I mention before that the royals like to match?
I felt his energy before I saw him, my nails digging into my palms as Crown Prince Nickolai came through the doors, his face impassive, his entire being so utterly calm I wanted to throw something at him just to see if he would react. When we were children, it had been so easy to incite a reaction from Nickolai. I knew every tick of his jaw, every flinch, every arch of his brow. I’d studied him thoroughly, because I knew one day I’d stand by his side, ready to take a bullet for him.
We used to be best friends… until I fucking shut that door with a resounding slam.
There was no denying N
ickolai looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover for the most handsome, eligible bachelors. Long strands of blond hair fell over eyes of darkest blue. Nickolai was all broad shoulders and muscle. He worked out as much as we did, claiming he would not stand by and not be able to defend himself against an attack. At nineteen, he had a smile that made girls go weak in the knees.
Dressed in a suit similar to his father and brother, the material clung to his muscles, exuding power as he walked. And he knew it. A constant gaggle of girls, especially the Heathers—oh, we’ll get to them later—followed him everywhere, all vying for the chance to parade around on Nickolai’s arm and someday, hopefully, become queen when he ascended to the throne.
The king had already taken his seat facing us, which left Nickolai rushing forward to help his mother to hers before taking his own seat beside her. Once settled, he lifted his gaze, staring directly at me.
Those goddamn heartthrob eyes.
I ducked my head so I could avoid the intensity of his gaze, then felt more eyes on me. Daring a glance to the side, I spied Nattie shooting laser beams from her eyes at me. She snarled, flashing her fangs at me, halting only when her father, Boris, tsked at her. Nattie spared me one last glance, and I flipped her off, smothering a grin as she hissed like a duck at me.
It was the little things in life that made people happy, right?
A hush descended over the assembled vampires, and I blew out a breath, lifting my eyes slightly so I could see Katerina rise ever so regally and lift her hands to gesture before her.
“Gathered friends,” she began, her voice soft and melodic, calm but full of power. “Tonight, we honor those who died ten years ago defending the palace and the lives of those who survived that night. Every year, we remember their bravery, their sacrifice, and we also come together as those who are left behind, to help each other with our grief.”
