by Mia Taylor
A flash of guilt shot through Vivier as he realized he was tormenting the being, but it was almost impossible to stop now that he’d started. The prince knew he was only taking out his own frustrations on Jacques, but who else was there?
And he does seem to accept his fate with such grace, Vivier thought cruelly.
Jacques’ face paled more, an unsightly color for someone who seemed very much near death under normal circumstances.
Vivier could see he regretted taking the bait so easily, but it was too late now. He was already invested in the conversation and Jacques must have realized that if he wanted the prince to follow him, he would need to see it through.
“My job is to ensure your family is well counseled—”
“Save the rhetoric, Jacques, and get out of my way. You’re blocking the sensor on the receiver.”
Vivier was already bored with their back and forth, his attention span fraying.
Jacques clenched his jaw but wisely said nothing, knowing nothing good would come of engaging in a verbal sparring match with his headstrong master.
He probably knew the prince better than Vivier knew himself.
There were simply some battles which could not be won and Jacques had learned long ago to pick his battles.
Sighing, Jacques turned away from the sitting room, casting Vivier a long look as he went to deliver the news to the King and Queen of Luxembourg.
Prince Vivier would not be joining them for supper, despite the direct order to attend.
For his part, Vivier pretended not to notice the advisor shuffle his way out of the room, but he was watching through his peripheral vision, a slow, smug sense of satisfaction overcoming him.
Why do they keep bothering? he thought cockily. They must know I am not about to bend to their desires and yet they continue to ram their heads against a wall. It makes for headaches and little else. No matter how many times we rehash this, I’m not yielding.
Vivier did not admit that the royal pains were equally distributed. He had woken with his fair share of hangovers following the intense clashes with his father. He didn’t have a bender in mind for that evening.
I’m doing us all a favor by staying here, he told himself with more confidence than he felt. There would be a reckoning for this, he was sure. There always was.
He pushed the thought of his parents from his mind as he aimed the controller at the screen and restarted his game.
What a waste of four hours, thanks to Jacques. He’ll never understand the dedication involved with the art of playing video games.
In moments, he was engrossed in the sixty-six-inch screen mounted on the wall, the surround sound enveloping him in the fantasy world before him. If he’d paid a little more mind, he would have heard the door to the sitting room open without announcement.
It was not until the television went dead did he realize someone else was in the room.
His gaze darted around in confusion, looking toward the mounted lights to see if there had been a power outage.
He jumped at his mother staring at him with cold, green eyes, her mouth pursed into a disapproving line of contempt.
“This is what has you so occupied?” she snapped furiously, pulling her evening gown up around her ankles as she drew toward her son. “You must be joking, Vivier.”
“Hi, Mamm,” he said, sitting back and smiling coyly as his heart regained its usual, dull pace. “How’s dinner going? Having anything good?”
“Wipe that stupid smile off your face, Vivier, and get up from that spot this minute. Your father is about to birth kittens, he’s so angry right now.”
Vivier’s grin only widened at the mental image.
“I would pay good money to see that,” the son volunteered. “How many kittens are we talking? A full litter or…?”
“You are not amusing one of your whores here, Vivier. Show a modicum of respect for this household. I don’t find this entertaining in the least.”
“They are escorts, Mother. Don’t be so crass.”
“You’re trying my patience, Vivier.” Her tone caused a frisson of alarm in the prince and he stifled a sigh, meeting her steadfast gaze. He relented slightly, grinding his teeth together to keep from snapping at her.
“Why do I always have to be present for these damned galas?” Vivier protested. “I don’t even know what everyone is yapping about half the time.”
“Maybe if you put in an effort, you would have a better understanding of what’s going on in this country!”
“Maybe I don’t give a shit what’s going on in this country,” he shot back before he could stop himself. He instantly regretted his words, seeing the fury overtake his mother’s face.
“So help me Gotte, Vivier, if you are not downstairs in twenty minutes…”
She trailed off, her threat duly implied.
Vivier turned his own emerald eyes on her, his grin widening madly even though he didn’t feel nearly as cocky as he had earlier. Still, he couldn’t resist driving it home.
“Yes, Mamm?” he purred. “Then what?”
Isadora’s face turned to stone and Vivier felt a smidgen of regret.
Why don’t I know when to stop? She always wins, doesn’t she? Don’t they both?
“How quickly you forget the things we do for you, kand,” she hissed, her aristocratic face inches from his. “Need I remind you of how many times we’ve lifted you out of impossible situations?”
Vivier bristled at the insulting endearment but tried to maintain his bemused expression.
Kand. Because I am a child to her and Papp no matter how old I get. I will always be their little boy, their child who should have never happened during an impregnable time.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mamm. Of course I appreciate everything you do,” he replied caustically. “Don’t I show it?”
Queen Isadora fell back then as if gauging his face for seriousness.
“One day, Vivier, you will go too far and you will find you have no one to fall back upon,” she told him quietly. “You will find that you have been fighting with yourself and that is never a fight you can win, my dear son.”
She did not wait for him to respond, spinning so the silk of her train flowed across his thousand-dollar Versace high tops.
“Twenty minutes, Vivier,” she sang over her shoulder before disappearing through the double doors, security close at heel. “I will not come back and ask again.”
Chapter Two
The King’s Ultimatum
Vivier stared at the white doors for a long while, willing himself to be calm. The arguments were frequent enough that they shouldn’t upset him, yet the prince always found himself drowning in a sea of simmering anger when one or both of his parents had said their piece.
He idly wondered what would happen if he simply ignored her orders again.
It was a game they had played for years, for centuries.
He would refuse to acknowledge their authority and the king or queen would send Jacques to act as negotiator. When that inevitably failed, they would come themselves and usually offer an ultimatum which would result in Vivier losing some luxury such as use of the Chateaux in Nice or a hiatus on the Lear Jet.
Once, they had deprived him of hunting and that had almost killed him, but other than that, everything else was tolerable.
Never had Vivier failed to attend whatever insufferable party they were forcing down his throat after all the theatrics were said and done. He was a prince, after all. He had an image to maintain, people to see, things to do—even if for show.
“Everything you do reflects on the tribe,” Isadora told him over and over. “It affects your country and your people, whether you like it or not.”
And Vivier would stick his proverbial tail between his legs, bite the bullet, and do what was expected of him.
Yet that evening, he was thinking about ignoring his conscience and remaining exactly where he was.
Nothing wrong with flying commercial once in a while
, he mused to himself, but even as he thought it, he knew he would go. The silent conversation was one he had also had a hundred million times or more, it felt.
Grunting aloud, he rose from the almost permanent spot he had made for himself in the soft couch and ambled into the bedroom, tossing open a second set of intricate double doors.
Someone had already laid out his tuxedo, cuff links, and watch on the custom-made round bed.
Jacques is a wonderful wife, he chuckled to himself. And the king and queen want me to get married. Imagine how crushed Jacques would be if I replaced him with a duchess. He would never recover.
He debated having a shower, sniffing at his underarms critically. He had bathed that morning but hours on the sofa might call for another rinse.
He grimaced again.
Shower for whom? It will be the same vapid faces, the same bored conversation. Why should I make myself presentable? They are lucky I am wearing a tux at all. They’re lucky I’m attending at all.
Leisurely, he took his time dressing into the fine attire, noting that he was well over his twenty-minute deadline. He didn’t need to refer to his Piaget; inherently, his sense of time was acute. Being alive as long as he had gave him special perks.
In five minutes, Jacques is going to be back, hopping from one foot to another like a horny bunny, urging me along without saying a word.
Vivier turned to study himself inside the vast dressing room as he clasped the diamond-studded Patek watch to his wrist, replacing the other he was wearing.
I clean up well, as the Americans say, he thought, examining his reflection closely.
It was not difficult to see the regal bearing in Vivier’s face with his fine, chiseled features, strong jawline, and smooth, fair complexion. While he could not tan in the summers, his skin still not partial to the intense sunlight, his dark blond mane would eventually turn white at the tips against the rays.
He was not a large, being but elegantly built, trim yet sturdy, sporting a frame just over six feet tall. His muscles were angular and toned, despite his affection for video games. Even when he spent hours rotting away before the television, Vivier was a natural athlete, one who enjoyed swimming and tennis—on the gloomier days, lest he crisp.
How many more generations before we can enjoy the sunshine like the rest of the world? In this day and age of science, you would think one of our doctors would have developed a vaccine against the harmful rays of the sun.
“Prince Vivier, I—”
“You are right on schedule, Jacques,” Vivier interjected before Jacques could finish. He turned to address his advisor. The man was like a ghost, flittering from room to room.
He is of very old stock. He can barely handle the sun at all, certainly not like me.
Vivier removed the sash from the mannequin in the corner and waited for Jacques to place the heavy but simple crown about his head.
So much extravagance for another ridiculous party, he thought bitterly but he did not bother to voice his seemingly endless objection.
I asked Jacques if it was getting old for him, but I confess, it is me who is sick of the same old thing all the time. I’m just projecting my own woes on him.
Jacques seemed inordinately pleased that Vivier was dressed. A relieved smile seemed to collapse his entire face and the prince felt a smudge of guilt, wondering if he shouldn’t cut the advisor some slack from time to time.
With all the stress he takes upon himself, he’s going to drop dead of a heart attack one of these days.
It was a joke, of course. Jacques wasn’t going anywhere. None of them were.
Jacques hurried toward the doors, ensuring Vivier’s detail waited on guard before nodding.
“Your Highness,” Jacques called. “Right this way.”
Vivier eyed him speculatively, a pang of unease shooting through him unexpectedly.
Something is happening tonight, he realized. Something unusual.
Jacques escorting him to the party was not typical, and as he ascended the stairs, Vivier adjusting the royal sash about his chest, he had a peculiar feeling that he was being scrutinized more than normal.
I have a terrible feeling about this, he thought, his palms growing inexplicably sweaty. His impulse was to turn and head back up the stairs, into the palace, and disappear, but his legs didn’t oblige his mind. Onward he moved, his eyes darting through the crowd warily.
A murmur of approval rippled through the grand front hall as Vivier took to the red carpet, nodding pleasantly, his “princely” demeanor taking hold.
Just smile and nod, wave and kiss, he recited in his head as guests began to flock to him in what he felt were hordes.
“Prince Vivier! I must say, you become more handsome with each day that passes!” an English duchess whom he had once bedded cooed in his ear. “I can hardly believe how dashing you look!”
Vivier suppressed a shudder and forced a smile.
I’d been drinking Irish whiskey, he justified, eyeing her with a smidgen of disgust. She was much more attractive twenty years ago.
“Olivia, you are wonderful for an old man’s ego,” he jested, turning away from her into another admiring set of arms before she could sink her claws into him too deeply.
When he was finally able to look up from the obscene amount of guests at the party, he caught his mother’s eye immediately. Isadora smiled frostily at him and Vivier was consumed with another slight flurry of panic in his gut.
Why is she looking at me like that?
He shoved the sense of foreboding from his mind and found a glass of champagne.
King Emile was nowhere in sight and Vivier was relieved.
I won’t have to hear about my “insolence” until tomorrow, Gotte willing, he thought with some smugness. Maybe it was time to start drinking after all.
“Prince Vivier,” someone breathed in his ear, her lips grazing against his lobe. “I was hoping to see you here.”
A shiver of pleasure snaked down his spine as he relished the throaty sound of the voice, but Vivier’s excitement was short-lived when he spun to take in the speaker.
“Katarina,” he said, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. The sensual blonde grinned at him coyly, licking her apple-red mouth and biting on her lower lip with blinding white teeth.
In Vivier’s mind, she was more like a fictional character than a real woman of royal standing and it was easier for him to think of her as such.
Her legs were too long, her waist too small, her bosom too full.
She had flawless, porcelain skin and cartoonishly wide, blue eyes which perpetually depicted the blankness in her mind. It didn’t help that she was of vampire descent either, but the blood of her human interbreeding had washed out much of her abilities.
She was also very young by vampire standards, the human equivalent of twenty-three years.
“I didn’t realize that you were home from school,” Vivier muttered, suddenly wishing he had defied his parents for the first time and remained upstairs.
It’s not too late to disappear, is it?
“I wanted to surprise you,” she purred, refusing to release his arm, and Vivier gritted his teeth.
The prince had made the mistake of sleeping with Katarina. How could he refuse? She was likely the most beautiful woman in all of Luxembourg and the daughter of a very wealthy and influential count. Even his parents had approved of his choice at the time. Of course, that was before Vivier realized what he had gotten himself into.
Katarina was the most insecure, manipulative, whiny, and unintelligent female he had ever met—of any species.
And she had been terrible in bed, just to add insult to injury.
However, Katarina would not let go of their brief interlude two years earlier. Somehow, she had gotten it in her thick, gorgeous head that she was going to marry Vivier.
It did not matter how rude or kind the prince was to her, how much he indulged her or ignored her—she was like a tar and feathering and she would no
t go away. The more he fought against it, the harder she seemed to stick.
When she had gone to Switzerland to get a bachelor’s degree, Vivier had been greatly relieved he would not be stuck avoiding her inane phone calls.
But now she’s back. I wonder how much the Count of Muchav paid for her degree. Gotte knows she isn’t smart enough to get one without a heavy endorsement to the school.
“Excuse me, Kat. My father is calling for me.”
He turned and fled before she could realize she was being lied to but he was across the ballroom by then, seeking a hiding place.
How much longer must I stay? he grumbled silently. This is already torture. Katarina is the worst but all of them are the same; simple, dull, and interested in me for my crown alone.
“Hear ye! Hear ye!”
There was the sound of metal on glass as someone stood up to the podium.
And speeches too! Will this night end in my suicide? It feels as such.
He looked about hopefully for a splintered stake.
“May I have your attention, please?”
Vivier realized that it was Jacques standing on stage and the crowd quieted instantly.
“I would like to present our hosts for the evening, King Emile of Luxembourg and his esteemed wife, Queen Isadora.”
There was heartfelt applause as the king and queen took their respective places where Jacques handed the microphone to the king.
“I would also like to ask our son, Prince Vivier, to join us, if he would be so kind.”
As if guided by the same hand, all heads turned to Vivier and an aisle was cleared to grant him access to the stage.
He stifled a low, feral groan of displeasure and painted a smile onto his lips as he made his way, waving jovially at the appreciative applause.
If I’d known I was going to be put on display, I definitely would have stayed upstairs. I hope Mother is happy. This is the last party I’m attending in a while.
“Thank you, Vivier,” King Emile said graciously, gesturing at a chair at his side. There was no pleasure in his face but Vivier’s heart began to thump as father and son made eye contact. The feeling of dread overcame him again.
