The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily)

by Juliette Cross

  True. For she’d never be here, waiting for the chance to kill him, if they had been equals. That was one reason she thanked the stars she was born into the peasantry. They were not taught to worship the immortals of the Glass Tower and the vampire royalty spread throughout the land. They were raised to fear them. But not Arabelle. Not after her mother’s death.

  Her father had died before she could remember, forcing her mother to scrape by to feed and clothe the two of them. A particularly cruel winter blew in good fortune in the form of a vampire. Or so her mother had thought. She had captured the special attention of a Legionnaire who offered her money in exchange for the comfort of her bed and the slaking of his thirst. One night, young Arabelle had heard muffled growls. Peeking through the curtain, she had seen her mother’s vampire lover rise from the bed, blood dripping down his pale chin as he stared at her mother’s still form. He fled after he’d killed her, leaving little Arabelle alone in the dark with her mother’s corpse. From that moment forward, she was a servant to the Pervis family.

  “Lady Grace?” asked the prince, taking a step closer. “Are you all right?”

  Arabelle snapped back from her forlorn reverie, steeling her spine for the job she was about to do. “Of course.” She closed the book. “So you agree that the class system maintains the order of society.”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  Oh, no. He was assessing her again, trying to figure out any hidden message. Too smart, this prince.

  She walked toward him, capturing his gaze as she’d done with Deek earlier that night. She set the book on the mantel, then she stood before him and inhaled deeply, readying for the next step.

  “So tell me, Prince Marius, what happens to the blood concubines when they are too old for you to keep?”

  “Please, call me Marius.”

  He took her hand in his, sliding his thumb gently across the top, and removed her mask with the other. It wouldn’t matter if he saw her face, for he would be dead soon. He paused after removing the mask, examining every line and curve. She let him.

  “We provide all retired concubines a mansion of their own wherever they want to live in the Varis Empire, with sovereigns enough to spend their lifetime in luxury.”

  She examined his face for sincerity. Prominent brow, square jaw, and the most sensuous mouth she’d ever seen. Again, her stomach flipped, and she understood why women swooned at the sight of him.

  She’d heard Lady Drusilla and Lady Penelope over breakfast one morning while she cleaned the grate of ash and embers in the parlor. They were practically drooling over their scones as they spoke of seeing Prince Marius taking his ride in the palace fields. Arabelle had refrained from laughing at their ridiculous behavior, but now, she was up close and personal. She understood the magnetism. No, she felt it. She hardened her heart against such foolish thoughts. Her people were in severe danger under the reign of such power.

  “What did you think we did with them?” he asked in a low, sultry voice as he lifted her hand, peeled off her long glove, and swept an airy kiss on the inside of her wrist. An unwanted quiver traveled through her body. She fisted her hand so he would not see the calluses on her palm as he laid the glove carefully on the mantel.

  “Discard them?”

  He kissed higher on her arm.

  “Worse?”

  He kissed the inside of her elbow, and Arabelle’s knees weakened. He savored that spot, sweeping his lips twice more, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. Against her will, her knees trembled at his sultry touch. She couldn’t do anything but watch his mouth travel up her arm while her insides melted with each brush of his lips.

  “I will never discard you,” he said with so much conviction she believed him. He curled her hand against his chest, cupping her face with his other, long fingers threading into her hair.

  “I will keep you close and treasure you.” He pulled her into him and leaned down.

  Heavens above, he was going to kiss her. No turning back now. She focused on not heaving.

  Their lips finally met, his mouth angled gently over hers, his tongue teasing along the seam of her lips before pushing inside with sweet exploration. He let go of her hand and tilted her face upward to deepen the kiss, tasting with slow precision. Arabelle had gripped the lapels of his jacket and now squeezed to hang on as his kiss sent her mind into orbit. Before she could get a handle on what she was doing, she slid her own tongue inside, stroking against his, exploring the delicious taste of him. Overeager, she flicked her tongue over one canine. She wasn’t accustomed to kissing a man with pointed fangs, and the tip pricked her tongue. The sharp tang of blood swept over her taste buds.

  He groaned like a dying man who’d been starved far too long. He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, licking into her mouth with deep, determined strokes. A shiver of euphoric pleasure spread from her mouth like wildfire through her blood. It was only a drop of the powerful elixir vampires were known to release from glands upon a bite. A sort of erotic sedative. No wonder they held so much power, drugging their victims into submission while the monsters drank their fill.

  He tumbled them to the rug, catching her around the waist so she wouldn’t hit hard, and spread his body over hers. When he gave her more of his weight, she knew the extent of his desire, his hard shaft against her thigh.

  He lifted away just enough for her to see the intense need and hunger shining bright on his face. He panted from labored breaths. Surprisingly, so did she.

  “I must have you, Lady Grace. Right here. Right now.”

  It was a deep, dark command, but also a subtle request. Now was the time. Her revolution was finally about to begin.

  Her answer was not the elixir’s, but hers alone. “Then take me, my prince.”

  Chapter Four

  Magnificent. Beautiful. Glorious.

  Marius couldn’t believe such a woman still existed in all the kingdoms. The small taste of her blood on his tongue still flowed through his veins, white-hot and crippling him with the demand for—

  “More,” he whispered. A drop of crimson pearled on her luscious bottom lip. He dipped his head and licked, then pressed his body against her curvy frame. She bent one leg on a moan, her skirts rustling higher.

  By all the stars, how did such a beauty step into his palace? Just when he’d thought the ennui would smother his spirit for good, this enchantress stepped into his arms.

  His heart pounded at an insane pace. Unable to hold back any longer, he molded his mouth to hers, sucking on her tongue to taste her again. Nectar and honeysuckle couldn’t compare. She was the sweetest ambrosia sent straight from heaven. Or the most sinful temptation to drag him down to hell. He didn’t care.

  The tolling of the bell tower sounded, a steady gong echoing through the room, marking the midnight hour.

  She jumped in his arms then pushed gently, still kissing him. He thought she meant to push him away, as his aggressive nature was taking hold. Instead, she rolled on top and straddled him. He frowned, a question forming in the back of his mind, but then she wedged her sex on top of his stiff cock, nothing but the thin fabric of his pants separating them, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Torture and agony and ecstasy all at once.

  “Grace.” He whispered her name as she leveraged her body up.

  She fisted one hand in his hair as she hiked up her skirt with the other. He smiled at her aggression. This was moving fast. He thanked the stars, because he needed to be inside her in every possible way. He slipped the cap sleeve off her shoulder, easing the fabric down and exposing the black corset beneath. He kissed his way over her creamy breasts spilling over the top, then halted at the sight of a small black-inked flower flaring at the bottom of her shoulder. No. Not a flower. A lily.

  “Grace?”

  Still hazed by burning lust and manic desire, he didn’t register the glint of the long gold-tipped blade until it was high over her head.

  “Farewell, sweet prince.”


  She yanked his head to the floor with her fist still in his hair and stabbed downward. He shifted an inch to the right as she shoved through his clothes and into his flesh, piercing his breastplate. Up on her knees in a millisecond, she leaned with all her weight, stabbing straight through his chest.

  Marius screamed in agony, smoke rising from the wound where the golden blade had penetrated into his flesh and nearly his heart.

  She lifted off in a flash. A shimmer of gold silk slipped out onto the balcony. She was gone.

  “Nikolai!” he screamed as he grabbed the blade, knowing he wouldn’t be too far.

  As he pushed up with one arm to stand, Nikolai and three Legionnaires burst into the parlor.

  “Bloody hell!” Nikolai pointed a soldier to the balcony, striding toward him. “Who did this?”

  “Do not make a move until I say so. Close the palace gates and get me Larissa. Now.”

  One of the Legionnaires disappeared. Marius fell onto the chaise. “Come pull this blade from my chest.”

  “Marius, there’s gold in this blade.”

  “I know. The sting is killing me.”

  “Who attacked you?” he asked again as he braced one hand on Marius’s shoulder and gripped the handle of the blade.

  “Lady Grace Constance Merriweather,” said Marius, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Though I doubt that’s her real name.”

  “That…woman did this?”

  “Indeed. That woman.”

  “Did she pierce your heart?”

  “Yes,” Marius whispered.

  Nikolai’s already fair face paled even more.

  Marius managed a smile. “Not literally, old friend. I wouldn’t be sitting here if she had, now would I?”

  Nikolai’s brooding countenance darkened. “Where on earth would she have gotten gold? I knew I’d never heard of Bridgerton. I’ll bet there’s no such province on any map.”

  “She’s local. Her accent. I’d bet on it.” Marius shifted and winced at the sting in his chest.

  “Just lean back.” Nikolai shifted in front of him to get a good handle on the hilt. “I thought you were supposed to be investigating that other matter tonight, anyway.”

  “I was distracted.”

  “I see that.”

  The Legionnaire ushered Larissa, his youngest blood concubine, into the room. “Oh, Your Highness! What has happened to you? Who did this to you?”

  “Hush, now. I’m all right.”

  Nikolai had one foot on the seat of the chaise and pulled on the hilt gently but swiftly, sliding the dagger free. Marius yelled again.

  “Damn!” Nikolai examined the blade now dripping royal blood. “It’s serrated.”

  “Come, Larissa,” commanded Marius, ignoring the fresh flow of blood pouring from the wound.

  Immediately, she fell at his feet and knelt between his knees. “You need me, Your Highness?”

  “Yes,” he managed to say, his canines still aching for a bite into the floral-scented flesh of Grace Merriweather. A thirst that would go unquenched. For now.

  “Take what you need, Your Highness,” she begged, arching her neck to the side and leaning forward with her hands on his biceps.

  He wasted no time and gripped the nape of her neck, piercing into the vein at the base, sucking in long draughts. Her blood tasted bitter. Never before had her blood been unpalatable. It was the witch’s doing. But he needed sustenance. The only way to heal and strengthen his body for the hunt about to take place was to drink. Larissa clenched his arms and moaned, the vampire elixir arousing her body. He drank until the pain eased around the wound and his senses sharpened, a sign the blood was taking hold and rejuvenating his body.

  When he pulled away, Larissa’s eyes were hazed and dilated. Guilt struck him hard, as he would give her nothing in exchange for her gift of blood. No pleasures for her body, soft affection, or kind words to thank her as he normally would do. He didn’t believe in taking from bleeders without giving in return, especially one who bestowed so much care on him.

  “You must come to bed, Your Highness,” she whispered, knowing the vampires in the room could hear her anyway, no matter how much she lowered her voice.

  He cupped her cheek. “I cannot, sweet Larissa. I must find the one who did this to me.”

  “Of course,” she said as she stood too quickly and crumpled. Marius caught her before she hit the floor, and nodded to a soldier to come and take her from his arms.

  “Find her lady-in-waiting and be sure she rests.” For he took more than he should have. The soldier obeyed, carrying her from the room.

  Marius frowned and turned toward the mirror over the mantel as he stripped the soiled jacket, vest, and shirt from his body. Examining the wound, already closing and healing itself, he touched his finger to the gash directly over his heart. Pierced with gold, it would certainly scar.

  Yes. She’d intended to kill him. The stab in the chest was what finally had broken through the hypnotic spell she’d put him under. Now, he could see clearly as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror, the stain of his own dark blood on his chest.

  No highborn lady would straddle a man unless he’d put her there. And no noble lady would question her prince on class society. And most assuredly, not one genteel lady would bear a tattoo on her body.

  “Your Highness.” One of the soldiers stepped forward with a handkerchief.

  “Thank you.” He wiped the blood away, the wound almost fully healed now.

  “Here’s how she got away,” said Nikolai, carrying in a thin cord small enough to conceal under voluminous skirts but sturdy enough to carry her weight down a balcony railing. “She’s crafty, this wench.”

  “That, she is. Let’s go.”

  Having fed recently, he didn’t bother with the doors. He and Nikolai marched out onto the balcony, jumped the balustrade, and landed easily on their feet. Marius smelled her scent, touching the ground where she must have walked, and followed the floral trail. Three Legionnaires landed beside them.

  The trail zigzagged toward the front gate, where she’d stopped and turned abruptly toward the stables. Interesting. They sped in that direction and found three horses saddled for the night watch. The guard switched at midnight, so these were the horses for those who had just come off duty.

  “Where’s the fourth horse?” asked Marius, striding toward the entrance to the stables.

  “Where’s the stableman?” asked Nikolai, following.

  “Here, Lieutenant,” said one of the Legionnaires, waving them over.

  A man’s legs stuck out of the first stall. They rushed forward.

  “Did she kill him?” asked Marius, joining Nikolai at the stall. Marius knew their stablemen were hired humans from Sylus and hoped the woman hadn’t actually murdered a townsman in order to escape.

  “No.” Nikolai stood from taking the man’s pulse. “Knocked unconscious.” He pointed to a shovel near the stall.

  “So, she took the fourth horse,” said Marius. “She must’ve waited for the night watch to exchange and then ambushed the stableman when he was alone.”

  “How would she know to do that?” asked Nikolai.

  “This wasn’t an unplanned attack. She knew her surroundings. She knew exactly what she was doing.”

  And damn if that didn’t impress the hell out of him despite the fact that her mission was his assassination.

  Marius lifted up onto the first horse, his instincts calling him to chase. To hunt.

  A spiked wall encircled the royal grounds, so there was only so far she could go before she’d have to try to slip through one of the guarded gates.

  “You three, saddle up horses and ride as fast as you can to each of the outer gates,” ordered Nikolai, apparently thinking exactly what Marius was. “She’ll have to try to get out of one of them. We’re going to follow her trail directly, so we’ll corral her to one of you.”

  Marius nudged the stallion into a full gallop, following her scent in the air. She must’ve dodg
ed right at where the garden hedge ended, heading into the apple orchard. He spurred the horse on, flying as fast as he could, her scent growing stronger. Nikolai’s horse pounded right behind him.

  She had woven through the apple trees. He followed her exact path, coming out on the other side of the orchard near the palace compost pile of manure and discarded vegetable and fruit scraps. A whiff of the sweetest honey pulled his senses on into the small woodland.

  “She’s going for the west gate!” yelled Marius, steering the horse after her trail.

  Galloping along the path into the woods, they wound deeper and deeper, hardly any light from the half moon above filtering through the canopy of trees. He actually feared for her safety in this kind of dark. Her horse could’ve tripped. She could’ve fallen.

  What was he thinking? Concerned about the safety of the woman who’d tried to kill him?

  The woman who’d bewitched him, body and soul, with one kiss.

  Madness. He was utterly mad. He should be planning ways to torture her into giving up the instigators of this Black Lily resistance and who were responsible for conspiring to assassinate him.

  A horse whickered off to the right.

  “Whoa.” Marius pulled back on his mount.

  Nikolai did the same behind him. They’d both heard the horse in a cluster of trees. She might be hiding there, lying in wait to leap out and defend herself.

  Marius dismounted, her sweet smell filling his lungs. Yes, she was here. His pulse raced, wanting to see her, to touch her. God, he was lost.

  He dipped below an overhanging branch, sensing Nikolai circling behind. Honing in with his extrasensory sight, he could make out the figure of the horse standing near a tree, his head dipped toward the ground as he grazed on a patch of grass.

  “Grace,” said Marius. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The horse lifted his head and whickered again as Marius approached.

  “My lady?”

  Bloody hell, he could smell her so strongly now but couldn’t sense her body heat. Had she injured herself?

  Marius made out a lump-like form draped over the saddle as if she were slumped forward with an injury. He moved swiftly to capture the horse by the reins. “Grace?”