House of Pawns

by Keary Taylor

  Cameron pulls his head back just slightly, his eyes studying Cyrus’ every move. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t sound so sure about that answer.” Cyrus’ voice grows low and serious.

  “Yes, sir,” Cameron says. “Alivia and me, we’re tight.”

  And it’s so out of place, saying we’re “tight” in the presence of a King, that it cracks a little smile on my face.

  Cyrus looks over his shoulder at me, again raising an eyebrow slightly. “You’re ‘tight?’” he questions in amusement.

  I press my lips tightly together, fighting another smile, and nod in agreement.

  A small chuckle bubbles up from the King’s chest. Quickly it develops into a full-bellied laugh. The small crew that followed him into the House joins him. My House members don’t seem to know what to do. Cameron forces a laugh with the King, who finally lets him go. Samuel has hints of a forced smile. But everyone else is stony faced.

  “Ah,” the King says in a loud sigh. “I must say, it is refreshing being in a young House again. Everyone else has gotten so old and stuffy.”

  No one seems to know if they should laugh, there’s too much fear and tension in the room for anyone to really be genuine.

  “Your majesty,” a voice says with ease.

  We all look to find X and Rath standing in the hallway. Rath is calm and composed as ever, X calculated and prepared. It’s only now that I realize Raheem has been nowhere to be seen. It makes my chest hurt.

  “If you all are ready, we’ve made the dining room ready for all of you,” Rath says. “Dinner is served.”

  “Excellent,” King Cyrus says as he claps his hands. “I am famished.”

  He extends an arm out to me, which I take hesitantly. But still, I manage to offer him a small smile and walk by his side into the formal dining room.

  A great feast is spread on the enormous dining table that has only been used less than a dozen times since I came to own this house. Who prepared the food, and where it came from is a mystery. The staff is gone. I didn’t have any part in it. I highly doubt X is the cooking type. It’s as if it appeared out of thin air.

  Almost lovingly, Cyrus pulls my chair out from the table for me. There’s tenderness, a hopefulness in his eyes when we meet for a moment.

  I can’t imagine the feelings he must be going through right now. Am I her? Will I be his wife, finally found after more than two and a half centuries of being gone?

  Cyrus takes his place at the head of the table, me just to his right side. My House members sit beside me, Markov directly at my side. The King’s Court members sit on the opposite side, each of them evaluating us, like we evaluate them.

  There are eight members that arrived with Cyrus, in addition to the three that arrived earlier in the night. Three women, five men. I’m sure some of them are body guards, some advisors. And all of them full-blooded Royals.

  “So tell me about your town,” Cyrus says as he begins filling his plate, and mine as well. “Silent Bend, is it called?”

  “Correct,” I say. “It’s a nice little town, I suppose. I’m really not that engrained yet. I’ve only lived here for seven months.”

  The King makes an acknowledging noise as he ladles gravy over my mashed potatoes. “Raheem told me about that. Speaking of which, where is he?”

  I look around, as if he should magically appear. “I haven’t seen him since just before you arrived.”

  “Raheem!” Cyrus bellows. And it’s a sound so powerful, so authoritative, it stills everyone at the table.

  One second later, Raheem appears in the doorway and casually, he strolls inside and takes a seat at the last open one.

  Cyrus gives him a deep glare, but Raheem does not look up.

  I remember what Raheem said, that they needed each other, but didn’t necessarily like each other.

  If only Cyrus knew of Raheem’s confessions.

  “I’m sorry, my dear, please continue,” Cyrus says with only the slightest hint of tightness in his voice.

  “Um,” I stutter, thrown off by the whiplash conversation. “Well, it’s a small town. Everyone seems to have deep roots.”

  “And how many of them know the history of this town?” he asks as he swallows a bite of what I’m pretty sure is duck. “Elijah Conrath was a good man. It was a shame to hear of the town’s mutiny.”

  I swallow hard. I’m so out of my depth here. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could do this. But I am an infant who knows nothing.

  “Some of them,” I respond. “A lot of people have been afraid of me since I moved into town. They knew my family’s history and associated me with it, even though at first I knew nothing.”

  It’s a shocking display of the pain Cyrus must feel when he lets out a frustrated, tender breath. He takes my left hand in his, and raises it to his lips. “That is not the way it should have been,” he says in that intimate way again. “Your father should have prepared you, taught you. Henry Conrath… Well, he was an aggravation and a borderline shame to our kind.”

  “It happens,” X says from down the table. She sits exactly opposite the King, at the head of the other end. “Some of our kind resent what they are. They choose to live a solitary life, removed from everything they were born into.”

  My eyes slide back to Cyrus and a million fire ants bite at my insides. “I did not know him, but I believe my father to have been a good man. I kindly request that you do not speak hard things against him.”

  Cyrus studies me. Slow. Calculated. He raises a hand to my face, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “As you wish.”

  I don’t know if I can ever get over this man’s two faces. The terrifying and cruel, and the tender and broken.

  Rath steps into the room, instantly popping all the uncomfortable bubbles. He holds a pitcher in his hand, and it’s filled with a thick, red liquid. He walks to the head of the table and pours Cyrus a wine glass full. He begins making his way down the table, the Court side first.

  Cyrus takes a sip and makes a slight face. “Not fresh,” he states. “I suppose you don’t have use of feeders yet.” He looks up at me, his expression like this is the most natural thing in the world. “You do, however, have all of them to take care of.”

  “None of us have any complaints.” And it means everything that it’s Markov who says it. Considering.

  Cyrus gives an amused smile. And dinner moves on.

  Small conversations strike up between the two different Houses. Cameron talks at a man with long black hair, who I’m not sure has even grunted an acknowledgement of the conversation that’s trying to happen. Lillian attempts light conversation with pretty much everyone, but the Court members only give short, stiff answers for the most part. Nial does manage to engage two from the Court in a conversation, I keep hearing hints of England brought up in.

  Samuel sits and eats, his face still white. He’s the only one here that truly grasps what is coming. He’s done this visit before, and it did not end well for his family.

  I do not say anything unless I am directly addressed, which only happens when Lillian attempts casual conversation. Cyrus seems content to do the same. He observes. Laughs at a joke Nial awkwardly cracks. And, he listens.

  I get the feeling that he is simply biding time. I feel I know what is to come.

  The dinner drags on long. So long. One hour. Two.

  Finally, when we’ve been here, holding awkward non-conversations for nearly three hours, King Cyrus suddenly stands. Everyone else clatters back from the table to rise, as well.

  “Thank you all for a lovely evening. Or morning, I suppose it still is for my dear Alivia. Now, you will have to dismiss the two of us, we have much to discuss.” He holds a hand out for me.

  My eyes go to my House members. Their eyes are dark, or wide, or fearful.

  I swallow hard as my heart rate spikes. I look at each and every one of them. Is this a goodbye to them as a human? My eyes, which have not dared look at Raheem all night, finally catch his. But his expr
ession is set, not giving away an ounce of emotion. So I look from him, to Rath.

  His composed expression is only betrayed by his eyes. There’s fear, anticipation, uncertainty. Fatherly protectiveness. But all he can finally do is give me a subtle nod.

  I take Cyrus’ hand. It’s warm and smooth, and it makes me want to run.

  All eyes watch us as we exit the dining room, and I’m suddenly terrified when we step through the doors. We’re alone.

  “Is there some place we can talk privately?” he asks.

  Talk.

  I swallow hard and nod. My hand still in his, I lead him up the stairs. Down the hall. And into my bedroom.

  I close the door behind us, lingering against it for a thoughtful, reflective moment.

  “I know my reputation precedes me,” he says quietly. His voice is once again low and with that sensual edge to it that I don’t think he means to be there. But it is. And it’s undeniable. “But I want you to know, I would not hurt you. I do not want you to be afraid.”

  I still face the ornate wooden door. And I make an honest confession. “A few weeks ago, I was not afraid. I’ve prepared for my death that I have been warned about. But the reality of its arrival is stark.”

  I do not hear his footsteps crossing the room back to me, but I do feel the heat of his body warm my exposed back.

  “I do not wish for you to be afraid,” he says as he brushes his fingers from my shoulder, across my back, moving my hair over my shoulder. Exposing my neck. “But I must be sure your blood is Royal.”

  My heart thunders. My palms sweat and my vision swims.

  His lips brush over my shoulder and I can’t seem to help it when my eyes slide closed. One of his hands slides over my hip, around my waist, pulling me closer toward him. “The bite will be quick.”

  He doesn’t wait for my response. His fangs sink into the flesh of my neck. And instantly, my mind goes numb and my body goes lax. I feel him take several long pulls.

  Just as he promised, it’s over as quickly as it began.

  He holds me close and secure as my mind clears and my body tries to recover. He licks the wound closed. Gently, he helps me to my bed, where he helps me to sit. I note the small drop of my blood that escaped onto his lip.

  “Did you get the confirmation you needed?” And suddenly, there’s a tiny spark of hope. That Henry was not my father. That I am not his daughter and I have nothing to do with this paranormal world.

  “There’s no doubt,” Cyrus says as he pushes a stray lock of hair form my eyes. “You are the descendant of Dorian, a Born Royal.”

  I let my eyes slide closed as the weight of everything that means settles onto my chest, never to be lifted again.

  I shouldn’t have hoped. Shouldn’t have imagined. I knew.

  I knew.

  Without a doubt.

  My eyes are still closed when I feel a warm, soft hand run up the side of my neck to caress my cheek. Cyrus’ breath warms my neck as he runs his nose up the other side of my throat. Softly, gently, I feel his lips brush behind my ear.

  “You have no idea how painful it is,” he breathes as he again kisses the side of my neck. “Hope. Every time a new woman is born into the tree. Clinging to a small spark that I might find her again. It’s been…” he takes a deep breath in and his pain is palpable. “So long this time.”

  “I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” I say as my eyes roll back in my head. This is wrong. So very wrong. This demented man who only wants me if I’m someone I’m not. But touch. I didn’t realize how much I’ve craved and needed it until it’s here in my bed. “I cannot even imagine.”

  He slowly unwraps himself from me, sitting beside me on the bed, and it leaves me feeling cold. “It was my own doing. And if I could take it all back, I would.”

  His honest confession is startling. It’s so big there isn’t a word for it.

  This man created a race. An entire new species. In reality, what he was able to do, thousands of years ago, it’s incredible. But even with all this, everything that we are, he would take it back, for the woman he loves.

  I reach up, placing a hand on his cheek. There’s a tenderness to his eyes that is so deep and profound.

  Thunder rips through the air, startling me.

  “Who is that curse gathering for?” Cyrus suddenly asks. He stands and crosses to the window that looks out over the river. He pulls the curtains back, and I’m shocked when he stands there in the light, as if it causes him no pain whatsoever.

  “I don’t know who it could be for, other than me,” I say as I stand and walk to stand by his side. “It started a few days ago.”

  Cyrus folds his arms across his chest, studying the gray day outside. And in the full light, he really is an intricate specimen. He’s not overly large, not hugely muscled or overly tall. But his features are all perfectly arranged. Everything about him draws me in. Maybe that’s just one more way he is the perfect predator.

  I must not forget that.

  “What do you understand about curses?” I ask. I shiver, realizing just how cold it is in the House.

  He takes a breath, not answering me right away. He blinks out at the day twice, before suddenly yanking the curtains closed.

  Maybe the light bothers him, after all.

  “Nothing,” he says as he turns from the window. He walks to a painting on the wall. “I’ve lived thousands of years, yet I do not know where they come from. If it’s a person who creates them, a race like ourselves, or the universe. They come and bring justice to a system unlike any in visible society.”

  I swallow hard.

  “But my dear,” he says without looking back at me. “I am quite sure you could not have done anything terrible enough yet in your young life to warrant a curse. I would look closely at those in your House and those in your quaint little town.”

  I hadn’t considered that. The possibility that maybe this curse wasn’t about me. That there was someone else who had brought this storm upon Silent Bend.

  Who could it be?

  “I should let you rest,” Cyrus suddenly says and he’s instantly next to the door to my bedroom. “We’ve all had a long journey and I’m feeling a little road weary myself.” He doesn’t look at me when he says this. “We have a big night ahead of us.”

  Without further explanation, he closes the door behind him.

  I have no other explanation for what he just said. He’s going to kill me come nightfall.

  This is it. My final hours.

  My heart rate spikes. My palms sweat.

  I want to be held. I want to be left alone.

  I want to live.

  I want to get it over with.

  My head spins.

  Minutes pass. I sit at my window, staring outside. Hours. The sun rises, reaches the peak behind the clouds. Time becomes meaningless.

  A soft knock sounds from my door and my head whips to it. I have no idea how much time has passed since the King left my bedroom, but surely night has not fallen yet.

  “Come in,” I answer quietly.

  It’s Anna who enters my room, closing it behind her.

  “I’ve found them,” she says, her eyes hard, her jaw tight. “Jasmine and the Bitten.”

  “Where?” I manage to choke out. My throat feels tight and I’m having a hard time concentrating on what she’s saying. My death has consumed me.

  “Mayor Jackson’s Estate,” she says. “I finally caught a scent of Trinity. Found a bunch of blood at the church at the end of Main Street. I’m sure she turned someone. But I followed the trail. Back to his house. I could hear them inside. I believe Jasmine is holding the Mayor hostage.”

  This is something I need to deal with. This is going to explode. I remember once Raheem saying their entire existence is frowned upon. So Jasmine having an entire hoard of them is going to have consequences. For her and myself.

  “Thank you, Anna,” I say. “You never let me down.”

  “What would you like me to do about
it?” she asks. Her eyes flash red and her hands roll into fists.

  I shake my head. “Nothing. For the moment. I have other things to take care of first.”

  She looks at me with the hint of disbelief in her eyes. She’s ready for action. She’s a fighter and not one to sit back and see how things may play out.

  But I have something to do first.

  “Get some sleep, Anna,” I tell her, more a command than a request. “We’ve all had a long few days. You’ve earned it.”

  She studies me for a long moment, and I think she knows. She understands. But she will let me do what I will do.

  “Alright,” she says, and I hear the hesitation in her voice. But she steps toward the door. “Sleep well, Alivia.”

  I only nod to her, and slowly, she closes the door behind her.

  I need to stop this. Everything. Jasmine. The King’s presence here. The constant threat of so many deaths because he and his Court are here. I need to stop prolonging the one thing I have control over.

  I lock my door. It would never keep out a single person in this house. Any one of them could force their way inside with a simple shove. But it’s for me. Locking the old away.

  The marble floor in my bathroom is freezing. It sends a wave of goose bumps over my skin as I walk into it. I shed my beautiful dress that Lillian made me. I pull on a long nightgown. It’s beautiful and I’m sure old. White and gauzy. It floats around me, letting too much frigid air caress my body.

  But it won’t bother me much longer.

  I go to the cabinet that holds the small amounts of medication I possess. And my eyes lock on the bottle that appeared in it three months ago.

  It has no label. No descriptor of what it is. There is only one single, black pill inside the small orange container. But I have no doubt what it is.

  Or who placed it there.

  Rath has loved me so well and been so loyal. He’s taken care of me in every possible way.

  My hands tremble slightly as I reach for it. My heart races and gallops before my fingers finally close around it.

  Don’t think.

  Don’t think.

  The bottle is suddenly open. The pill is in my hand.

  I look up at myself in the mirror. Studying myself.