The Dark Heroine: Dinner with a Vampire

by Abigail Gibbs

  Yet …

  Compulsively, I reached and snatched the paper from the floor.

  This will not seem fair to you. It will seem a great injustice. You may not love this girl or even be acquaintances, but you must accept your fate, for the good of the Kingdom and her heart, whether she loves you or not. She will need you. To become a Heroine will be a lonely plight and she will need someone to trust. It is your duty; your responsibility.

  I’d need him. I already needed him.

  But not all is entirely lost, sweet child. Two people who are thrown together often learn to love, over time, and she will possess many of the qualities you admire – if she did not, she would not be a Heroine. In some ways, it may be a blessing to you: if you choose to marry her and make her your Queen, you will be in an extraordinarily strong position politically. Whatever you choose, this girl will remain in your life. But you must make what you can of this. Remember your duty to her and all will be well.

  Contanal died before he ever published his second prophecy on the Heroines and his papers were burnt or else hidden deep within Athenea. Many say that he was murdered by the Extermino to ensure the Prophecy never became truly complete – a rumour I am inclined to believe: Contanal was not an old man and the Sage rarely ail. Therefore, what he did discern about the Heroines (other than the main Prophecy) was long forgotten, save for what was passed down by word of mouth. For that reason, I do not know whether you are alone in your plight of being tied; not even the wisest of prophets know anything near to what could be called the whole truth about Contanal’s Prophecy. So we will never know, until the time of the Heroines is here.

  I have come to the conclusion that I will not live to see such a time. If I were to live longer, then logic would state that I would have been blessed with a seventh child, and as danger approaches in the form of visiting the Pierre Clan, I have taken the decision to write this letter. But you will see such a time, Kaspar. So do not grieve for me or for the past; for acquaintances lost and times changed, because these must be sacrificed in order to create a better future.

  Fate moves in strange ways, but know that the end is only truly the end when all is well. You are a good son, Kaspar; a great man and you will be the greatest of Kings. Do not fear the future.

  I love you, sweet child. In life and death,

  Your mother,

  H.M. Queen Carmen

  I let the letter fall into my lap. She had known she was going to her death. The whole time, she knew. When she wrote that letter to Beryl, she knew she would never read her friend’s reply. She knew she would never find out how John was, and that she would never commission a painting of her whole family. How could she possibly have sat down and wrote that letter to Kaspar? How could she have said goodbye? It was unthinkable.

  A fresh wave of respect for her courage washed over me and I studied the painting above the fireplace where the Queen sat, poised, her husband behind her. A small, dignified smile upturned the corners of her lips as she stared with an unsettling gaze towards what must have been the artist, now the bed. Her hands were clasped in her lap amongst the folds of her deep jade dress and around her neck was the locket I now possessed.

  I pinched at the skin around my collar until my fingers found the chain. Gently, I pulled it from beneath my T-shirt and let it rest in the palm of my hand.

  ‘You knew you were going to die in Romania, didn’t you?’ I whispered into the stillness, letting my eyes slip from the real locket in my hands to the one immortalized in the painting. ‘That’s why you gave Kaspar the locket the week before you left for Romania. You knew he would give it to me; to the second Heroine.’

  I picked up the other letter, addressed to Beryl, searching the paper for a particular line. I found it, near the bottom.

  I do not want my son and heir to be placed in the path of danger …

  ‘And that’s why you wouldn’t let Kaspar go. You never intended for this letter to be sent. You wrote it so nobody would ever suspect that anything was wrong, didn’t you? So nobody would think that you knew you wouldn’t come back from Romania.’

  My mind reeled at my epiphany and I turned my gaze back to the motionless figure of the Queen, as though expecting her to tell me I was right. But of course, she didn’t. She was just oil and canvas.

  Another thought struck me as I clutched the locket to my breast: the letter had been opened and read, but how long ago? It looked well-read. How long has he known he was tied, and when was he planning to tell me? My feelings had not exactly been hidden from him these past few days. Was he just going to let me wait and find out, and suffer that way? A surge of anger shot through me. How long would he have let it go on?

  Why are you complaining? You care for him and you’re tied. Isn’t that a good thing? my voice questioned.

  You wouldn’t understand.

  Being tied will just take some getting used to, that’s all, my voice reassured, as though it was that simple.

  Suddenly, there was a noise from the balcony and startled, I jumped up. Seeing a shadow move behind the voiles I hastily stuffed both letters back beneath the pillow and glanced at the painting again.

  ‘One day you might just find something worth living an eternity for.’

  I glanced down at the locket resting on the collar of my T-shirt. Whether I liked it or not, Kaspar was going to have to be worth it. I bounded forward, brushing the voiles aside, balancing on the lip of the doors, hands grasping the frame either side.

  ‘Who was the cloaked figure in the entrance hall before we left for London?’

  There, leaned against the stone railings of the balcony was Kaspar; below him, yet more figures were strolling across the grounds, heads bowed away from the sunlight.

  He sighed. ‘Valerian Crimson.’

  I leaned against the edge of the wall, hands clasped behind my back. It made sense that it was Valerian Crimson who we had crossed paths with that day. I don’t think any other family of vampires could possess such demonic eyes when they lusted for blood. I had been stupid for assuming that the figure in the entrance hall had been the same figure of my dreams.

  I let my head fall against the stone and soaked in the warmth of the sun which would be burning Kaspar’s exposed hands and face.

  There is so much to say, but no way to say it.

  ‘The dreams will go once you become a vampire,’ Kaspar said quietly, not turning his attention away from the grounds. ‘You’ll never be in a deep enough sleep to have them.’

  I couldn’t confess to being disappointed. I didn’t want to see any more of the darker side of Kaspar which the dreams brought to the forefront of my mind.

  I joined him on the railings. Below us, figures, mainly men, ascended the steps to the great marble double doors I knew were below. They came in pairs and small groups, dressed in the colours and livery of their families. Occasionally, an expensive-looking car with tinted windows would wind up the driveway and butlers and valets would rush out to open the doors.

  From here too I could see where Kaspar’s gaze was directed. To the west it was possible to see two of the beacons, flickering on the horizon like stars in a night sky. But these were far more sinister. A call to court. It wouldn’t take more than a few days for the entire council and court to be here, at Varnley.

  I didn’t have days. I had hours.

  Tell him you’re a Heroine, my voice urged. Tell him now.

  ‘You forgive me then?’ Kaspar asked with a small smile.

  I shook my head slightly and came back to my senses. Propping my chin on my hands, I rested my elbows on the stone railing. ‘Not really.’

  He hummed a note deep in his chest, sounding unsurprised. For the first time, I noticed he had changed into a formal shirt and trousers – the court was descending, after all.

  Tell him, Girly!

  No. I have to set everything else straight first.

  Then on your own head be it.

  ‘That girl in the catacombs: Sarah. You didn’t kill her f
or food, you killed her for fun. That’s wrong, Kaspar.’

  He looked down at me, eyes as emerald and piercing as the first time I had met him. ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘Then why do it?’

  ‘I don’t know … I was pissed off.’ His fingers tightened around the stone before he raised it to his hair, combing it with his fingers, neglecting to offer a fuller explanation.

  ‘You can’t kill people because you’re pissed off.’

  He slumped, slapping his palm against the stone, looking as though he was about to shout, but noticing another figure passing below he lowered his voice. ‘I get it! Okay, Girly? There’s no need to preach,’ he added.

  I stood upright and folded my arms. ‘I don’t think you do, Kaspar.’

  He studied me through his lowered lashes, his mouth parted just enough so I could see the two pointed teeth that were his fangs. He sighed and turned back to the railings, his head dropping down into his hands.

  ‘What do you want me to do, Girly? I can’t turn human for you. I can’t stop lusting for blood. I can’t stop killing. So what do you want me to do? Tell me!’

  His eyes darted around my face, searching for answers, a mixture of desperation and exasperation on his face. I averted my gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

  ‘You could start by being honest.’

  You’re not being honest, either. So what if he wasn’t going to tell you about being tied? Tell him. Tell him now, Girly.

  ‘You know what, Kaspar? You’re just selfish and self-absorbed and you don’t think that anyone can suffer like you do. And seriously, look around at what you have! It’s incredible!’

  I gestured around the grounds but he didn’t look.

  Instead, he looked at me with a peculiar expression almost identical to the one he had worn when I was clutched in the arms of the King during the Ad Infinitum ball: the face of a man fighting and losing. He stared at me for a moment and I shut my mouth, forgetting my next train of insightful insults. I whipped my head back to stare out at the grounds, wide-eyed, finding myself falling back on the taunts that had regularly spilled from my mouth in my first weeks.

  ‘You’re an arrogant, stupid, stuck-up jerk of a Prince with a serious ego problem who should really go and shove—’

  My sentence ended in a high-pitched squeak as I was tugged around, an icy hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Fuck fate,’ he growled. Then his lips were on mine.

  I was so shocked by his touch that I froze for a moment as he sucked gently on my lower lip, before I found my arms wrapping themselves around his neck, kissing him fervently back. I felt him smirk into the kiss before he drew back. I rolled onto my tiptoes, trying to reach his lips but he held me back.

  ‘Missed my touch then, Girly?’ He ran his thumb along my jaw and down my neck, pausing at my throbbing vein, pulsating far faster than it had been the minute before.

  ‘Ego problems,’ I murmured.

  I heard him chuckle before he drew me closer again, lifting my chin and softly pecking me on the corner of my mouth. I followed him and he yielded, letting me suck hungrily and greedily at his lips as his tongue begged for entry, which I gave without hesitation. I let my tongue slip into his mouth too, gliding it across the points of his fangs.

  I could taste blood and my heart picked up – he must have noticed because he chuckled, his fangs just clipping my lip as his hands worked their way slowly down my spine. Effortlessly, he picked me up and placed me on the railings as though I were a china doll – a doll he admired as he stepped back, his eyes raking across my body. His gaze was so intense I could almost feel my skin tearing away as it burnt hot; vaguely, I was aware that there was a fifteen-foot drop behind me.

  He drew close again and clasped my hands behind his back before joining his own hands behind mine. I let my head rest on his shoulder, my mouth just brushing his neck, the Queen’s locket – my locket – trapped between his collar and mine.

  ‘Your father is going to kill us,’ I chuckled, but he shrugged.

  ‘He’ll have to deal with it.’ He sighed, his hands tangling themselves in my already-knotted hair. ‘Violet, don’t ever leave me. Whatever happens; however bad things get, just don’t go. Please.’

  I pulled away, studying his face. I knew what he was referring to. ‘Kaspar, I have to tell you something.’

  He frowned for a moment but then shook his head. ‘No, it can wait. Just enjoy now.’ I opened my mouth to protest but he pressed a finger to my lips. ‘Wrap your legs around my waist,’ he murmured in my ear.

  I did so and with a muffled shriek on my part, he lifted me up in his arms. Stepping into the shadow of his room, he pecked me on the cheek, before kissing me again with an urgency that wasn’t there before.

  It was an urgency I felt too and as his tongue delved between my lips I wriggled free of his grasp, though he quickly grabbed my hand and tried to tug me towards the bed. Yet I remained still, eyes transfixed on the open door.

  In it stood the King, the irises and even the whites of his eyes entirely consumed with anger. He stared with an unwavering gaze at me, a soft growl escaping his mouth. Beside him stood a vampire I recognized as Ashton and another, unfamiliar to me. Both of their eyes were warring between black and red.

  Kaspar yanked me to his side, hugging me close but I hardly noticed. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the King’s eyes as tears began running down my cheeks.

  ‘Not this again,’ Kaspar growled. ‘Forget my duty! It’s my choice whether to touch her or not!’

  But the King didn’t hear, or maybe he didn’t care because he gave no reply. Instead, he motioned to the vampire I didn’t know, who moved forward.

  ‘Take her outside.’ His voice was flat.

  Kaspar immediately moved in front of me and I began backing away.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he cursed, but quick as a flash Ashton had grabbed him and twisted his arms behind his back at a painful-looking angle; Kaspar was stronger and quickly broke free, elbowing him in the chest.

  I back-pedalled, arms grasping at the air behind me until they hit something solid, my back following. The other vampire smirked, beginning to close the distance between us. But there was a sudden groan and the vampire glanced at Ashton, pinned against the wall, his neck encircled by Kaspar’s hand.

  Seeing an opportunity I began sliding along the wall to reach the open French doors. The ridges of the wood panelling snatched like clawed hands at my shirt and though I knew I was running my feet didn’t seem to be moving; even as the vampire lunged towards me, I still had time to let my eyes wander to the painting of the Queen and her husband, her eyes as dead and lifeless as the living King that stood before us. My eyes found the locket around her neck as my hand found it resting against my collar and closing my eyes, I braced myself.

  Hours.

  The vampire’s weight thrust into me and I shrieked, yet heard no sound. I struggled, but I couldn’t move as his entire body pushed me into the wall, rapid breaths tracing a pattern along my throat. When I opened my eyes, I could see nothing but blotches until they gradually refocused and I could make out the King’s lips soundlessly moving as he stared in the direction of his son, who backed away from Ashton and spun to face me, a look of utter defeat on his face.

  The King motioned and I was dragged out as Kaspar silently watched; something cold like a knife was pressed to the skin just below my jaw. I let the feel of that touch wash through me, cherishing the rush; the heavy scented air, rich with cologne; the light, the dark.

  As I passed the King I stared at his unfeeling face, unmoved and indifferent as tears trickled down my cheeks and doors flew open, pleading and shouting filling the hallway as I watched his empty eyes follow me.

  ‘But, Miss Lee, what makes you so adamant in your belief that I abhor you?’

  I tried to free my wrists from the vampire’s grasp as he lugged me down the stairs, but other hands tightened around my waist and the knife pressed harder into my neck. Amongst the confusion I
made out faces – Cain, Fabian, Alex, Kaspar, Jag, even Lyla – but the only sound louder than my own heartbeat was the ticking of a clock and the giggling of a small child … the only face I could pick out amongst the sea of cloaks and black eyes gathering in the entrance hall: Thyme.

  She wound between the legs of the onlookers, her black dress frilled with white and trailing silver ribbons. She came to a stop at the base of the stairs, clinging to the bottom banister as she stared up at me. Her eyes were wide with wonderment and her mouth ajar, but her lips quickly widened into a toothy smile.

  ‘Don’t look the Princess in the eye, scum!’ a cold voice said at my ear, and the knife – which, as I glanced downwards looked more like a dagger – was pressed further into my neck.

  I looked away hastily as noise flooded my ears once more. I could hear the frantic protests of Cain and Kaspar, pleading and desperate, amongst the reasoning of Jag and Sky as whoever held me tossed me down the steps outside and caught me once more by grabbing my hair. I screeched, only for the dagger to silence me as it rested against my windpipe.

  As they spun me around to face the steps I watched as Lyla tugged at her father’s sleeve and Fabian halted on the steps, frozen in horror as the household poured out around him, engulfing his form. Mary turned away into the arms of Jag, whose mouth was moving wordlessly as Thyme broke through the throng of onlookers: the family and their friends; the servants; the council …

  Outside, it was hardly brighter. The sun no longer showed, instead colouring the clouds orange as hot, licentious chants filled the autumn air, curses for my name rising with the smoke from the beacons.

  Two hands rested on my shoulder, another two on my arms and pressed down, forcing me onto my knees. I dropped down but they did not ease the pressure, instead taking a wrist each and twisting them behind my back until I screeched and begged for them to stop. They didn’t.