by L B Keen
CRIMSON BIRD 2
A Novel By,
L.B. KEEN
© 2017 Published by After Hours Publications, Inc.
www.afterhourspublications.com
All rights reserved.
Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 16+
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Other Books by
L.B. Keen
Wolf’s Bride
Three Kings and Their Kat
Three Kings and Our Ivy
A Heart in Disguise
A Heart Taken
Chapter One
Three months later…
The house was still.
Talon sat as he had for the last three months before the fireplace, his eyes focused on the flickering flames, the only warmth he could stand. The smell of liquor had somehow sunk into the carpet, and he, himself, wasn’t sure what day it was. With a painful grunt, he leaned forward. His body ached from the many nights he’d laid on the floor.
Rising, he barely glanced at the mirror. He knew he appeared haggard. Not that he cared overmuch for his appearance. He was more concerned with whether his servants had left the larder filled, or in anger at his angry and raging dismissal, they’d stolen that too.
After Bird’s departure, he had sat still before the fireplace, drained of all desire to accomplish anything else. His very need to feed had dimmed, and he’d found himself wandering the halls like a hollow ghost, his every step making no sound. Even now he felt empty. Somehow, his very desire for revenge had been numbed.
Making his way out, past the bottles that littered the floor, he exited his bedchamber. His stomach gave a sound of protest and he frowned, rubbing his stomach.
Walking along the hallway, he contemplated why he’d allowed her to leave. In one moment, he felt the martyr. He’d sacrificed his happiness so that she may live. Yet, in another moment, he became filled with rage.
Why had he allowed those people to take her?!
As she lay in his bed, he’d grown surer that they would be laid to rest together. At least then he would no longer suffer the burgeoning hatred he held for those who were his family, and she would be freed from his cruelty.
He shook his head, his vision blurring for a moment. How long had it been since he’d eaten? he wondered as his staggering steps grew weaker and less steady. Soon, he stood at the stairs. They moved like the rolling sea before his eyes. Squeezing them shut, he shook his head in an effort to relieve the dizziness.
Making his way down them, he managed to reach the landing without falling and harming himself, though he sorely wished he had. Then maybe he’d be released from this nightmare.
The loud sound of knocking echoed in the empty house, the sound causing him to wince in pain. He glared at the door, wondering who had dared to come and ruin his solace. He’d warn even Gwen to stay away. He wasn’t in the mood for having to run her off again. Especially not when he’d already contemplated ending their farce of a relationship.
Grimly, he made his way towards the door, his bare feet slapping against the marble floor. Reaching the door, he rested his weight against the door jamb. Moving his hand up, he placed it on the handle again, wondering silently to himself why he wished to burden himself with the view of what laid beyond the doors.
The door cracked open, and sunlight burst into the dimness inside, reflecting off the dirty mirror that rested on the wall across from the door.
“Where is she?!”
The third prince, Fitzwilliam, stood on the other side, his angry face twisted. Talon, who had little energy these days, lifted his lips in a sardonic grin. “Where is who?” he asked, his voice drawling.
“You know who!” his brother sharply rebutted, his reddened eyes brightening. “Bird! What did you do with her?!”
He took a step forward as if to threaten him with his stature. Talon, who wasn’t the least threatened, allowed him entry by turning and leaning his back against the wall.
Shoving the door wide, Fitzwilliam entered, his eyes roving over the entryway. His lips drew back at the smell. “Dear God.” He turned his attention to Talon, who hadn’t been looking at him at all, but at the floor, and swallowed so many of the words he wanted to say. Instead, he spoke his thoughts. “It has been three months, brother, I beg of you…at least tell me where you buried her.”
“Buried?” Talon repeated, lifting his darkened eyes towards him before he released a chuckle. Shaking his head, he wandered off towards his study, though it hadn’t been used for such an activity. Instead, he’d used it as a place where he wrote his maddened apology letters. Feverishly, and with drunken courage, he penned his mad ramblings to a woman who he knew would never see them.
Fitzwilliam followed him, taking in the dark and dust coated interior. When he’d wished for the fall of the first prince, he had not expected this to be the result, and he felt little satisfaction in it. Gwen still hadn’t given in to his demands of marriage, and he still remained without a throne. So, though it was obvious his plans had come to fruition, there was little success to be seen from them.
Talon walked over the thick carpet barefoot and stopped in front of a hidden bar in the corner. He lifted the stopper with a jerk. “Cognac?” he asked, lifting the bottle in the direction of Fitzwilliam, who gave a strong no.
Shrugging, Talon didn’t bother with a cup and took a deep drink. Gasping, he made a face and met his brother's shocked expression with a bland one. “Brother, isn’t it odd that you’ve finally brought down ‘the monster’, but you stand here before me…begging for the remains of the bait that you sent so readily to reel me in.”
“Bait? How crude,” Fitzwilliam said, relaxing, though his eyes had narrowed at his brother’s words. “Is that what you think she was to me?”
Talon’s hand tightened on the neck of the bottle he held. Fitzwilliam knew as well as he that Bird had had feelings for him. He still hated the fact that she foolishly allowed herself to feel anything for weak willed, manipulative scum he had the ill destiny to be related to. His smile turned cruel then. “Ah, right. You were the one she loved, and how did you repay her blind loyalty?” he asked, taking another swig, draining the remains. Pulling the bottle away from his mouth, he threw it with all his might at the tall shelf. It shattered, liquid sloshing everywhere. “By being the same weak-willed coward you’ve always been!”
Fitzwilliam gritted his teeth against the sharp accusation, his memory of Bird’s pained look still clear as day in his memory. He would’ve continued speaking if another voice hadn’t spoken, taking both princes by surprise.
“Talon!”
Both prince’s eyes jerked towards the door, an older man with similar coloring stood there, his back straight and held in place by the sheer discipline that radiated off him in waves. It was what separated the King of England from the rest of the nobility and royalty. His red eyes blazed like recently fired embers and his mouth was in a moue of disapproval. His eyes went from his sons to the rest of the interior.
“Is this how you’ve been spending your days?” he asked, his question obviously aime
d towards Talon.
Talon, who hadn’t a good relationship with his father, to begin with, sardonically widened his arms, encompassing the entire study. “Why yes, father, it is,” he exclaimed with a mocking air. He lowered his arms and motioned drunkenly towards Fitzwilliam. “But I alone cannot be blamed for my behavior. Fitz here can take the brunt of your anger.” He cast Fitzwilliam a cruel smile. “Due to his well-plotted schemes, I’ve become a forlorn lovesick fool.” He spat the last word with pure hate.
“Enough!” His father brought his walking stick down, the golden carving of an angel’s wings gripped tightly around his gloved fist. His pale features were white with rage, as he turned his eyes towards Fitzwilliam. “You will dress your brother in the appropriate attire, and bring him to the carriage.” With that coldly spoken command, their father turned on his heel, passing his damphir, an older gentleman who accompanied him everywhere. “Do not keep me waiting,” he threw over his shoulder.
Reluctantly, Fitzwilliam did as his father commanded. It wasn’t an easy task, what with Talon’s incessant yelling that he wasn’t leaving and would never leave.
Still, he was finally able to dress his brother, loosely. All the appropriate pieces were on him, despite their wrinkled state. He escorted him to the carriage where his father had Talon alight, leaving Fitzwilliam to return in own to the palace.
“Is this what your crown means to you?”
Talon didn’t lift his eyes from the design of swimming swans that decorated the thick carpet in his father’s personal chambers. Everything hurt. The sun was too bright, and the sound of laughter outside made his nausea grow.
His father’s voice grew louder. “You’ve ignored your duty, and have shamed our house! How do you explain yourself?!”
After a moment of silence, his father yelled once more, “Talon!”
Releasing a heavy sigh, Talon lifted his dull eyes towards his father. His father, the king, the one who miraculously gained the throne after “throwing” it away. He stood with staunch rage, his cheeks red with fury and barely held back anger. Straightening, Talon spoke, sarcasm coating his words. “Shame?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Shame isn’t something that is new to our household, King Malik,” he said, growing stronger as the memory of his reason for vengeance returned as if entering the palace and breathing in the corrupt and luxurious air revived him. “Our shame began long before I. If I recall, it began with a woman named Patricia—”
“Enough!”
His father’s eyes had grown cold at the name that’d been banned from his lips at the age of eleven…or was it fourteen. He rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn’t remember…when did they murder his mother again? Was he growing mad? If he were, it would be a blessing away from the heart crushing torture that was slowly tearing him apart.
“Your petty need for revenge has left the crown in question,” his father continued, walking away from him towards his desk where ledgers and letters laid here and there. “All I’ve done to protect your right to my crown has been wasted. Those in parliament have eagerly turned their pandering to your mother and stepbrother.”
Talon did not know how his father managed to sleep with the same woman he plotted against. He shook his head when the memory of Bird’s mocking words invaded. “To me, vampire and pain are synonymous with another. I’ve no interest in the games that you play.”
At the memory of her and her words, he flinched, turning solemn once again.
“I’ve no intention of allowing your mother to put Fitzwilliam on the throne,” his father said, his voice calm once more, as he took his seat. He picked up a letter and raised it so his damphir could take it. “What Leo holds is a letter of invite from the ambassador we’ve sent to Katari, a country east of Egypt. The county is known to hold a wealth of metals that if we gain the rights to their mines, would make us a leader in trade as well as push our plans of industrialization forward.”
Leo, a nondescript male with dark-blonde clubbed hair, handed the letter over to Talon, who took it reluctantly.
“If you manage to gain the rights to these mines, parliament will look favorably on you, and the discord that has been caused due to your foolishness will be dismissed.” His father sniffed, his eyes narrowing. “Unless you truly will allow the son of the House of Echimedes to sit on the throne?”
Talon’s hands tightened on the letter in his hand. He had nothing left but his vengeance now and his father now offered him a sure way to gain the throne. It would also put half the world between him and his memories of Bird.
The old, manipulative codger was offering him too much for it to be free. “And what must I do, if this opportunity does prove beneficial?” His eyes sharpened from the dull state they’d been in.
Father leaned back and pursed his lips. “It is simple. I wish for your engagement to the Princess of Carthage to stay intact.”
Talon swallowed. “And why must such an arrangement be kept? I do not wish to marry her. The only reason I’ve not announced an annulment to the engagement is due to your decree.”
His father frowned, his eyes meeting Talon’s. “Until you wear the crown, they must believe at all times that the title of king is within their grasp. Your show of pain for that damphir did not help. We must keep balance here, Talon. Vampire rule and the Echimedes are a family that must be pandered to for our ruling to go smoothly.”
Talon, hearing the weight in his voice, resented that he felt the need to help his father in this struggle. They were aligned only for the simple reason that they both wished to prevent his stepbrothers from taking the throne, although now, only Fitz was their worry. Nothing else held them together, though they both had differing reasons for their hate.
Turning his gaze away from his father, he took in the light shining through the cleaned glass. His heart beat slowed, as his hatred reasserted itself and he released a heavy sigh. “And so, I’ve returned to a hollow home, and now replace one collar for another,” he muttered under his breath before standing.
His father scoffed at his show of dramatics. “There is nothing I will not do to prevent the loss of the throne, and you no idea what I have done to prevent the loss of this throne.” With those last words, he dismissed Talon from his private chambers and urged him to be packed and ready to leave in the morning.
Chapter Two
Standing in the window, and watching as the first prince alighted his carriage and left, the queen’s fingers played with the rosary in her hands. Her eyes focused like a hawk on his back, their yellow glow disturbing in the dimness of her chamber. She clicked her tongue and continued softly muttering. The rosary she held had seen years of such treatment and now were smooth and worn. The black lacquer that had shined now appeared like soft cashmere.
Hearing her door open behind her, she spoke, not facing the person who’d entered. “Do you believe that your father will hand you the throne?”
She half turned and smiled, her eyes empty of love or humor. “He isn’t a foolish man… I couldn’t abide a foolish man.” She stopped shifting the rosary with a sudden click, and fully facing Fitzwilliam, she walked towards him, stopping at the table that separated them. Her bedchamber reflected her character, done in colors of dark browns and beige. It held hidden depths, and then suddenly, there was the black that reached out, and like her, swallowed you whole.
“That’s why when Father asked me what I wanted, I said,” she paused, laying her rosary down, “Queen. I wish to be Queen.”
Her golden eyes lifted to his own darkened ones. “Now, Fitz…what is it you wish for?” She straightened, bringing her hands before her, seeming beatific, but Fitzwilliam knew his mother was finally demanding his cooperation. “I’ve allowed you to play, as I felt a small amount of guilt in the death of your brother. Yet, now, I have no such reservations. You will gain the throne, with or without Gwen’s hand in marriage.” She smiled. “As it should be. Our blood should have sat upon the throne some millennia ago.”
Fitz shifted, the nervous fe
eling growing at the shine in his mother’s eyes. She turned her attention to the window. “Your brother is leaving on a mission that I’m sure is meant to curry favor with Parliament.” She smirked, her eyes flickering with some hidden joy. “It will be hard to curry favor if he does not return… I see it as only fair; a son for a son.”
Unwittingly, his mother allowed her aura to leak, and Fitz felt the icy chill lick along his flesh. He gritted his teeth against it, holding back from cringing away from it. Suddenly expressionless, she laid a hand on the back of the chair. “You will no longer play at gaining your father’s crown. Forget that little girl and prove you hold my blood in your veins.”
Once done with the private meeting with his mother, Fitzwilliam walked along the hallways of the palace, unable to forget the joy in his mother’s eyes at the idea of ridding herself of his brother. His expression brooding, he avoided the eyes of the servants who moved back and forth in a rush. How had he been born from such a cruel woman?
He paused, his brooding eyes lifting just in time to see Gwen enter. Her steps were light, but she appeared troubled. He spoke, not thinking. “Princess…”
She stopped, her hands holding her gown up tensely. Her eyes of violet light had widened before they fluttered. Lowering and shuttering her eyes from his sight, she quickly moved to walk past him with no word.
So, in his desire for her to look at him, he spoke once more, “The queen!”
Gwen stopped short at his words.
Fitz half turned stiffly, his doleful expression silently pleading for her to change her mind, and to fall into his arms. “The queen…wishes for me to abandon my chase for you.” He swallowed. “If I do as she says, there will never be an us.”
Gwen stood, her back to him, stiff in her pose. She closed her eyes against the pleading sound in his voice. “Was there ever an us?” She turned around coldly facing him. “I’ve no memory of us. I’ve only the bitter remembrance of waiting, and waiting for you to appear and to save me from this fate.”
