The Queen's Protectors (A Throne of Blood Book 1)

by Scarlett Snow

  Kaleo growls under his breath. “This is Queen Violet of House Ayris. I suggest you check that fucking list again.”

  The vampire shoots us a false look of ease and scans over the scroll one more time. I assume by the way his eyes dart that he’s afraid of us, and so he should be. He knows deep down who and what I am.

  Rolling up the scroll, the vampire nods to the chalice. “By dropping your blood into this pool you swear to abide the law enforced by all species in memory of our fallen. If you try to incite violence within these walls, if you try to shed blood, you will suffer the consequence of the Sanguine Spell, and henceforth be banished from Castello de Sanguine. Do you accept this peace treaty?”

  I glimpse between my Protectors. We each give the vampire a curt nod. I’m not here to wage war against my enemies. Not yet. I’m here to remind them of my existence as their queen and right to the throne.

  I extend my hand. “We agree.”

  The vampire pricks my index finger with a small dagger and holds my wrist over the chalice. I watch my blood splash into the transparent liquid. The droplet becomes a swirl of smoke that floats through the air and curls around my features. When I glance back into the chalice, I’m wearing a masquerade of emerald dragon scales. The mask covers my eyes and nose, and the edges are peaked like sharpened wings. The magic must use our blood to decipher our species. It’s rather clever.

  I step back and allow my men to take the oath. Elliot is first to place his blood into the chalice. His mask is a silver wolf that covers three quarters of his face and has pointed ears. It fits him perfectly.

  Ronan’s mask is similar to my own in size. The veil is a midnight black and instead of scales he has feathers. I think of ravens when I look at him.

  Kaleo drops his blood into the water, and I hold my breath, eager to find out what species his mask will unveil. When he turns around, his entire face is covered by a gold-plated lion. I can’t help but smile. I just knew he was a lion.

  The vampire gives us an assessing glance. He has my Protectors remove their weapons and then he silently escorts us into the ballroom. A haunting melody carries to my ears as we stand at the stop of a grand staircase. Masked nobles are dancing below us, gliding over the marble floor. The ballroom is just as opulent as the foyer, with a frescoed dome ceiling and rocaille ornaments adorning the gold walls and chandeliers.

  When I step onto the staircase, my mother’s journal begins to glow underneath Kaleo’s arm. Her enormous tiger emerges from the ruby stone and prowls down the stairs, drawing everyone’s attention to me.

  I make my descent smoothly, and I do not tear my gaze from the speculating eyes dissecting me into pieces. I hear every gasp of breath, every whisper and murmured insult, yet I continue walking with utter determination and confidence.

  I’ll make every noble in this room regret the day they thought of me as easily conquered. I’ll make them beg me for forgiveness.

  At the bottom of the stairs, my mother’s tiger vanishes into a wisp of smoke, and through the pale fog we emerge, three Protectors and their Queen.

  Kaleo, Ronan, and Elliot drop to their knees in front of me. “All Hail Queen Violet Ayris,” they announce in unison, bowing their heads. “Long may she reign.”

  I lift my own head high and show a hint of fang, ready to claim what is mine by right. The One True Queen has finally arrived, and she’s here to rule.

  THE END

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  Preview of Saphyre:

  ENSLAVED BY THE KINGS BOOK 1

  Please enjoy this free preview of my upcoming reverse harem novel, Saphyre, which has been collaborated with my amazingly dark co-author, Loxley Savage.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Saphyre

  Averting my honey brown eyes from those around me, I stare intently into my martini glass. I use a finger to draw in the condensation and then adjust the lace straps of my stolen ruby dress. My skin itches under the silky material, although I can’t really complain. I did steal the thing after all. The drunk Emperian didn’t know what hit her when I ran off with the piece of used fabric. Honestly, it serves her right for visiting the slums after dusk.

  Prissy fucking nobles.

  Squirming in my seat, I adjust my low-cut dress to make my cleavage pop. I take a sip of my drink, trying not to wince at the foul taste, and rotate the ring on my left index finger. The stolen dress isn’t the only pilfered noble ware in my possession. A severed finger is tucked inside my little clutch bag. An odd thing to carry, sure, but I took the finger as a souvenir from the noble’s boyfriend. He’d tried to stop me from robbing them, grabbing my wrist with his soft noble hands. As if that would ever work. I cut his finger off before he could even register what was happening.

  They just don’t understand.

  People like me have no other way to survive. It’s either rob or be robbed in these cities. What truly pisses me the fuck off is the pretentious aristocrats visiting from Emperia, admiring our squalor as if digging through a thrift store. We’re starving down here, exposed to their toxic fumes and waste with barely anything to our names, and they come down to the surface like they’re on some kind of vacation? Losing a finger is the least of their worries. Trust me.

  To think I used to want to escape this hell and live in one of their fancy floating cities. Not anymore. Now, I want to burn them all to the ground, and believe me when I say that one day I will.

  At any rate, I needed the noble’s fingerprint to get inside this stupid club. Glancing at the decor, it’s hard to believe I’m deep underground, but the owners were clever in their design. Of course they were. They didn’t want their wealthy customers to spend Emperian money in a complete hovel. They wanted the club to be tasteful but also still possess a strong flavor of the Tenebris cities, which is why the interior is made of solid red brick. The vast majority of Tenebris consists of red bricked buildings all squished together under a cloud of pollution.

  I haven't been down in one of the nobles’ venues in quite some time, but tonight, I had to out of necessity. My sisters and I need money to buy weapons for the resistance. If we want to ensure the success of our next attack against Emperia, we need all the supplies we can get our hands on. I’ve always been the self-sufficient type, willing to steal and trade my way through life, and sell anything I could… except for my body.

  Living this sort of lifestyle isn’t ideal, but it is necessary for our survival. The women in my family bear the misfortune of the Golden Curse—a star-like birthmark that adorns the crown of our skulls. This affliction causes a prominent gold streak to grow throughout our rainbow-colored hair. My sisters and I each have one. You could say this makes us unlucky considering our birthmark identifies us as worthy breeders to the upper class. So, to avoid a life of slavery, we grew up in hiding. When my mother was alive, and the leader of my fellow rebels, she would smother our golden streaks in dirt to keep us safe from the snatchers. Living a life constantly hiding in fear did something to me. It fueled my hatred for the Emperians who dare think themselves better than me—than any of us. As a child, I vowed to one day get revenge on those who seek to hurt me and my sisters. They took our parents from us. I would take away their entire world.

  Once my oldest sister, Zarra, came of age, she became the leader of the rebellion. Nyxie and I soon joined her, eager to spill Emperian blood and reclaim our rights as human beings.

  It boils my blood to even be sitting here right now, surrounded by those who would use us for their personal benefit if they knew what we truly were. The only thing preventing that from happening now is the blond, shoulder-length wig I’m wearing, just like the ones my sisters wear when they venture out of our den. We must conceal our identities in order to avoid capture. The world’s a fucking cruel place to live.

  Taking a sip from my martini, I muster my resolve and make sure my face do
esn’t betray my hatred. I need to find a target first, which, really, shouldn’t be too difficult. Emperians walk around our city like fucking peacocks. They wear the insignia of a crown around their necks as a means of rank identification. If I can snatch even a bronze one off a single noble, I could feed the rest of the rebels for the next month and still have points for weapons. If all goes well and I get an insignia, I’ll visit Jacob on market day and ask him to smelt the metal for me. That should be enough points to get by for a while without having to skimp and scrape.

  My mother and father looked after us as best as they could. They hid, clothed, and fed us until they drew their last breaths. We never expected a fire to consume our homes that day, or the rebel base. My parents were two of the many who perished in the Great Inferno.

  Anger and resentment coil inside me. Even if I have to rob every noble in this building, I’ll never let them take my sisters from me. Thieving is the only way I know how to survive. Besides, these fuckers around me are too busy drinking or going down on each other to care about my kind. I switched off my conscience when it comes to them a long ago. I had to. Otherwise, I’d be dead by now.

  Glancing up from my drink, I suck on a salty olive and take in the various scenes around me. The center of the bar houses a hot, sunken pool, and the softness from the mounted lighting casts an ethereal glow around the room. Nobles from various ranks line the sides of the pool while scantily clad, lower-class waitresses service them in more ways than I care to witness.

  The sconces adorning the granite walls are lit with scented candles, which reflect off the cool liquid inside the pool, causing shadows to dance around the room. Inhaling the sweet smell emanating from the melted wax is like an aphrodisiac. It’s no wonder more fucking than drinking goes on in here. It's practically an orgy.

  My stomach rumbles as I chew on another olive. I don’t have enough points on my stolen eCard to buy any food. Not that I plan on staying long. I’m here for one purpose only: to steal a noble’s insignia.

  A reflection of silver flashes in the corner of my eye. I tuck my blonde wig behind my ears and glance at the bar on the far side of the room. An overweight man dressed to the nines walks toward me, blocking my view of the noble, as well as the insignia I so desperately need.

  I lean forward a little, pushing my breasts up as I crane my neck a bit to see around the large man. My target now back in my line of sight, the silver insignia around the Emperian’s neck taunts me, all while thoughts of food and fresh water fill my mind. Judging by the color of his insignia, he’s not quite royalty like I hoped to find, or else the medallion would be gold. But it will still give me more points since it’s more valuable than the copper ones.

  The portly man spares me a quick glance when he stops beside me. He taps his glass eCard against the bar to grab the barman’s attention. The scent of expensive cigars and bourbon invades my nostrils, turning my stomach. That little card usually gets my heart pumping, but tonight, my eye is on a much grander prize, and I suppose he should be grateful. I could probably do with another finger. I never know when they will come in handy.

  “A glass of white for me, and, perhaps”—he turns to me, his small, beady eyes hopeful—”this beautiful young lady here?”

  I hold my martini up to him. “Perhaps not.” I keep my expression neutral, my tone cold, and turn my head away.

  The man chokes on something unintelligible. He moves to the other end of the bar and waits for his drink, his furious eyes burning into the side of my skull. A grin plays on my lips. Rich or not, men always behave the same: throw a sexy dress on and they’ll come running like a pack of wild coyotes. There’s not enough money in the world to get me to sleep with someone from Emperia. I’d rather cut my own fingers off and eat them for supper than sink to that level. No. Not me.

  Shifting my gaze back to the noble I previously set my sights on, I find I can’t take my eyes off his gleaming emblem. I smell the canapé he’s eating, and I bite my lip as I catch his attention.

  Even from across the room, he reeks of nobility.

  A familiar white cloak, worn only by the elite Emperians, is slung over his broad shoulders. Underneath, draped over his ivory tunic, sits a gold sash, one typical of the king’s warriors.

  Noticing my interest, the fucker smirks at me, blatant in his perusal of my cleavage that I’ve strategically pushed up and out to garner attention. He raises his wine glass, his large muscles flexing as he grips his drink, and nods in my direction. His ice blue eyes flash in the lights and a loose strand of blond hair falls into his eyes, a stark contrast to his bronzed complexion. The Emperian is a handsome fucker, which pisses me off even more.

  I swallow down my revulsion and return his smile. I hold up my empty drink and swirl the final olive around the bottom of the glass, indicating the desire for another refreshment. I take the olive out from my glass and rub it across my cherry-red lips, before sucking the green fruit into my mouth. Much to my pleasure, the noble receives my message loud and clear, and he takes a step toward me.

  My breath hitches as he saunters my way, throwing his white cloak over one muscular shoulder. I try to remain calm and think of why I’m risking this: all the food soon to fill our peoples’ stomachs, and all the bullets that will shoot through the Emperians’ skulls. We might even be able to buy some decent liquor and not this yuppy martini bullshit.

  The large Emperian stands next to me, my eyes level with his abdomen, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him. He stares down at me and, taking one finger, gently rubs the digit around the swell of my exposed breasts. Despite my revulsion, the softness of his touch sends chills through my body. My nipples tighten into hardened buds that press through the flimsy material of my dress. I’m surprised by my body’s reaction to him. I remind myself that it’s entirely physical. Internally, I want to smash my glass into the motherfucker’s smug face. But that won’t do. I need to play his game if I want to get my hands on that insignia.

  I drag my bottom lip between my teeth. The movement pulls a growl from the male’s throat, and his eyes gleam in the lights. It takes all my strength not to shudder in disgust, and I dip my eyes, not wanting him to notice the hatred I know he will find there. When I look back up at him through my dark lashes, his eyes are fixed on me. He trails his finger over my breast again, along my pulsating throat, and onto my flushed cheek. I flutter my eyes at him as he traces his long digit over the seam of my lips and then pushes it into my mouth. I force myself not to gag as I gently suck on the long digit.

  With thoughts of fresh food and water in the forefront of my mind, I moan around his finger. I see his cock jump in the soft linen of his pants, and I know I’ve got him.

  He pulls his finger out and sucks off my saliva. I struggle not to gag and keep my eyes sultry and focused on his, as though this is the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my pathetic little life.

  “Want to go somewhere more… private?” His voice is deep and throaty as he wraps his large hand around the nape of my neck.

  I spare a quick glance over his shoulder, to the private room I scoped out upon my arrival, and then look up at him. “I thought you’d never ask,” I say, practically purring the words out.

  His grip tightens on my nape—just the slightest hint of a claw digging into my soft skin as he urges me to follow him. I ease off the chair, and he wraps a large, powerful hand around the small of my back. He steers me across the room, and anticipation builds in my stomach.

  This was easier than I expected.

  As soon as he closes the door to the private room, I’ll rip the blade from my thigh and rob the bastard like there’s no tomorrow. I hope there’s an object in the room I can use to knock him out. If not, the blade’s handle will have to do. Or my ring. I’ve done more with less on plenty occasions.

  He confidently guides me through the crowd. His strong hand on my back feels so possessive. I pay no attention to the people fucking in the pools, or the man who’s got a waitress bent over the bar,
taking her from behind. I keep my eyes fixed on the door.

  The warrior holds his medallion to the security lock. The door shifts to the side and unveils a room bathed in candlelight and opulent fabrics. Velvet sofas, and a four-poster bed draped in silks, take up most of the room. A wave of heat blows over me from the gigantic fireplace in the corner.

  He gestures for me to enter ahead of him. With a grin I step over the threshold, but I stumble when a heavy impact connects with my back, driving the air from my lungs.

  A firm hand seizes my throat and yanks me back, preventing me from crashing onto an exotic rug on the floor.

  Before I can even blink, the warrior pins me against the wall and lifts me off the ground by my throat. I claw at his grip constricting my breathing, but my strength as a human doesn't hold a candle to this massive warrior. He seizes my wig, lifts his lips into a sickening snarl, and throws my only disguise into the fireplace.

  “You think you can hide from me, slut?” His grip on my throat tightens, and I choke, gasping for air. My thoughts turn into mush as my oxygen deprived brain can no longer make rational thought. “I eat girls like you for breakfast,” he taunts me, his fangs gleaming in the candlelight. “In fact, maybe I’ll take a taste now. You did try so hard to grab my attention.”

  With a growl, he rips the shoulder of my dress, exposing my breasts. He caresses my breasts painfully, then slips his hand down my navel and between my thighs. He grabs my pussy and squeezes to the point of pain. I would scream but there's no air left in my lungs to expel. The world dims around me as I teeter on the edge of losing consciousness.

  “This pussy is mine, slum dweller.” He tugs at the finely trimmed hair on my center, prickles of pain shooting through my already tender skin. “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”