by Emily Inskip
Oh, she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed this.
The breath knocked out of him as he slid to the floor, his face bloody and swollen. Amara waited until he had the strength to look her in the eye before she spoke. “Don’t ever lay a finger on a woman again without her consent, you hear?” Amara’s voice was deadly cold, her gaze as sharp as a predator’s as she glared down at the snivelling man.
She released a low rough laugh before turning her back and walking away. Amara blew a stray strand of hair out of her face as she strolled back towards her room.
But as she did, Lord Bastion murmured something beneath his breath that made her stop in her tracks and whirl towards him.
“I’m sorry,” she drawled, “did you say something?”
Crimson blood stained his teeth as he grinned at her from the floor. “I said that I knew you were a bitch from the moment we met.”
Amara raised a brow as she allowed him to continue. “I don’t care what you say. You’re already throwing yourself after the Prince like the little whore you are.”
Amara pursed her lips, frowning as though she was impressed by his bravery. No, not bravery. Stupidity.
“I’m not throwing myself after anyone, lord,” she offered him a grim smirk before reaching up and removing the pearl comb from her hair.
She studied the silver for a moment, tracing her finger over the delicate engravings.
“I’m afraid there’s only one thing I’d like to throw right now, and you’re probably not going to like it.”
One second the comb was in her hand, the next it was hurtling through the air. A loud thud rattled the room, followed by a scream that made her wince. She silently thanked the fact that no guards were around as Lord Bastion cried out, his eyes clamped shut.
“Oh, please,” she huffed, “don’t be a child.”
Amara crossed her arms as she watched him slowly peek and assess the damage.
The comb had buried itself into the creamy marble, a hair’s breadth away from his neck.
She’d missed on purpose, of course. If she had meant to kill him, he’d be dead already. But Amara didn’t fancy having to conceal a body, especially one of such high status. So she’d settled for the spot just above his right shoulder, making sure to catch his jacket collar so that the lord was pinned in place.
“You missed,” he grinned smugly.
“I suppose I did.”
Amara waited for the realisation to dawn on him. For him to notice that he couldn’t move or get to his feet. She gave it one second . . . two . . .
A grunt. “What have you done?”
She didn’t reply, only looked blankly back at him.
“Get it out!” the lord yelled as he tried to pry the comb from the wall. But it was buried too deep into the marble by a force as strong as a thousand horses. That comb wasn’t going to budge any time soon.
After giving him a satisfied chuckle, Amara spun on her heels, this time leaving him for good.
“Don’t turn your back on me woman!” he roared, but she only offered him a vulgar gesture in return.
Later that night, Amara fell asleep to the sound of his curses and unanswered demands for help . . .
It was the most beautiful lullaby she had ever heard.
18
Nightmares had plagued her dreams yet again. It was as though she was running from a wave of perpetual darkness. And she couldn’t escape. Memories bombarded her, filled with death and destruction and blood. She was trapped and she couldn’t leave. And no one was coming to help her. Because no one could hear her scream.
Amara awoke with a jolt.
She didn’t bother to sling on her dressing gown before hurrying out of bed. Amara didn’t want to remain there for any longer. Not when the shadows of her mind still lingered amongst the sheets.
Instead, Amara dropped down into one of the long velvet loveseats in the foyer. She groaned as her head hit the cushions. Perhaps the alcohol from last night was finally catching up to her. It was stupid. She was an immortal, all-powerful being and yet she still fell victim to a hangover.
Amara ran a lazy hand through her hair. Or at least she tried. It was too tousled and littered with knots to actually brush with her fingers.
For a moment, Amara lay on the chaise, savouring the silence of her room, when suddenly the door clicked open. Did she ever get a break?
Amara huffed, pulling herself into a sitting position. “I said I didn’t want breakfast,” she complained, still not looking towards the doorway. Instead, she gazed out of the arching windows at the pale mountain passes below.
“It’s a good job I didn’t bring you any, then.”
But it wasn’t a servant who spoke from behind her.
Amara whipped her head around, not bothering to hide her shock as she found Aedric leant against the wall, his muscled arms folded across his chest.
She scowled. “What do you want?”
He raised a brow, a small grin already forming on his lips. “Remind me never to visit you in the mornings.”
Amara narrowed her eyes. He was already dressed and wide-awake, clad in a loose white tunic and leather slacks. And there she was in nothing more than a silk nightgown. Just perfect.
Amara smirked. “That would be a wise decision. Especially if you value leaving with all your . . . parts attached.”
Most men would balk from her comments, or the low dangerous tone she always used. But Aedric only angled his head, smiling.
“Really, should I get you something to drink?” he crooned, “A coffee may do you some good.”
She just rolled her eyes, shaking her head as he pushed off the wall and strolled towards her.
If he had noticed that she was wearing nothing more than a slip, he didn’t let on. His dark eyes didn’t stray from her face as he shoved his hands into his pockets and stopped before her.
“Out with it, princeling,” she said, looking at him from beneath her brows.
It was not every day a prince showed up at her door. Especially one from the most powerful kingdom on the continent.
He grinned. “I came here to make sure you were okay. Word has it you got into a scrap with a lord last night.”
Amara let out a quiet laugh. It seemed Lord Bastion had looser lips than she first thought. It didn’t matter, though. He deserved everything he got.
She leant back in the chaise, her fingers running circles over the patterned fabric of the armrest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Aedric clicked his tongue. “Oh, I think you do. Although, I thought I diffused the situation at the ball.”
Amara looked up at him at that, a ghost of a smile now on her lips, then shrugged. “Different situation.”
His eyes flickered with dark amusement. “Well, Lord Bastion is very upset indeed. Seems as though you didn’t only damage his face, but his pride as well.”
Good, Amara thought. She kicked her feet up onto the low-lying table beside her.
“Well, next time he decides to force himself onto a defenceless servant girl, he might think again.”
Aedric’s face darkened. “He did what?”
“It seems your little lord failed to mention that part of the story,” she said, twirling her finger through a lock of dark hair.
Amara watched him frown, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “I—he won’t go unpunished for this.”
She’d never seen him so serious before. That swaggering, arrogant prince was nowhere to be found as he ran a hand over his face. The light in his eyes had dimmed.
Amara wasn’t sure how to act, so she only waved an idle hand. “Do as you wish. However, I ensure the punishment I gave him will suffice.”
Aedric shook his head. His eyes were distant as he stared at the ground. “He deserves to rot in hell.”
Amara blinked. “Careful Aedric, you’re beginning to sound unprincely.”
“I mean it.” His voice was grave as he dragged his gaze up to meet hers.
They wer
e silent for a moment. As their eyes locked, she could read the emotion written across his. Anger and sorrow. She knew them well.
Amara wasn’t sure why, but she reached into a deep, dormant part within herself as she said, “Hell is too good for him.”
His throat bobbed slightly at her words. “Indeed it is.”
∞∞∞
Aedric left shortly after that, with a brief goodbye and a promise of punishment in his eyes.
Amara knew exactly where he was going as he stalked away. And she was glad she wouldn’t be on the receiving end of that wrath. The thought alone made her muscles tense.
Amara hadn’t worked him out just yet. But she would, eventually. She’d learnt over the years that men aren’t ever as complicated as they seem.
Later that morning, she received an invitation to spend breakfast with the Queen. But Amara politely declined. After all, she had her own idea of food in mind. And that didn’t include stacks of honeyed pancakes and mountain berries.
After a quick bathe and change of clothes, Amara found herself wandering through the gardens again. Just as she’d hoped, the same servant girl was pruning the hedges in that shadowy courtyard. Amara barely had to lift a finger before the girl stopped what she was doing and extended her throat to her.
It was best to drink from the same person, Amara had decided. Less suspicion and fewer people walking around Winvaris with scarves wrapped around their neck.
She had to be careful. Especially with another vampire lurking about the castle. Elias was posing more of a nuisance than she’d wished. Amara had already heard word of the mysterious man with different coloured eyes from the gossiping ladies that flocked the corridors. She’d walked past enough of them on the way here to realise he was not keeping the lowest of profiles.
Though, to be honest, neither was she.
Even being seen dancing with Aedric last night was enough to get people talking. And not in the good way.
Jealous women, Lady Myria included, had already begun to sneer at her as she walked the halls of the palace. Amara only returned that glare with one of her own.
Amara hadn’t failed to note how many of them watched them dance. The thought of it made her smirk, even now as she wiped the blood from her mouth and left the servant girl dazed and leant against a tree.
She was glad they were jealous. Prude busybodies.
Part of her wished to just rip out their throats and be done with it. But unfortunately, things like that couldn’t be done around here. No matter how tempting it was.
Amara was just making her way back through the evergreen gardens and hedgerows when she caught sight of Nadia Blackthorn. The girl was bearing a wicker basket full of gooseberries. Her plain muslin dress dragged along the soil as she scouted for more of them.
She quickly noticed Amara’s gaze and offered her a small smile, yet there was an underlying sadness in her features.
Before Amara realised, she was striding towards her. “Are you okay?” she asked by way of greeting.
For a second, Nadia looked at the floor before rallying her breath and replied, “I’ll be fine.”
Her large, slightly up-tilted eyes met Amara’s and held them. “Thank you . . .” She opened her mouth as if to say more but her throat closed up as she bit down a sob.
Amara saved her the trouble of continuing. “It’s okay,” she said, “I just hope I wasn’t too late.”
Nadia shook her head, her loose dark curls falling across her face. “You weren’t.”
Amara’s brow furrowed at the emotion that curled in her gut. Relief and something else. She didn’t know.
They were silent for a moment. Nothing but the rush of the shimmering mountain streams could be heard as they cut a path through the chalky rock beyond the garden walls.
Nadia let out a shaky laugh. “I heard what happened to the lord, it’s a shame you missed with that comb.”
Amara raised a brow, a smile blooming on her lips. Honestly, was surprised by the girl’s sudden defiance. She didn’t think she had it in her.
“Believe me, the temptation was there.”
Nadia turned to survey the bushes for any remaining berries, plucking a few off and plopping them into the basket. When she was sure there were no more to be reaped, Nadia nudged Amara with her free arm. “You should have seen him crying to the Queen.”
Amara let out a silent chuckle, immediately imagining the whimpering, red-faced lord on his knees in the throne room.
“And the best part is,” Nadia snorted, “The Queen only laughed in his face and sent him away like a dog with his tail between his legs.”
Amara couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. They looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing, barely able to remain upright.
They earnt a few odd looks off the guards on patrol, but Amara didn’t care. It was a miracle Nadia was still able to laugh after last night. Of course, nothing had happened, but Amara knew what it was like to be forced to her knees by a man. And smiles didn’t come easy to her after that.
But Amara shook away the thought as she nodded to the basket in Nadia’s hands. “What are you doing?”
It took Nadia a moment for her to realise what Amara meant. “Oh, just collecting berries for tonight’s feast.”
“And do they taste good?”
Nadia hesitated. “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t tried one.”
“You mean you’re out here gathering food, and haven’t even indulged in any yourself? “Amara asked as her brows flew up.
Nadia pursed her lips, beginning to draw circles in the soil with her shoe. “I guess so. I mean, I’m not really allowed to . . .”
“Have one,” Amara interrupted simply, eyeing the pile of green berries Nadia had managed to gather. They looked nice—well, as nice as human food got.
“I can’t,” she replied, shaking her head.
Amara only rolled her eyes. “No one will know if you eat one now. Come on, you’ve been out here all morning, you must be starving.”
“Well yes, but . . .” Nadia didn’t finish her sentence before she popped one of the berries into her mouth. Her face immediately contorted, her eyes wincing at the sourness of the juice.
Amara laughed. “Not nice?”
“Not nice.”
“Well, I guess they’re perfect for the royals, then.”
Once Nadia had forced herself to swallow it down, Amara cast her gaze forwards along the neat rows of freshly trimmed bushes. Willow trees draped from above, creating a shadowy canopy above the walkway. Only a few bars of sunlight filtered down, speckling the grass with hues of gold and pink.
“How do you fancy a walk, Nadia Blackthorn?” Amara said, turning her head back to meet the other girl’s gaze.
At first, that was shock that lit the servant’s eyes, but then she smiled and nodded politely.
“That would be nice, thank you,” Nadia said, tucking a loose strand of gold-brown hair behind her ear.
“Great.” Amara quickly looped her arm through Nadia’s and led them off down the garden.
She didn’t know why exactly she had done that. In fact, Amara wasn’t even sure why she was talking to the servant in the first place. She hated humans. Hated them because of what they had . . . something she would never experience again. Elias had made sure of that after he took it from her all those years ago.
No, life would never be a friend to her any more . . . not after all she had done to destroy it.
∞∞∞
“No not like that,” Nadia chuckled, cupping her hands in front of her lips, “Like this.”
She made a high-pitched chirp sound that echoed through the trees. “That’s how my sister and I used to call for birds when we were children.”
Amara threw her head back, savouring the breeze that swept through her hair as she gazed up at the cloudless sky.
“How come when I do it, I sound like a strangled hound?” Amara complained before attempting another chirrup and failing horri
fically.
Nadia laughed, her dark caramel skin gleaming in the sunlight. “It’s because you’re doing it all wrong; it’s supposed to come from your chest, not your throat.”
Amara only shook her head, admitting defeat. “The birds are clearly deaf if they don’t find the sounds I’m making attractive.”
“Oh, they must be. There is no other explanation,” Nadia grinned, swinging her basket as they continued their walk through the woodland.
The midday sun rose high above, blistering in the crisp open sky. Many of the courtiers had moved inside to seek shade from the heat, leaving the gardens mostly empty, save for the birds swooping overhead.
Amara sighed. “I think it’s time we follow suit. It’s too hot out here to be comfortable.”
Nadia nodded, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her dress. “Indeed,” she said softly, “And I best get back before the kitchen staff begin to wonder where the gooseberries got to—”
One second Nadia was walking, the next, she was on her knees, a cry slipping from her lips.
The immediate scent of blood was enough to tell Amara what had happened. She felt her gut tighten as she watched Nadia struggle to her feet, blood dripping from where she had caught her ankle on a low-lying bramble.
The corner of Amara’s mouth twitched at the sight of it, her senses flaring. She had to deny every instinct in her body to resist the urge to lunge for Nadia and tear her throat out.
Amara wrenched her gaze away, sucking in a sharp breath. But by the time she looked back, the wound had already healed. Miraculously, Nadia’s ankle was nothing more than soft, unmarred skin.
Amara blinked once. Twice.
“Please,” Nadia breathed, “please don’t tell anyone.”
“Witch,” was all Amara replied, eyes wide.
Nadia broke into a small sob as she stood shaky on her feet. “Please.”
It was silent for a moment, only the rustling of leaves above filled the air. Amara watched as tears burned in Nadia’s eyes, threatening to roll down her cheeks.
She furrowed her brows. “Why don’t you want people to know? Witches are praised like gods in these lands. You could leave this servant life behind and live in luxury until death.”