Almost completing a full circuit of the room, the king led her to a small seating area near the door she had entered. He gestured for her to sit, which she did. “If you'll excuse me, I will wander away so that your many admirers may set upon you.” Without waiting for a response, the king turned and melted quickly into the crowd. My admirers? she thought, tensing. I feel like a bag of sugar on an anthill.
Integrity was just smiling at Paul and Bowman as they moved into her range of vision when another man stepped between them. She took in his appearance quickly, noting his plain, dark suit and short, dark hair. He rubbed his jaw, obviously nervous. Inclining his head, he said, “Destine, may I have this dance?”
Integrity inhaled sharply, her corset pinching in response. And so it begins. She stood and said, “Of course,” hoping she sounded polite, at least. She took his extended arm and they moved onto the dance floor. As she faced her partner, she could see that Paul and Bowman had moved discreetly to the edge of the dance floor, their eyes locked unfailingly on her. Integrity was grateful when the man started a simple two-step. That she could handle.
The man never spoke, and Integrity didn't know what vampires used for small talk. So, when was the last time you killed someone? Probably not the best thing to ask, since I don't want to know the answer. She remained silent; the song seemed interminable, even though it was one of her favorites. She half expected everyone to clap when it finished, like they did in the movies, but it could have been a recording for all the notice people gave it. The next song started seamlessly and Integrity was grateful when her partner led her off the dance floor.
They hadn't made it far before another man asked her to dance. And another. And another. It seemed interminable. Some of her partners were incessant chatterboxes, others were as mute as the grave. Some seemed to dance with her out of obligation, others made her feel as though she were just another tally mark they could brag about to their friends. Did you see me? I danced with the Destine, and lived to tell about it! As she grew less interested in her surroundings, she began to slouch. The base of her corset cut into the tops of her hips, forcing her straighten once more. Just peachy. I can't even slouch in peace. I wish Ben were here. At least then there'd be one person I actually want to dance with.
It came to her attention how small of an age differential there was in those around her. There was the occasional teenager or older gentleman, but most seemed to be in their 20s or 30s. She still couldn't quite grasp how someone who seemed so young could be their king. People out of their prime were the exception rather than the rule at Westmarch.
After too many dances to count, Integrity was eager for a respite. She stared determinedly at the floor as she moved toward the chairs, ottomans, and sofas, hoping that if she didn't make eye contact she wouldn't have to dance again. She made it to the chairs and sank into one with a sigh. She purposely sat with her back to the dance floor, hoping no one would recognize her from behind. What I wouldn't give to be able to take these stupid shoes off, she thought as her feet throbbed, finally free from the pressure of her weight.
She closed her eyes and rolled her neck, hoping no one would notice. The top of her spine sent a warm pain out steadily, more persistent than a mere ache. How long do these things go on? She started to rub her eyes, but felt the mascara and froze. The last thing I need is to smear my eyeshadow.
Someone cleared their throat. Her eyes snapped open and focused on Evan, standing directly in front of her, his face completely blank. She felt her tension level rise; her fingers clenched the armrests reflexively. He held out a hand to her and, when she didn't immediately reach to take it, raised one eyebrow.
Integrity considered asking if he was kidding, but she decided that defeated her whole I-couldn't-care-at-all approach, so she stood, ignoring his hand, and returned his gaze. He turned and moved off onto the dance floor. She also considered not following him, but decided to try to treat him like any other idiot she had danced with that night.
He moved into the dead center of the room, Of course, she thought bitterly, and turned to face him. The band had left the stage and was replaced by a string quartet. The first bars of music they began made her want to double over in pain. Not the night teres, she begged, over and over, knowing it would do no good. She swallowed hard and moved into Evan's waiting arms, her flesh shuddering away from the contact. She could feel the heat from his hand seeping through the material of her dress. Pig. I wonder how much blood he's drunk tonight?
She was so focused on the steps that Mitchell had taught her, she didn't notice at first that there were very few couples dancing. Most of the crowd had moved to the edges of the dance floor, turning into spectators. It's just your imagination, she told herself. They're not all looking at you.
As if it weren't enough that her muscles were starting to scream from the strain, Evan danced away from Integrity, breaking their contact. She was not prepared for anything like this, and she hesitated for a split second before pressing on, doing her best to not look like an idiot. She had to change some of the steps to accommodate her partnerless state. At least no one's laughing. I hope this is what I'm supposed to be doing. She turned herself enough so that she could see that Evan was still dancing, at least ten feet away from her. She realized that most of the crowd was staring at her, and she stumbled.
Everything seemed to be in slow motion. She could no longer hear the music; she couldn't hear anything. She knew she was falling backward, but she had no motivation to catch herself, knowing that she was beyond help at this point. It would be better to die. Maybe I'll get lucky and break my neck.
Unexpectedly, her descent stopped. She knew she was being spun back onto her feet, but her mind was having trouble keeping up with the circumstances. As she finished her rotation and regained her balance, her confused gaze locked onto Evan's face. He caught me, she thought slowly. Time regained it's normal pace, and the couple finished the dance within a few moments. The crowd broke into polite applause, and Evan turned from her and stalked off the dance floor. It took a moment to regain her faculties and exit the dance floor herself. Couples were already dancing to the next number; she was forced to weave between them, bumping awkwardly into someone once or twice.
After she had already set herself down on the nearest ottoman, Integrity thought that someone had asked her to dance as she had walked off the floor; she had brushed by whoever it was with no response. She couldn't bring herself to feel bad, either; she had far too much to think about to care about some stranger's hurt feelings.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a woman sitting in the chair across from her ottoman. Jydda crossed her long legs, a slit falling aside to reveal one in sharp relief with the material. Not caring about her facade at the moment, Integrity spat out, “What do you want?”
“Ooh, testy,” Jydda purred. “Of course, anyone would be after such a mortifying experience. Do you have the faintest idea how . . . idiotic you looked?” A nasty grin crept across the woman's face. “Why don't you do yourself a favor and leave now, before you hurt someone?”
Speechless, Integrity stormed to her feet. Jydda remained seated, obviously unconcerned. “I ought to pull your hair out,” she hissed at Jydda, her jaw clenched tightly so the words had to seep out past her bared teeth.
“I'd like to see you try.” Jydda stood, face-to-face with Integrity. “Or have you forgotten how I beat you before?” she whispered threateningly.
Before Integrity could raise her hand to Jydda, a warm hand clasped her wrist. She couldn't move at all. She spun to see Evan standing directly behind her, restraining her as though she were a butterfly he could crush with little thought.
Before Integrity could force any words from her open mouth, Jydda moved sinuously around her and stepped up to Evan. “There you are,” she murmured. She rested one hand lightly on his shoulder, completely ignoring Integrity. “What would you say to dancing with someone who doesn't trip over her own feet?”
Evan's eyes flashed to Integrity's
for the smallest of nanoseconds, and the couple moved off, Evan only releasing Integrity's wrist when he stood between her and Jydda. Neither looked back and at the girl.
Integrity turned and plopped down in the chair that Jydda had just vacated. Irate, she mocked Evan in her head: Ooh, Jydda, you're so pretty. Can't let you get sullied by some dirty little human. She continued in the same vein until she started to repeat herself, then her confusion set in once more.
What did Evan care if she fell on the dance floor? He probably just didn't want me to ruin his perfect form, the jerk. Why had he stopped her from hitting Jydda? 'Cuz he's in love with her. Even in her thoughts, her voice was snotty. She rubbed absently at her wrist where his touch still burned on her skin.
Chapter Eleven
Integrity left the ball before it was over; she figured that once the sky started to turn pink with the rising sun she'd done her duty and could leave. She hoped no one had noticed, but she was too tired to care about any repercussions. Of course, she didn't get enough sleep to be really rested. Only vampires sleep all day, she thought wryly.
She felt down-right mean when she finally gave up on sleep and got up. Stupid body. You're tired; why don't you just go to sleep? She made a token effort at getting ready for the day, but drew the line at getting out of her pajamas. A breakfast tray was already sitting on the coffee table, so she flopped into her favorite armchair and smeared a thick layer of cream cheese on the plain bagel.
Her mind roamed freely over the previous night. There's no way I'll be able to remember everyone I danced with, she thought apathetically. Oh, well. Not my problem. Every time she shifted, her ankles and knees would protest; it felt like they were encased in cement. She rubbed one ankle absently as she chewed. Stupid ball. Stupid vampires. Stupid Destine.
Integrity puttered around her room for an hour or so, growing grouchier by the minute, before Galia showed up with a lunch tray. “You're awake?” Galia asked, surprised. “I thought humans slept eight to ten hours every day.”
Integrity humphed. “We're supposed to, but my body doesn't agree.” She thanked Galia mechanically when she set the tray down, then asked, “So, what, you don't sleep?”
Galia straightened and faced the girl. “We can, if we so choose. Or rather, the upper class can. Our bodies don't require it.”
“What do you mean only the upper class can sleep? Are you missing something biologically?”
Galia laughed. “Not unless you count commoner blood as a biological problem. There are too many tasks for the servants and slaves at Westmarch to take any rest; after all, it's unnecessary.”
“Hmm.” Integrity paced restlessly to the window. Unable to keep her angst bottled up she said, “I know it's not your fault, and I shouldn't dump on you, but I am so sick of this stupid room! There's nothing to do here!”
“You are not restricted to your quarters any longer. You may come and go as you please.”
Integrity spun around. “What? Since when?” She tried to control the level of anger in her voice, knowing it was irrational to be mad at Galia.
“Last night your presence was officially made known to the castle at large. There is no purpose served by you remaining a hermit.”
Integrity couldn't even feel genuinely excited or happy at her reprieve; she was too tired and ornery. She muttered a mandatory, “Thanks,” and Galia left.
Despite her foul mood, Integrity did not even consider staying in her room. The only question now was, where to go? Home, she thought instinctively, then locked the thought tightly away in a dark recess of her mind before she could feel anything. Well, I'm not going anywhere in my pajamas.
Integrity got dressed, but was unhappy to find that she had nothing at her disposal warm enough to fight off the obviously bitter cold weather outside. Guess I'll have to stay inside. As she moved toward her door, she stopped and retreated back to the coffee table and lifted the cover on her tray. She wasn't hungry, but she knew she didn't want to eat the tomato soup cold later, so she ate it quickly, then turned to face the door once more.
What if they don't let me out? What if I get freaking shot, like I'm trying to get into Area 51? She stiffened, and shook herself mentally. Get a hold of yourself. No one's going to shoot you, stupid. You're the Destine. She couldn't help but put a negative twist on the title that had been forced upon her. Barely breathing, she forced herself to push the door lever down and open the door. Paul and Bowman spun to face her instantly.
“Galia said you'd like to explore today,” Paul said, stepping respectfully to the side. “Lead on, miss.” Bowman did nothing but grunt a greeting in her general direction.
Feeling self conscious, Integrity stepped past the two men and moved hesitantly down the hall, waiting for one of them to stop her. Could they follow any closer? she thought, still uncharacteristically grumpy. Heck, if I hesitate, they'll run me over! At the first intersection, Integrity stopped. Everything looked exactly the same. Which way should she go?
After a moment, Paul cleared his throat respectfully. She looked back to him. “Is there anything in particular you'd like to see, miss?”
She shrugged, forcing herself not to snap at him. “I don't know what's in here.” She gathered her thoughts, and said more carefully, “What do you think I'd like to see?”
She was surprised at how pleased Paul seemed to be when she followed his directions and listened to his animated descriptions. Slowly her foul mood melted away, the light of Paul's enthusiasm driving it back. She couldn't help but become involved in his narration.
The view from the top of the west-wing tower was inspiring and depressing at the same time, dense forest stretching as far as Integrity could see in every direction. “I didn't know we were that close to a mountain,” she said, pointing to a snow-capped monster to her right.
“That's Mount Scherezade. There's a great trail you can hike all the way to the top, but it takes several days,” Paul explained.
“I bet,” Integrity said, her neck craning backward to see the summit, even from their great height.
Unexpectedly, Bowman spoke. “I've been up there half a dozen times,” he grunted, the slightest hint of pride coloring his words.
“Really?” Paul sounded impressed. “Most people don't even make it once!”
Bowman grunted noncommittally, then turned on his heel and stomped down the spiral stone stairway. Integrity shot a small smile at Paul, trying not to snicker. Unfortunately, Paul couldn't control himself and a small chortle escaped and was quickly stifled. Bowman hesitated for a second, then continued down the stairway with renewed vigor. Integrity clamped a hand over her mouth, desperate to not embarrass Bowman even more. She had to avoid Paul's gaze for several minutes before she could control her mirth.
As the trio passed from one level to the next, they passed several people. It seemed that every time there was a group gathered, whispering broke out as soon as Integrity's group had passed. She did her best to carry on as normal, but she usually started talking or laughing too loudly.
Paul showed Integrity numerous guest rooms, meeting rooms, and ball rooms, each decorated differently. She felt as though she were in a museum, and she kept her hands close to her body, afraid that she might brush against a vase and knock it off a table or cause some other form of damage to the delicate articles that surrounded her in waves. The one room she couldn't help but hate was the one that had stuffed exotic animals everywhere. Heads hung on the walls, full body mounts seemed to walk across the room. She made a noise of disgust and refused to step through the doorway.
“What's wrong?” Paul asked. Not understanding her hesitancy, he walked over to a full-grown male lion and thunked it on the head with his fist. “They're all dead. They can't hurt you.”
“I wish they could.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why do people do that? It's so gross.” The dead, glassy eyes stared at her from every angle. “I bet it stinks, too.”
Paul laughed at her. Bowman stared at her as though she were from another plan
et, his forehead wrinkled. Integrity waved Paul out of the room and shut the door tightly. “Let's get out of here before we all end up hanging on the walls, too.” She pretended to shove a finger down her throat. “That place should have a hazard sign on the door.”
Đ
Despite Paul's happy demeanor, Integrity worried that her daily “tours” were a burden on Paul and Bowman, so she forced herself to keep them down to once a day for no more than an hour or two. Though many of the rooms were similar, she never grew tired of their intricate beauty. It's like having a season pass to a museum, she thought, glad only to have something to break up the monotony of her daily life. Between meals, reading the books Galia provided, training sessions with Bowman and Mitchell, and now the daily explorations, the girl no longer experienced long empty spaces that were painfully impossible to fill.
Integrity was quite excited when Paul announced, during one of their trips, that he was going to show her the kitchen. This was yet another aspect of the vampires' lives that she was vague about—did they eat? Did they have to? Or was it like sleep, a luxury reserved for the rich and powerful?
The kitchen was on the ground floor, only a few doors down from the room that Integrity's “coming out” ball had been held in. Her first impression of the room was one of disappointment. Small, crowded, and lacking any distinctive color, the room was clearly made for function only.
Integrity thought that she and her guards were alone in the room, at first. Paul was leading her around the room, opening doors and drawers at random. “As you can see, we have modern appliances along with open fireplaces and wood stoves.”
Integrity was about to ask why they had both ancient and new tools when a voice echoed from what Integrity guessed to be a pantry. “Who's out there, messing about in my kitchen?” A woman, carrying several mixing bowls in her arms, pushed her way backwards out of the swinging doors. She turned and saw Paul. “Ah, Paul!” she exclaimed. “Don't tell me my cooking's getting complaints from the little so-and-so.”
Integrity: Book One of the Destine Series Page 15