by Keary Taylor
“You are lucky to have him,” Cyrus does offer instead. “His loyalty is an uncommon gem.”
But as Cyrus says it, the look on Rath’s face when he offered the drinks comes back to mind. He didn’t look happy. And he hasn’t seemed happy with me for a while.
“I am,” I agree, even as my stomach sinks.
I cannot please everyone.
I cannot make all the right moves with it comes to every single person in my life.
“Come,” Cyrus says. “Let us rejoin your party.”
He leads me by the hand and we walk back into the ballroom. “Would you like to make any kind of a speech?” he asks into my ear.
I swallow hard and look around at all these people. There are so many of them. They’re so old, so much more experienced at this than I am.
“Yes,” I lie. “I’d like to say a few words.”
Cyrus grabs another glass and taps a knife from the buffet table against it. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says loudly, instantly commanding attention. Every eye turns expectantly in our direction. “Our Regent and Lady, Alivia Conrath would like to share a few words.”
Synchronized, every eye slides from Cyrus to me. And I pride myself that I do not step back under their gaze; I don’t break out into a sweat. I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin just a little higher.
“Thank you all so much for being here,” I say, my voice strong and loud. “There’s been quite a lot of change happening in our region the last few months, and I’m sure most of you have heard about some rocky circumstances.”
As I look around the room, many nod their heads. The look in their eyes confirms that they have indeed heard of the mess that has been going on in our part of the country.
I think momentarily of the girl I was just a few months ago. Of the child that I was, terrified of an enemy. Enough so that I ran away from my home. I hid. I let another fill my head with one side of the story.
And now, here I stand before a mansion filled with immortal killers.
“But I am here to assure you that things will never be like that again,” I say, my voice increasing in volume. “Silent Bend will be controlled. There will be order. I will make sure of it. Our secret will be kept safe under my leadership.”
“And our secret is a show of our great strength,” Cyrus says, shifting attention once again to him. “For thousands of years now, we have built an empire. Bred a new species. There are thousands upon thousands of our kind. Yet, the world knows nothing.”
The air around us is deadly silent. No one takes a breath. They lean toward us, hanging on the King’s every word. I feel their excitement growing, pride at what we are and what has been accomplished.
“Power lies not in those who flaunt it,” Cyrus says, his voice dropping an octave. “For once you lay it out for all to see, it sits there for any to take it. Power lies in those who have built their empire in the shadows without a word being breathed. Power lies in having your masses built, so when the glamorous show falls, the empire rises, already in place.”
The King’s words chill me. While he has not said he plans to take over the world someday, he will be there should the world crumble and fall.
“You stand here because you have kept our secret,” Cyrus says, raising his glass to all before him. “And you all are a part of that power. I salute you.”
As if many of them have heard this speech before, they raise their glasses, as well. “I salute you,” they repeat with pride.
The music picks back up. Cyrus hands his glass off to a random man and takes my hand once again in his. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”
“It would be my pleasure,” I agree, a smile pulling on my lips. I take a step forward, and suddenly my ankle twists, and I fall into Cyrus’ arms.
“Now, our kind generally isn’t the clumsiest,” he laughs as he helps right me.
My brows furrow. “I caught my heel on something,” I say, looking back where I just stood.
We stand in the middle of the ballroom, on top of the Conrath raven crest. My eyes scan the floor, and finally, I see it. There, where the Raven’s eye should be, is a chip in the floor.
Great. Cyrus throws a party and my father’s house is being damaged.
“How about that dance?”
My attention turns to Cyrus once more, and he looks at me with a smile and eagerness. Returning it, I place one hand on his shoulder, resting my other in his hand.
A simple step forward. To the side. The other side. Backward. Repeat.
We twirl. Glide over the marble floor. Cyrus leads me step after step. He’s an accomplished dancer, and I never once feel out of sync as he guides me through the steps and movements. The masses quickly move to make room for our dance.
For a moment, I am once again swept up in the grandeur of the King and his Queen, and I imagine that I am actually her. Here with my husband, with an interrupted immortal life before us, filled with love and pain and reunion.
It’s a beautiful, if somewhat broken, picture. But it’s easy to want it for a few moments.
The music begins to slow, and Cyrus twirls me one last time. He dips me into a low dip, and I let my head fall back as my eyes slide closed. The tip of Cyrus’ nose trails from my chest downward. And so very reverently, he presses a kiss between my breasts.
My eyes glow and burn as he rights me, and our gaze meets once more. I see the desire there. The urgency.
He’s ready for his queen. Now.
But I am not her.
I toy with the ultimate game creator.
“Thank you,” he breathes hard.
“Of course,” I respond, cupping his cheek in my hand, gazing tenderly into his eyes.
The crowd around us claps, drawing my attention away. The floor drops out beneath me when my eyes meet Raheem’s.
He does not mask his disapproval. His gaze is hard, cold, and vengeful, and it’s directed at the King. His eyes flick once more to mine, and there’s betrayal and hurt there. He stalks away, back into the crowd.
And I feel sick.
Who the hell have I become?
THE KING TAKES A BOW, that entertained, almost drunk-like smile on his face. He takes a huff, deep breath when he stands once more and looks around at the crowd. “Thank you! Thank you,” he says, his smile growing bigger and bigger. “Now, where are Chelsea and Charles?”
“Here, your majesty!” that girlish voice cuts through the crowd. They both shove their way through the masses and pop out before the two of us.
“Wonderful,” Cyrus says, clapping his hands. “Now, I’m thinking of a number between one and fourteen. Would you please pick a number?” he asks of Chelsea.
She mulls it over for a moment, thinking far too long and hard about it. As if she doesn’t grasp what has just happened.
Part two of Cyrus’ game.
“Two!” she finally declares gleefully.
“Wonderful,” Cyrus says with a smile. He then turns to Charles. “Your turn, my man.”
“Eight,” Charles says without hesitation. There’s a smug look on his face as if he’s sure he’s guessed correct.
“Eight, he says!” Cyrus says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Two and eight, guessing from one to fourteen. So, we shall go right in the middle with five!”
Cyrus walks in a small circle, studying those that surround us. And I feel as if I should be nervous. The King’s games never end well. There is always death and blood. But instead, I find myself anticipating what is to come.
“How many of you have ever watched modern sports?” Cyrus asks. He slowly walks the perimeter, his hands folded behind him. “I confess I don’t get into it much, but I did study them sometime in the last decade or so. Trades happen frequently, switching and offering like it’s nothing of consequence at all. Teams swap players to gain advantage and to shake things up with fresh blood.”
Tension rises in the air as some begin putting together what is going on. They shift uncomfortably, look at each other with
wariness.
“Alivia recently acquired fifteen new members of her House. All Born. All capable. All willing to swear loyalty,” he says as his eyes search out the new faces. They are so new that I only remember a few of their names. “And today, the two Houses will trade five members.”
Shouts of anger and disbelief rise into the air. Eyes flash red. Several take steps back, as if to flee.
“You cannot be serious,” Chelsea asks in disgust as she steps forward. “The shortest anyone has been a member of the House of Allaway is twenty-one years. You expect me to just give away loyal subjects?”
Cyrus walks up to her and puts his face within two inches of Chelsea’s. “I expect you to obey your King,” he breathes low and dark. “For if you do not, you know what the punishment is.”
The way her face blanches tells me she does indeed.
But I’m not certain what the punishment is. A swift, quick death by stake or beheading? Or a trip to Roter Himmel for a trial and then death?
Either does not end well for her.
“Do as he says, sister,” Charles says as he places a hand on her shoulder. “We will let them volunteer and then go from there.”
Chelsea continues to stare at Cyrus in disbelief. Her eyes are wide, fearful, angry. She doesn’t say a word—only takes one step back away from the King.
“Wonderful,” Cyrus says, annoyance front and center in his voice. “Now.” He straightens, looking around to those who surround us. They grow thicker by the moment as everyone gathers to the ballroom. “Those of the House of Vermont who would like to volunteer to trade to the House of Conrath, please step forward now, or forever hold your peace.”
The crowd shifts and a moment later, an older woman and a severe-looking man step forward. “I volunteer,” he says. He stares me down with dark eyes.
“I’m willing,” the woman says. Her voice is timid, unsure.
“Any others?” Cyrus asks.
And there’s a little scuffle. Arms shoving, someone nearly tripping. A young woman stumbles out into our circle. She looks scared, terrified, and it’s clear that she certainly doesn’t volunteer, but is being volunteered.
“Thank you, my dear,” Cyrus says, taking her hands in his momentarily. “You will not regret this.”
She won’t look him in the eye and shuffles back toward the older woman.
“It appears that is all for our volunteers from the House of Vermont,” Cyrus says. “Now, each of you must choose someone.” He turns back to Chelsea and Charles.
Chelsea still looks shocked. Betrayed. Her eyes shift to the crowd, scanning from one House member to the next. Charles on the other hand, points into the crowd to a young girl who looks younger than Elle. “Francesca.”
The girl swallows hard and walks forward to join her group. My new group.
“Lexington,” Chelsea finally responds.
“Are you serious?” A man from the back of the room yells out, and all eyes turn back toward him.
He’s young, probably around my age, with blond hair and vivid blue eyes. And he looks totally betrayed.
“Do not question your regent or your new one may question your ability for loyalty,” Cyrus says in warning. “Please, come.”
The look Lexington gives Chelsea as he walks past her is almost enough to kill. He stands before them all. I can feel the hatred rolling off of him.
“Now,” Cyrus says, clasping his hands behind him once again. “As to the members of the House of Conrath.”
The crowd shifts, the tension in the air doubling. This is so unexpected. So brutal in a non-violent way. I understand the difficulty in building a House and gaining loyalty. And now, the King is just going to toy with it like it is nothing at all.
“Do we have any volunteers?” he asks with a smile.
I turn, scanning the crowd, suddenly scared to death that someone will step forward. That it will be Markov or Nial or any of my original members. That all of my new members will step forward at once, ready to abandon me before they know me.
But not a single Born moves.
“Ah,” Cyrus says with an amused smile. “Interesting. See, Alivia here has only had most of these House members for a few days. They come from all parts of the South, gathered here to be members of a new House of order. They’ve been given a choice. And yet, each of them chooses to stay.”
I look around, into the faces of those new members that surround me. And I see it on their faces. Some of them do look at me as if they think I’m someone worthy of following. But others, I am just one of two great evils. No better than the other choice. Perhaps I am only the one that is closer to home.
“Now to shake things up a little.”
And the coldness in Cyrus’ voice when he says it, it makes the breath still in my chest, turning to frost that freezes my entire body over. I turn to see the look on his face. His eyes have gone hard and manic. The gleam in his eyes makes me afraid.
“Some of you in the House of Conrath may look at Alivia and think she is inexperienced. She is uneducated. She has no idea what is to come in what it will take to control her region.” Cyrus turns his gaze upon me and my hands break out into a cold sweat.
He’s caught me. He’s caught onto my game. And now, he’s turning on me.
“And you’d be right.”
The room grows silent and I swear the temperature drops fifty degrees. We are all a strangled breath, caught in a throat out of fear.
He turns back to the crowd. “Those of the House of Conrath, besides those newly acquired trades, please step forward.”
The fear in the room does not decrease as bodies shuffle. Some scooting back, others fighting their way forward. One by one, my House members walk to the front. Anna. Nial. Markov. Danny. Lillian, Cameron, Samuel. New faces I hardly recognize yet. Trinity. Christian.
“I would like to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Cyrus says. The smile stays present on his lips, entertained, so happy at his diabolical games. He once more paces before his prey. “You can stay with this infant of a Royal. You can live out your menial lives here in this backwater swampland. Or you may join me—in Court. And I will give you the opportunity to earn yourself the title of a Royal. You need only to step forward. You have thirty seconds to decide.”
Gasps rise up into the air. Low murmurs roll through the room like a slow tidal wave.
I feel cold. Numb.
Cyrus has two faces.
I must never forget that.
He’s just invited my own House to abandon me and join him in Roter Himmel.
My eyes flash to my House, and I cannot hide the panic on my face. My eyes first meet Nial’s. He stares at me, thin lipped, a look of fear and disgust warring on his face, and he shakes his head.
Anna does not look toward me. She stares at the King, as if to dare him to try harder to get her to leave her position.
Samuel’s eyes are glued on Christian, as if he’s just waiting for Christian to step forward and leave once again. But Christian meets my eyes, and he nods, as if to reaffirm everything he said before the party.
Cameron meets my eyes and shakes his head. “Not a chance,” he says, without a waver in his voice as it cuts through the silence.
And as he says it, the tattooed man Samuel brought steps forward. His eyes are fixed on Cyrus, his shoulders squared. “I’d like to be given that chance.”
A woman with hair down to her butt steps forward, as well.
My heart starts racing. How many will come forward? There’s fifteen seconds left, and to a vampire, that’s an eternity for something to happen.
“Bad idea.” Danny’s gravel voice cuts through the quiet. I look over at him and see him shake his head, his long hair falling into his face. His arms, which were folded across his chest, slide to his sides and his fingers roll into loose fists, as if he’s preparing for a fight.
“Ten seconds,” Cyrus says, the smile twitching on his lips again. “The time to decide is now.”
A low
chatter cuts through the crowd. All eyes flicker to the twin girls X recruited. They argue, and it’s clear: one wants to join Cyrus, the other isn’t so sure.
But after only another moment of debate, they both step forward.
Another small movement draws my eye to the right. Trinity stands there, her eyes fixed on the floor between Cyrus and I. She teeters on her toes, as if she will take that defining step forward any second now.
“Tick tock,” Cyrus teases her.
“Trinity,” Cameron says. “Don’t do it.”
She wobbles, as if about to step forward. She curls her fingers into fists. And as time ticks down to three seconds, she finally looks up, and settles back onto her feet.
She’s chosen to stay.
“Well, well,” Cyrus says, that smile on his face. “Out of twenty of you, only four have chosen to change sides. Only four of you wish for esteem. For a grander life than the South. Only four of you wish to reach for the status that has been out of your grasp your entire, long lives.”
“Their mistake.” It’s Markov who says it quietly, but without hesitance.
Cyrus looks over his shoulder at Markov. And the ice in my chest grows colder when the smile returns to his face.
“Their mistake indeed,” he agrees. “Only four of you chose to abandon your true calling in life and show your true, traitorous colors.”
Cyrus draws the sword, which has dangled at his side all night seemingly for costume, and with one swift motion, beheads the twins in one sweep. Their heads drop to the ground, their bodies collapsing. Blood sprays over the party. With a twirl, Cyrus embeds the blade in the tattooed man’s chest. The woman with the long hair turns to run, but not before Cyrus throws the blade, embedding it into her back. She drops to the ground, dead.
“Let this be a lesson you all learn today!” Cyrus bellows, causing everyone in the room to flinch. “I am your maker. You exist because of me! Above all else, I value loyalty. We are born into our stations not by accident. If you will not remain loyal to those who will take care of you, you do not deserve to live!”
I reach up and wipe a few drops of blood from my face, where I was sprayed when he took the twins’ heads off. My hands come away covered in red.