“Shut up, Nikolai. It wasn’t as simple as that. She thought I was going to hurt her. I sensed it. I could smell raw fear.”
Nikolai’s brow pinched together. Both he and Marius were experienced vampires with senses honed to detect the subtle differences in human emotions.
“That’s not all,” continued Marius, stepping over to the silver salver that held his red mask. “When I questioned Ms. Owsland, she said the girl quit her position and returned to her home in Hiddleston that morning. Even Ms. Owsland regarded me with fear in her eyes.” And the housekeeper had never behaved that way before, fidgeting with her apron like she was about to tear a hole in it. “I may be an ass on occasion, but I’ve never been so cruel as to warrant such behavior.”
“On occasion?”
Marius chuckled, eyeing the red satin mask in his hands, wondering what he was missing behind the frightened faces of the palace servants.
Nikolai shoved off the wall. “She didn’t give any indication why the girl left? Or what had spooked her?”
“None. What’s more, now that I take more note of the past week or so, all of the human servants have stayed well out of my way.”
“Have you noticed anything different with Baines?” asked Nikolai as they made their way toward the door.
“No. But Baines is his own creature. He keeps to himself.” Marius fitted his mask into place. “I’m telling you, Nikolai. Something is going on.” He sensed it like a whiff of smoke on the wind, gone before he could catch the direction of the scent.
“And so you figured what better place to discover the origin of this mystery than in a room full of humans.”
Marius tilted a smile at him as they exited his chamber. “A ballroom full.”
“So we have a task, I see.”
“Yes. We do. Glad you’re on board.”
“Nothing I like better than a challenge. You know that.”
They made their way down the red-carpeted corridor to the white marble staircase, then paused on the mid-level platform and gazed at the view below. The hordes had arrived. Noblemen escorted their single daughters who were dripping with jewels, squeezed into overly tight corsets, and puffed up with layers upon layers of silk and lace.
The fact that any man could corral his daughter into a ball as a well-priced whore in exchange for favor from the king disgusted Marius. And he pitied the daughters, even the ones who appeared overeager to become his next blood concubine.
Yes, it was a privileged position for any noble lady to achieve. However, the practice had lost its luster for him. To choose the finest prize from the flock felt something like selecting the fattest cow for the feast. Even Marius felt demeaned by it. Yet, as his mother reminded him so often, it was tradition—the noose around his neck that seemed to squeeze tighter every day.
The receiving hall filled to brimming. “Your father grows impatient,” said Nikolai. He nodded to the tall, dark-haired king at the top of the receiving line, scowling at every person who crossed near him. “They won’t let the masses into the ballroom until you’re in line.”
“I’m going. You’d best go and get changed yourself.”
Nikolai chuckled. “Not on your life. I’ll be attending as lieutenant on duty. Not one of those hellhounds looking for fresh meat.” He nodded to the other officers and soldiers in their formal regalia, eager to lure in a new bleeder to add to their collections. “Now your mother is glaring. Best get down there.”
“Right.” Marius clapped him on the shoulder and strode down the last tier of the staircase, the crowd parting with bows and gasps. One poor girl actually swooned and fell into her mother’s arms. Marius swept through quickly and found the empty spot in the line between his mother and his cousin, Friedrich, who looked about as happy as he did. Though similar to Marius in height and build, Friedrich was more charming and less intimidating, with his long brown hair brushing his shoulder and his easy smile. Though his smile appeared a tad forced this evening.
“Friedrich.” Marius shook his hand briefly as the line filled with human nobility.
“Marius. Has it been five years already?”
“That it has. How are things in the north?”
“A bit rocky, if I’m honest.”
“Really?” That piqued Marius’s attention. “How so?”
“Stirrings of a possible uprising.”
“An uprising?” Marius could hardly believe what he was hearing. “By humans?” It was almost laughable. They would never stand a chance against the Legionnaires.
Friedrich leaned toward him. “Have you ever heard of the Black Lily?”
Marius was about to ask more, but then his mother tapped his arm on his left. “I am proud to see you changed your attitude about the ball, my son.” She was dressed in regal silver and white, her dark hair coiffed in silken curls atop her head, where the heirloom diadem was affixed, crowning her beauty with precious jewels that glittered in the tall candelabras at their backs.
In order to avoid an argument, he didn’t mention that his compliance had nothing to do with a change of heart. He still loathed this ceremony. But his silence was a mistake, because it encouraged his mother to go on.
“As you know, tradition is imperative to maintain order between the vampires and the humans.”
“Mother, I’m here doing my duty. Can we please forego the lecture on the importance of royal tradition?”
“All right,” she agreed coolly. “I can see that you’re still not fond of choosing another blood concubine. But no worries, son. You will take a bride soon. Then you will have a proper partner to please you.”
He bit his tongue to keep from protesting against the impending arranged marriage to the vampire princess of Arkadia on his one hundredth birthday. Another tradition. His three older brothers—centuries older—had taken brides long ago and set up residences in far-off kingdoms in the north, west, and east, ensuring the continued dominance of the mighty empire. Once Marius married Princess Vilhelmina, he would ascend from prince to king, setting up imperial dominance in the last corner of the empire still under rule by a steward not of the Varis bloodline.
“I know, I know. You do not think the princess a proper match, but I assure you she will suit you well. More importantly, she will give you a proper heir to ensure the continuance of our bloodline.”
His mother was anxious for their union because out of all four of her sons, only one had begotten a child from his queen. His brother, King Dominik of the northern kingdom of Izeling, had a young daughter, a weak and sickly girl but gentle and sweet like her mother. Since then, his frail wife had only birthed stillborns, all of them sons. She was with child again, but history was not in her favor. Marius’s other brothers’ wives had not conceived at all. And so the torch was being handed over to Marius to continue the bloodline, in hopes that a vampire son would be born of the most supreme stock.
Varis blood was powerful for many reasons, but mainly for the fact that only a royal had the ability to make a human into a vampire, as the descendant of the original immortal—Marius’s father, King Grindal. Other vampire couples could create an immortal through conception, but it was very rare. The Varis bloodline embodied strength beyond all other immortals. Connection with any Varis was a coveted role. Hence the reason every single noble lady would be crowding into the Glass Tower’s ballroom tonight, in hopes of becoming his new concubine.
Marius was actually thankful when the first in the line of potential concubines was nearly to Friedrich, giving him a reason to turn his attention away from his mother. The young lady had made her way past fifteen other vampire nobles who were there to represent a proper royal celebration.
The tittering, overly plump girl grinned with wide eyes like a mad woman. Her father, a mirror of the daughter in masculine form, shook Friedrich’s hand then passed his invitation card to the announcer standing opposite Marius but facing the ballroom.
The announcer read, “Sir Edgar Fennigan, Duke of Waslow and his daughter, Florence Fennig
an.”
“A pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Marius,” pronounced the short, wide man, the rolls of his chin jiggling as he shook Marius’s hand too vigorously.
“And you,” said Marius, turning to the next sycophant waiting to put their face in front of the Prince of Varis.
The next in line was a doting mother, as sharp-eyed and lusty as her unfortunate-looking daughters.
“Prince,” said the woman, dipping entirely too low to be respectable.
The announcer called out, “Lady Lucinda Pervis and her daughters, Drusilla and Penelope Pervis.”
The eldest of the daughters mouthed “I am yours” as she curtsied, dropping forward more than down to reveal her ample cleavage. With a lick of her lips, she moved on, allowing her awkward sister to attempt a similar shameful display.
As the second thankfully moved up the line, Friedrich leaned over, “Looks like a rough night ahead of you, cousin.”
“Afraid so.”
The line was an endless stream of greedy, overeager fathers and mothers and their vapid, tawdry, or frightened daughters with all their wares on exhibit. Marius greeted them all in kind, but his mind spun with the question Friedrich had posed to him.
He scanned the room, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone for too long, when he stopped, predatory still.
A goddess in gold silk, blond tresses falling to one side of her slender neck; she moved differently than the other women of her station. She didn’t glide or sway. She walked with purpose, back straight, chin up, and eyes forward. She didn’t simper and smile to the vampire nobility as she eased her way closer. She gave a polite nod, then moved on, seemingly disinterested. Halfway down the line, her gaze found his.
Like a fist to the chest, he couldn’t breathe. She was bewitching. Enchanting. And he was utterly lost in her amber-gold eyes, which held his with complete, unwavering confidence. She made her way past Friedrich and passed her invitation card to the announcer. Marius absorbed every move, the glide of her arm, the bend of her wrist, and the subtle turn of her body to face him. When she inhaled a deep breath and dipped into a small curtsy—not reverent but respectful—he could hardly form a thought. The soft scent of rain and wildflowers wafted toward him, speeding his heart rate to racing. His mouth watered, canines extending. Aching.
The announcer called her name, and Marius listened attentively. “Lady Grace Constance Merriweather, daughter of the Earl of Lakeland of the Bridgerton Province.”
In that instant, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, who would be his new blood concubine.
Chapter Three
Arabelle studied him. Ebony hair, fair skin, otherworldly sea-blue eyes that flared bright when they settled on her. His red mask did little to hide the regal lines of his handsome face—high cheekbones, strong nose and chin. She measured his height, putting him a good head taller than herself. And she wasn’t a short woman. Of course, he wore layers of clothes—dress coat, vest, shirt, and possibly an undershirt—which would all be difficult to penetrate with her dagger, not counting flesh and bone. Good thing she’d been practicing on pig carcasses. As his gaze roved her face and body, she considered which tactic she should take in order to stab him through his black heart.
“Your father is not with you, Lady Grace?” asked Prince Marius.
If he could see her rough hands beneath the gloves, he’d never mistake her for a lady. She had stayed out of the gardens and direct sunlight for a full month to keep her skin from browning in the summer heat. She’d had to pay Mary, the housemaid, a week’s wages to take her indoor chores, including extra duties cleaning the fireplace grates. But it was better to be covered in soot for a month than to risk browning her skin. Though she’d not achieved a perfect porcelain-white complexion, the paste she’d made from moisturizing plants and goat’s milk had smoothed her skin to fairness with a peachy hue. Enough to fool a vampire into believing she spent her days sipping tea in the parlor, not sweeping the chimney.
All of the painstaking planning and training with Deek had culminated at this moment. Her pulse pounded a steady drumming in her ears as she finally responded to the man she’d dreamed of meeting face to face for so very long. “He is ill, Your Highness.”
“I am sorry to hear that. I would like to have met the man responsible for bringing such a beautiful creature into the world.”
Creature? Ha! He was the creature. An abomination. For a split second, she lost her composure, grinding her teeth together to keep from saying exactly what she was thinking. His vampire eyes honed in on the shift in her seemingly even temper. His mouth ticked up on one side to reveal one fang, tripping her pulse even faster.
His mother, Queen Morgrid, a frighteningly beautiful woman who resembled cold stone more than flesh and blood, cleared her throat to usher her on. To the queen’s left, the pale-eyed King Grindal—equally terrifying and godlike—paid her no heed. For a moment, she remained transfixed on the king, the first of their kind according to legend. He was of a slimmer build than his son but equally as tall, with a high brow denoting his intelligence and coldness in his gaze reflecting the millennia he’d walked this world. The aura of power vibrating in the air told her the legends must be true. He was indeed the twin brother who had strode deep into Silvane Forest, where magic lived, and was transformed into a monster. The very king who’d usurped his brother by murdering him on the throne and then slaying all of his men single-handedly. Dread tingled down her spine.
The line was backing up. Arabelle curtsied to both of them before sauntering into the ballroom.
Cart-sized chandeliers dangling with crystals sparkled overhead, their prisms glittering on the elegant crowd. The room, made up of white marble from floor to column to domed ceiling, was unquestionably the most magnificent sight she’d ever seen. And now she knew why they called the royal palace the Glass Tower. Everything was white and bejeweled and glittering—an opulent feast to dazzle the senses of mere humans. Arabelle smiled to herself, for this confirmed a belief she’d held for so long. The vampires of the Glass Tower were flawed and therefore breakable. Their arrogance would be their undoing.
Tiered tables bore silver platter after silver platter of savory sweetmeats, pastries, and delicacies to tempt the guests. Servants in black livery flitted around the room, serving wine. Vampires ate and drank, but only for pleasure, not for sustenance. Arabelle believed it was also to put humans at ease, to make them appear less like the beasts they truly were.
Deek had gathered intel for her through their other resources, but hearing about this place and seeing it were two entirely different experiences.
The room wasn’t only filled with human gentry, but also with Legionnaire officers. One of the many privileges of the officers was to take the prince’s leavings once he’d settled on a new blood concubine for the evening. Having a “friend” in the Varis Legionnaire had its benefits for humans as well. Most of the daughters in the room were flirting heavily, eagerly offering their blood and their bodies for the pleasure of the pretty pale-faced monsters in the room.
Meatsacks, all of them. Arabelle refrained from curling her lip in disgust as she swept behind the crowd to stand near the back, where she could observe her surroundings. She trembled in anticipation of what she’d come here to do, but also with the overwhelming disbelief that she was actually here in the Glass Tower—the heart of the vampire monarchy.
Most of the officers were engaged in dancing or in deep conversation with one fair woman or another. Except for the one standing on the balcony overlooking the ballroom. Hands at his back, blond hair covering part of his angular face, and uniform tailored to perfection, he might’ve looked like any other Legionnaire at the ball, except that he was most certainly on duty. His stoic expression and keen surveillance of the room fit the description of the prince’s confidant, Lieutenant Nikolai. She would have to be wary of him.
The announcer pounded a large staff on the marble floor three times, capturing everyone’s attention.
“Let the ball begin!”
The orchestra, on a dais against one wall, lit into a joyful strain. Officers crooked their arms and led ladies onto the dance floor. One soldier approached Lady Lucinda and her daughters. After introductions, he bowed before Drusilla and led her onto the dance floor.
Lady Lucinda lifted her chin, gazing around to be sure everyone noticed her daughter was getting the attention she deserved. At least one of them. Penelope moped at her side. Then Lady Lucinda’s heavy stare stopped on Arabelle, studying her from head to toe. Her heart hammering, Arabelle waited for her recognition to dawn. Her mission would be over, all because she hadn’t stayed out of the hawk-like eyesight of the dreadful Lady Lucinda. Then, suddenly, she shifted and moved on. She hadn’t recognized her at all.
Arabelle laughed inwardly then quickly moved out of her line of sight. As she sauntered through the crowd, she came close to the corner where the prince’s Blood Harem sat in red velvet chairs. There were only three, all of them beautiful and vibrant, but also seemingly bored. The youngest was a brunette. Five years ago, Arabelle had seen her parade through the streets of Sylus. Since it was the closest village to the Glass Tower, the new concubine had come to the market with Legionnaire bodyguards, seeking trinkets for her new room in the palace.
Arabelle was in deep reverie remembering that day—wondering how any woman could sell herself, agree to never bear children, never have a life or real love of her own—when an officer stepped in front of her with a swift bow, his silver mask hiding little of his handsome face.
“May I have this dance, my lady?”
Her first instinct was to scream “No, you blood-sucking bastard,” but that wouldn’t do, of course. She’d have to stop hiding in the back of the room if she were to gain the attention of the prince. “Yes. Thank you.”
She took the man’s arm to the dance floor and tried not to shrink from him when he swept her into his arms. With silky brown hair, tall physique, and a dashing smile, any woman would’ve swooned at the attentions of such a man. But he wasn’t a man. He was a monster. And the thought of her waltzing so close to one of the beasts she despised was nearly enough to make her lose her head.
The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily) Page 2