The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily)

by Juliette Cross

  The sweet jasmine scent of her wafted back as the wind blew against them. Arabelle sickened, realizing this was the woman who would wed and bed Marius. She tried not to resent her, but it was no good. Her delicate femininity and sweet smell compelled Arabelle to despise her. She was everything Arabelle wasn’t. Including royalty. One who deserved to be wed to a Prince of Varis.

  Arabelle chastised herself for even allowing such thoughts to enter her mind, but she could ignore them no longer. She desired Marius, that was certain. But, apparently, she longed for more than a swift coupling. And this woman she carried deep into the forest peppered with black oaks represented everything she wasn’t, and was the perfect match for Marius.

  Bitterness coiled in her belly. For wanting Marius so utterly, the man who represented everything she hated. Or so she had thought.

  “We’re in the Silvane Forest,” called the princess back to her.

  “Yes,” agreed Arabelle.

  “I’ve always wanted to visit this place.”

  An odd remark for a vampire, who all avoided this forest at all costs, for the tales of mysticism and magic linked to it.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Not far now.”

  They finally came upon Sienna’s cottage in the clearing and slowed their gait up to the door. Duchess crouched for her riders to dismount. Arabelle pulled Willow to a stop and slid down.

  “Come on, Princess. Off you go.”

  Arabelle tied up Willow to the gate where the goat, Mildred, touched noses to her horse and baaed.

  “Hush, Mildred,” said Sienna. “They are royal guests and will be treated as such.”

  The princess dismounted awkwardly. She wasn’t a rider, that was certain. And she appeared paler than before, her cheeks drained of all color as she saw Hugo and Kai, the brutish brown-coated wolves watching her from the perimeter. They waited until Duchess and Luca loped back into the shadows behind them before turning away. Hugo was last, staring intently at the vampire princess.

  “Come inside, Princess,” said Sienna.

  “My name is Mina,” she said, stopping at the door. “And this is Kathleen.”

  The lady-in-waiting was glued to her back.

  “Please come inside, Mina and Kathleen,” said Sienna, holding open the cottage door.

  The two women, seemingly less frightened than before now that they knew Arabelle hadn’t planned to slit their throats, entered Sienna’s abode. Once inside, Mina turned slowly about the cozy room, touching her fingers to the back of the brocade sofa.

  “A noble lady lives here.”

  Sienna stepped forward. “Yes. I was a noble lady. Once.”

  Mina faced her. “You still are. You’re an artist as well, I see.”

  “I know a little of the arts,” agreed Sienna.

  Arabelle sickened, suddenly realizing that of the four, she was the most out of place. They were highborn. She was not. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, an acidic burn licked through her insides. She’d never once wanted to be one of them. But now, staring from one to the other, their mannerisms similar in poise and beauty, she realized how far away she was from ever being a woman who could satisfy one such as Marius. Though Sienna had dressed her in finery, she was still the rough and ready peasant woman who had eked out a living washing aristocrats’ clothes. She was also the woman who had organized and formed the Black Lily, its sole purpose to overthrow the oppressive society the three women before her represented.

  But all Arabelle could think as she stood there staring at the waifish princess in her pale perfection was: this is his bride.

  The sound of hooves in the yard gave her the excuse she needed. Mina and Kathleen jerked their heads toward the door as it opened. Deek filled the doorway.

  “All done.”

  “Good,” said Arabelle. “I’ll return when I have news,” she said to Sienna, anxious to leave their company.

  Deek pulled the door closed again as Arabelle stepped into the yard and marched toward Willow. Ivan, Evan, and their crew surrounded the cottage. They looked more like guardians than captors.

  Arabelle whipped up onto Willow’s back. Deek held the pommel for a moment.

  “There’s no going back now.”

  “No,” agreed Arabelle. “There isn’t.”

  “Are you sure this is the right course of action?”

  “You ask me that now? After the deed is done?”

  “I ask you that now because you have the look of someone with regret in her eyes.”

  Arabelle leveled her gaze down at the man who had been her only friend for so many years, who’d hatched this plan to save her people with her. She’d always known there was a chance she stepped closer to her death along this path toward freedom. And still, it beckoned her even more than it had at the beginning, when all seemed hopeless.

  “I am sure, Deek. We always knew it would take a bold move to take us closer to the world we envisioned for ourselves.”

  “Aye. We did. But you were the one who always thought of things first.”

  She scrunched up her forehead into a frown.

  “What do you mean?”

  He scoffed. His tilted smile revealed his gold-capped tooth.

  “Without you, the Black Lily doesn’t exist. Without your fire and determination to see this through, it all falls apart. Something has happened to you. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Arabelle couldn’t deny that something had happened. Something, or rather someone, had happened and stolen some of her will. She imagined assassinating the prince now. Impossible. She could never drive the dagger into his heart as she’d tried the night she met him. That thought alone caught her off guard.

  “I am still the same Arabelle. Do not worry, my friend.”

  She laid her hand atop his on the pommel and squeezed, then she turned Willow toward the path leading back to the woodhouse.

  “I’ll bring news at dawn,” she called over her shoulder before breaking into a gallop. She needed the stinging wind against her face, in hope that it would wash away all thoughts of the dark-haired prince and his blue-fire gaze.

  It did not.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Marius and Nikolai led their mounts back up the winding path toward the palace. Both of them hadn’t said a word since they’d left the dressmaker’s shop. The poor woman had been horrified at their questioning on the two women who’d disappeared from her spare room, fear etched in every line of her face. It had taken several minutes simply to convince her that they wouldn’t persecute or harm her for her honest answers, but honesty they had needed. Finally, she had relented. There was little to tell, but all evidence pointed to vampire killings.

  “What I can’t understand,” started Nikolai, “is who the devil needs all of those bolts of silk up at the palace.”

  “Curious, for certain, but my mother does love silk.”

  They’d both been surprised by the rolls of silk in a cart with a note reading, Delivery for the Palace, outside the door.

  “And she requires monthly deliveries in such large quantities. So odd.”

  “To be sure.”

  Marius was distracted. Nikolai often filled the void with senseless chatter to alleviate tension. But there was no avoiding the most important subject at hand.

  “What will we do now?” asked Nikolai. “Tell your father?”

  Marius considered. His father was a stone-cold ruler. His fervent belief in a strong monarchy kept him vigilant and constantly on guard. But Marius knew him also to be just. There was no room for lawbreakers, on either side—human or vampire.

  “Yes. It’s time we bring what we know to his attention.”

  As they crossed through the palace gates, a troop of Legionnaires on horseback trotted in four lines toward them, battle ready.

  “What on earth is this?” asked Nikolai.

  Sergeant Loman was at the head. He met the two and stopped as the troop continued on their way.

  “What is this, Sergeant?
” asked Marius, fear blooming in his gut.

  “Your Highness, we’ve been given orders to round up the peasants of Sylus.”

  “What? My father ordered this?”

  A stiff shake of his head, Adrian replied, “No, Your Highness. Our orders are from Queen Morgrid.”

  “But why?” asked Nikolai.

  “The caravan from Arkadia was attacked. The guards and their priest were left bound in the woods. But Princess Vilhelmina has been kidnapped.”

  Marius spun his horse toward the palace and raced the rest of the way up the hill, alarmed at the number of Legionnaires sent out to Sylus. He knew exactly who’d taken the princess. And he knew exactly how ruthless his mother would be to find her and bring the abductors to justice. Fear ripped through his frame like a maddening fever. Not for the princess, but for the one he was sure had taken her.

  Yanking on the reins at the palace steps, he leapt from the horse before he’d stopped and moved in a flashing blur to the doors. The Legionnaire on guard sucked in a breath at Marius’s sudden appearance, as if he’d literally vanished at the foot of the palace and appeared at his side.

  “Where is my mother?”

  “I-I do not know, Your Highness.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  He swept into the main hall where a servant polished the porcelain, nearly dropping a centuries-old vase when she caught sight of Marius’s expression as he stormed through. He sped up the stairs toward his mother’s parlor in a blink, noting her personal guard outside as he barreled through the door and then slammed it shut.

  Radomir opened it right after Marius, anger marking his face that someone had fled past him in a fury.

  “It’s all right, Radomir. It’s just my son.”

  His mother walked in from the veranda, draped in a black silk gown. Her face was pinched, her mouth tight, though her tone remained calm.

  “Leave us,” Marius ordered, glaring at his mother’s favorite guard, daring him to disobey.

  The queen gave a tight nod and Radomir backed out of the room, closing the door with an audible snick.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Marius. “You’ve sent troops to march on Sylus?”

  “Yes. This uprising has gone too far. It’s time to teach the people who are the masters.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Marius, incredulous at her cool demeanor as she set soldiers on their own people.

  “Of course, I’m serious. Do you know what they’ve done?”

  “I don’t care what they’ve done. You don’t send armed troops on defenseless people. Did Father approve of this?”

  “Yes. He approves.”

  “You’re mad.”

  She vanished from the balcony door, moving faster than light, and appeared before him.

  “They have taken your bride, Marius. A vampire princess. The last vampire princess not of the Varis line. Do you know what that means?”

  He’d never seen the look of hatred bright in her eyes. And something else. Desperation?

  “They will not harm her.”

  “No. They won’t. Because if they do, I’ll hang every last one of them on the gallows in the courtyard.”

  “Mother, you can’t—”

  “Hear me, my son. They’ve gone too far.”

  His mother had always been the calm, measured one next to his father who often lost his temper. He’d seen his father punish servants and vampires alike with a brutal hand. Even now, his mother appeared composed, though a spark of rage shined bright in her eyes.

  “What do you plan to do to them?” he finally asked, leashing his fury.

  She waltzed toward her sideboard, where her afternoon decanter of blood sat. She requested such daily, as she often enjoyed a glass in her parlor before night settled in. He preferred the old-fashioned way of slaking his thirst as needed from the source. But as he watched his mother pour a wineglass full, his mouth watered. It had been a while since his last feeding, since the night of the ball.

  “Would you care for a glass? This is from my sweet girl, Belinda. She tastes like spiced honey.”

  Marius cringed. His mother’s casual reference to her bleeder somehow sickened him, and for a moment he couldn’t fathom why. He shook his head.

  “Suit yourself,” she replied, gliding back toward him with goblet in hand. She took a large sip and licked the remainder from her top lip. “What has happened to you, Marius?”

  He had always been close to his mother, able to ask for advice whenever he needed. And her wisdom had carried him through whatever trial ailed him when he was young. But the past two decades, he’d slowly withdrawn until he no longer relied on anyone. Except Nikolai. There was a time when he would’ve confided in her, trusting she had his best interests at heart. But he saw past her maternal expression of tenderness, straight through to the queen who ruled with might, demanding obedience and submission from her subjects. At all costs.

  He remained silent, knowing full well what had happened to him. Arabelle had opened his eyes. And there was no possible way for him to ignore the sheen of malice coating this kingdom.

  “Do you remember that time you came to me as a little boy—you must’ve been only ten—afraid you’d harm your bleeder because you loved the taste of her so much?”

  She smiled at the memory. Marius did not. That was the first time Marius had encountered a conflict of conscience over what he needed and what he was.

  “I remember.”

  “You listened to me then.”

  “I was a boy.”

  “And in some ways, you still are, Marius.”

  He scoffed with disgust. “You only wish that I was, so that you could put me back in my gilded box where I’d remain ignorant for all time. But I am not your darling son, willing to stand by and watch you and Father unjustly oppress the people you have vowed to protect. I am not my brother, Dominik, who enjoys the pleasure of inflicting pain on others. I am not my brother, Stephanus, who prefers the company of his own reflection above all else. And neither am I my brother, Pyros, who prefers to live blissfully unaware of the world’s troubles. I aim to fight for those you will not.”

  The gravity of his words weighed the room with a dangerous promise. She arched an imperious brow in her scornful demeanor.

  “You don’t understand what revolution means, Marius. You’ve only been alive for one hundred years.” She laughed with contempt. “I have been alive much longer. I have seen the resulting bloodshed of war. We must quell this uprising before it starts. Or more will die. Many, many more.”

  “I do not disagree with you,” he said, hands clasped at his back, where he gripped his wrist so tight it slowed blood flow. “But I do not see how threatening the lives of every servant in our region is the right course of action.”

  She sipped lightly from her glass of blood then swirled it with one hand.

  “That is because you are blinded by your own lust for a particular peasant girl.”

  Marius started, stricken that she would know anything of Arabelle.

  “What?” was all he could manage.

  “Oh, don’t bother denying it. I know that you searched for the girl endlessly. I know about your botched trade of some local man for her at Chance Crossing. And I know it all went sour.”

  He hardened himself and clenched his jaw as she set down her glass and sauntered closer.

  “I know the look in a man’s eye when he wants something, someone, so desperately and cannot have her,” she said, her voice dipping softly. “You have that look. And just as it always does, a man’s desire makes his will grow soft.”

  She stopped before him, ice in her gaze, hands upon her hips in a set posture of power.

  “My son, you will rip this desire from your mind and body. You will slake your thirst on your concubines till you are glutted and cannot drink another drop. And you will think of this girl no more. She is nothing.”

  The hissing venom spilling from her mouth would’ve struck horror in him once upon a time
. Now, it filled him with utter revulsion for who she truly was down deep.

  “You will be married tomorrow, on your one hundredth birthday, to the Arkadian princess,” she continued matter of factly, ignoring his fuming glare. “For they will return her. If I have to wipe out the entire village to get her back, I will.”

  He took a threatening step toward her. “Do not harm one peasant of the village of Sylus. Or I will slit Vilhelmina’s throat myself.”

  Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

  “Try me.” He spun on his heels for the door.

  “Marius!” She called out in desperation, trying once more her maternal plea. “I do all of this for you.”

  He glared over his shoulder. “For me?”

  She smiled in her affectionate way. “You will be your own king, my son. You must learn what it is to truly rule.”

  “No, Mother. Do not make a fool of yourself by speaking such lies. You do this for you.”

  He marched through the door and past her guard, sickened by seeing his mother as if for the first time. A new fear took root and spread fast. She knew of Arabelle. He bit his tongue to defend her personally, for admitting his mother was right was like putting a target on her back. Not that there wasn’t one already there.

  His mother had referred to Arabelle as if she were garbage, nothing but a piece of meat to be used and tossed aside when he was done. Only one thought filtered through his mind as his feet carried him down the long corridor and out of the castle toward his mount still waiting in the front courtyard.

  Arabelle was everything.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Be sure you give it either directly to the prince or to his lieutenant. All right?”

  “Aye,” replied Nate, shoveling the last bite of stew into his mouth before taking the folded letter and stuffing it in his pocket. “Got it, Arabelle.”

  “Okay, then. Did you have enough?”

  He’d had three bowls and she couldn’t imagine where he was packing it all as such a scrawny boy.

  He patted his belly, pounding up a cloud of dust from his filthy shirt. “Full as a tick.”

  She held the door open for him. “Next time, I’m giving you a bath.”