The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily)

by Juliette Cross

  Marius cut him a look, wondering how he knew. But Nikolai knew him better than anyone. The truth must be stamped upon his face.

  “You must let her go.” Nikolai gestured toward the gardens. “The princess is waiting for you. And yet, you’ve not given her the courtesy of a meeting beyond guiding her from the carriage upon her arrival this morning.”

  “I have nothing to say to her.”

  “You’re a bastard, you know that. She asked for you. And you won’t go to her.”

  Marius heaved a sigh, watching his mother brush the back of her hand to the princess’s cheek in her regal yet maternal touch.

  “I don’t want her.”

  “I’m well aware, my friend. But you must marry her.”

  “Why?” Marius swiveled to his friend, a wretched anxiety burning up his chest, eating away his insides. “Why must I marry her?”

  Nikolai leaned one shoulder against the edge of the casement, arms crossed. “Because you were born with royal blood. And the penalty of your inheritance requires a sacrifice. One where self is of little consequence, and duty, heritage, and legacy mean more than the sum of your parts. For you, there is no choice. Only obligation.” He reached over, put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. “I am sorry.”

  Marius shrugged out of his comforting grasp that brought no comfort, stepping away from the window and combing a hand through his hair.

  “Unless?”

  “Unless what?” snapped Marius.

  “Unless you have plans to say good-bye to your royal heritage and chase after that lovely peasant woman who has so obviously captured your heart.” Nikolai grinned.

  Marius stared at him, speechless. “How did you know?”

  “You’re my oldest friend, Marius.” And that was all he needed to say. “So, stop putting off the inevitable and go speak with Princess Mina. She deserves the truth.”

  He refused to tell Nikolai that, though he wished for a future with Arabelle, she had already doused that dream. Still, he wouldn’t marry the princess. It was unfair to her. And would be torture for him, spending his entire life rejecting her and pining for someone he couldn’t have. He’d rather pine in misery alone.

  “I’ll go to her,” he finally said on a sigh, turning for the door.

  “Well done,” said Nikolai. “I plan to take Riker and a troop to patrol Sylus tonight.”

  Marius stopped at the entrance and turned. “You think our hidden culprits will attack one of the villagers so soon after all of this?”

  “You never know,” said Nikolai, expression grim. “I’d feel better doing the night watch myself.”

  With a nod, Marius left. Marching down the corridor and the stairwell leading to the gardens, he recognized that his anger was not her fault. It was his. For longing too much for something, someone he could not have. After combing a hand through his hair, he stepped out into the gardens, the afternoon sun hidden behind a pall of gray. He smelled rain in the air.

  He found her sitting on a stone bench near a fountain, the water gurgling out of a conch shell and flowing down the curvy mermaid sculpture. Her lady-in-waiting popped up first then the princess did.

  Marius raised his hand with a smile. “No. Please sit.”

  “Kathleen, would you wait for me at the garden gate?” the princess asked, sending her lady away.

  Without a word, the petite brunette human shuffled off down the path toward the exit, leaving him alone with the princess.

  “Will you sit with me, Your Highness?”

  He settled on the bench next to her, angled so that he might look at her. She was pretty, to be sure, with white-blond hair that fell in silky waves to her waist. Her eyes weren’t the pale blue of so many vampire royals, but the deep cobalt of the Cimarron Sea he had visited often as a child with Nikolai.

  “I am sorry for your misfortune the past few days.”

  “It was no misfortune,” she said.

  He thought she was being kind, making light of her ordeal.

  “Prince Marius, I must speak to you bluntly. And without the audience of anyone, especially your family or my guardian, Steward Thorwald.”

  “Please. Feel free to speak your mind. For there is something I must say to you as well.”

  She lifted her gaze from the folds of her skirt where she clasped her hands.

  “I do not think it wise that we should marry.”

  He paused, studying her. “What?”

  “You do not love me, and I do not love you.” She straightened her posture, gaze steady and sure.

  “That has never stopped a royal marriage before. May I ask what has prompted this declaration?” he asked gently, trying to comprehend how he’d fallen into such great fortune.

  “It is the fact that the head of the Black Lily is in love with you.”

  He jolted to his feet. “What? How can you—”

  She lifted a delicate hand to stop him.

  “Please. Sit down and hear me out. I’ve been going over this for some time, and I need to be clear.”

  With his heart in his throat, he settled down next to her again and gave her a stiff nod to continue, more than willing to let her have her say.

  “Understand that I am not refusing to marry you. If it is what you wish, I, of course, will do my duty. But the problem lies in the fact that Arabelle, leader of the Black Lily and a cause that I wholeheartedly agree with, is deeply in love with you. Don’t ask how I know. It’s an intuition of mine, a gift of my vampire birth. Right now, I can sense a mixture of hope and fear beating off of you at this moment. I can only guess that you might have similar feelings for Arabelle. Am I right?”

  He could do nothing but jerk his head in a nod. This wasn’t what he thought he’d hear when he met with his betrothed for the first time alone. Right before he planned to break off the wedding with her.

  “That is what I thought,” she said, blowing out a deep breath. “Marry me, and it will have one of two results. Arabelle will be filled with anger and will make rash decisions, which will cause disastrous results for the Black Lily, and her cause will fail. Or she will be filled with regret and sorrow, and her fight will go out of her. Either way, the Black Lily will lose. And this bloodthirsty regime will continue on its path of oppression and enslavement.”

  Marius could hardly believe this tirade from a vampire princess. Much less from a woman who stood to gain a queenship and powerful heirs to rule forever as her own legacy.

  “Why? Why do you sympathize with their cause?”

  “Because it is the truth. And though I am vampire, and royal, I seek truth and justice for this world beyond any selfish desires of my own.”

  “We might be able to do more good as a powerful king and queen in Arkadia. You and I.”

  “Yes. I thought of that,” she said, taking his hand into her lap and sucking in a quick breath. “But we would break apart slowly. You would pretend to be the good husband, when your heart belonged to another. I know that for truth as well. I can feel your will pushing me away, even as we sit here and contemplate this possibility.”

  He smiled and gave her hand a squeeze.

  “I am afraid you are right.”

  “I know I am. But the question is, what do you intend to do? Marry me at midnight? Or follow your heart?”

  He dropped her hand and stood, facing the fountain. She joined him.

  “I hadn’t prepared to be so boldly confronted with the truth of my heart by my betrothed bride.”

  “It takes a woman sometimes to speak the hard truths. The ones a man would rather bury with his prideful devotion to duty.”

  “Yes. So it does.”

  He turned to her with a bow over her hand, brushing a kiss along her knuckles.

  “You are not what I expected.”

  “I rarely am. To most I meet. But I wish you well, Prince Marius.”

  “Thank you, Princess. Whoever is fortunate enough to capture your heart is a lucky man indeed.”

  She made no reply to that, only gav
e him a kind smile.

  “Go now. You must break the news to your mother. Unless you plan to leave without telling her.”

  Marius weighed his options, finally determining to confront his mother. To leave without a word would be cowardly and dishonorable. If anything, he would keep his honor intact.

  “Then I must find the queen.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “And after, you must find your love.”

  With a curtsy, she walked up the garden path to where her lady waited for her. Marius never imagined the meeting he dreaded for so long would bring so much joy to his heart.

  Now, to his mother.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Arabelle roused, her sore cheek pressed against cold stone. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she peered around a dank cell, the bars caging her in a small area only big enough for the stone bed she lay upon and a foot of space on the perimeter. Her cell, dimly lit by a torch in a sconce, stood within a small room closed off by an iron door with a barred window.

  She sat up, her arms and chest sore from being crushed by her captor. Her mind spun back to the last thing she remembered.

  Deek.

  She wept instantly. He’d been her counsel, her helper, her dearest friend. Now gone from this world, savaged by the monsters they fought so hard to overthrow. The most bitter bite of all. And it appeared she was doomed to the same fate. Her heart ached at it. She had no idea how long she lay there and cried, staring into the dark and mourning the loss of her dear friend, but the sound of footsteps snapped her out of her sorrow. She sat up and sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  The iron door squeaked open, grating on the stone floor. Men stepped in. No, vampires. One lit the torches in other sconces around the room. A woman’s voice pleaded in the corridor.

  “Please. I’ve done no crime.”

  Two more barreled into the room, carrying between them a bedraggled woman, hair spilling out of her coif. Arabelle’s heart sank when she recognized her.

  “Mary!”

  “Arabelle?” She looked up, confusion written across her face. “What’ve we done? Why did they bring us here?”

  That was when Arabelle noticed the wooden table in the room, complete with four iron cuffs chained to the table at the height of a person’s arms and legs. Dark stains covered the table and dribbled down the legs onto the floor. Blood.

  She leapt up and gripped the cell bars. “What are you doing with her?” she demanded, her voice hoarse from whatever medicine they’d used to drug her.

  “The same thing we’ll be doing to you,” said someone standing in the entryway, the voice of her abductor.

  The torch behind him cast his face in shadow. He walked forward, finally giving her a good look at the man responsible for her best friend’s death. She knew him. The night of the ball. The one who’d asked her to dance. What was his name?

  “Sergeant Loman?”

  He ambled close to the bars, seemingly pleased with himself.

  “You do remember me. That will make this all the more pleasurable.”

  “What are you doing with Mary? She’s done nothing to the crown. If you must punish someone, punish me.”

  “Oh, we plan to.”

  The savage one who had eaten at Deek’s throat dragged Mary by the hair to the wooden table while she screamed and grappled at his arm.

  “Please! Don’t hurt her,” pleaded Arabelle, gripping the bars and pressing her face close to the sergeant who continued to stare at her with a smug expression.

  “I do so love when a woman begs. You’re quite good at it.”

  “Don’t harm Mary. She’s a good servant. She never steps out of line. She means nothing to you.”

  Arabelle noted the twinge of hysteria climbing her voice.

  “Ah. But she does mean something to you, a little bird told me. Two little birds, actually.”

  “Who told you?” Arabelle asked in a choked whisper, an ominous foreboding rattling her bones.

  “Lady Drusilla and Lady Penelope are most pleasant women. I’m not sure why you ran away from such an agreeable home.”

  As contemptible as she thought her mistresses were at the Pervis house, she never thought them to be allied with murderers. She wished she had killed Drusilla in her sleep as she’d threatened so many years ago. And done away with her sister as well.

  The sergeant glanced toward where they were chaining Mary onto the table. “Don’t worry. Your time will come. But not before someone else has a word with you.” He gripped the bar, overlapping her hand. “And then you’re all mine.”

  He licked his tongue over a sharpened fang. She jerked away from the bars, pressing herself back to the wall.

  A low growl emanated from the vampires in the room, all of them intent on Mary. Like a pack of ravenous wolves watching and waiting for their alpha’s signal, they remained poised and taut, their clawed hands curled at their sides. Two of them were breathing heavy, chests rising and falling too quickly.

  The sergeant watched Arabelle, his icy gaze rolling black, the same way his partner’s eyes had the second before he’d pounced on Deek.

  “Prepare her, gentlemen,” said Loman, still fixated on Arabelle.

  The vampires clawed at Mary’s dress, ripping her skirt in half to reveal fleshy thighs, tearing away the sleeves to bare her arms.

  “No…please,” she begged, to no avail, tears streaming as she sobbed.

  The savage one sunk his fingers into her hair and snapped her head flat to the table to keep her from struggling.

  Sergeant Loman left his position next to the cell and circled behind the horrific display. Arabelle couldn’t look away from the horror taking place before her, her pulse pounding in her head and chest, fear a palpable force paralyzing her to the spot. The sergeant leaned over Mary and stroked her hair gently as she wept and whimpered, staring at the ceiling while still yanking on her chains.

  “Shhh. There now,” he said, bending over her and brushing a kiss to her lips. “Don’t be afraid.”

  He made a show of kissing up her jaw like a true lover, then trailed his kisses down her throat, his hand wandering to her breast, where he squeezed before sinking his fangs into her neck. She gasped in pain, her mouth falling open, her back arching and fists clenching.

  A rumble of growls reverberated in the room when he lifted, letting her blood spill free from her neck, dribbling a line onto the table where it pooled. Her fists unclenched and her body relaxed. His vampire elixir was taking hold, mesmerizing her senses into a stasis of pleasure. Or shock.

  Sergeant Loman grinned at Arabelle, his black eyes glinting like a demon’s in the torchlight.

  “See? She’s perfectly content now. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  “You’re a monster from hell.”

  He laughed, Mary’s blood dripping down his chin. “Right you are. Black Lily.” He wiped his chin with his sleeve. “Take her, boys.”

  They fell onto Mary with the same animal ferocity as they had Deek. Perhaps more. Arabelle pressed her hands over her ears to block out Mary’s screams, then slid down the wall and closed her eyes. But it did no good. She could still hear their beastly growls and snarls as they savaged poor Mary, ending her life in inescapable terror. She kept her eyes squeezed tight. She couldn’t watch those creatures devour her like meat on a platter. She couldn’t watch Mary breathe her last. Sweet Mary, who had never hurt anyone in all her life, to be given such a death. These weren’t vampires. They were an abomination.

  …

  Marius marched straight for his mother’s parlor. He was surprised to find his father there with her when he arrived. Gathering his courage, he figured it was for the best to tell them together.

  “There you are, darling,” said his mother, sweeping across the room to press a kiss of welcome to his cheek. “You look so happy. And that makes me happy.”

  He took a step away from her. She may change her tune when she discovered why he was so blithe.

  “B
ut you should be getting ready for the ceremony.”

  “That’s why I came to speak with you,” said Marius. “About the ceremony.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m afraid there won’t be one.”

  His father turned from the window where gray storm clouds gathered. “What did you say?”

  His mother paled.

  “I realize this is, well, more than out of the ordinary. But I don’t love Princess Vilhelmina. And I can’t marry her. I won’t marry her. She and I have discussed it, and we are in agreement.”

  “Bah,” said his father with a wave of the hand. “Love is irrelevant. You will learn to care for one another, as all couples in arranged betrothals. What nonsense, Marius.”

  “It’s more than that,” he declared, biting back his sudden anger. “I’m in love with someone else. It would be a betrayal. I realize this is highly unorthodox. But my three brothers are fully capable of continuing the Varis line without my contribution.”

  “This is madness,” bellowed his father, his mother remaining cold and silent. “You would give up your own inheritance…as king of your own lands, for what? Love? A girl? Who is she?”

  “It’s the peasant girl,” said his mother.

  A surge of menace electrified the room. Marius had felt it before, the day his mother told him to beware of getting stung.

  “Yes,” he answered. “It is.”

  “You must be out of your bloody mind,” hissed his father. “The one who started this whole rebellion in Sylus? Son, I believe you have lost your senses altogether.”

  “No. I haven’t. But what I can tell you is that she has brought something to light that must be dealt with immediately.”

  “And what is that?” asked his father, moving forward with hands clasped at his back, a pose of royal superiority he’d used a hundred times himself to intimidate an inferior into submission.

  Marius would not be cowed by his father’s posture or power. “We’ve been infected by sanguine furorem.”

  His parents exchanged a look of disbelief.