They rushed through the sleepy palace, dodging servants and courtiers alike. He snatched a torch from the wall as he’d done the night before and retraced his steps. At the crossroads of the corridors, he paused to orientate himself. It had been dark the night before and the brick walls all looked the same. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Penelope’s scent came to him, and he turned toward it like a bloom to the sun.
At the door to the cellar, Elizabeth paused. She wiped her hands over her pearl-studded gown and dragged in a breath before nodding to him.
He opened the door and helped his queen over the threshold. Inside, nothing but dirt met them.
Elizabeth motioned for the torch, and he held it out for her to better see. She squinted at the ground, her eyes roving right to left until she found whatever she was looking for. A small gasp escaped her lips and she bent low, her long fingers extended to touch the dirt.
For several minutes she stayed this way, her lips moving, but no sound coming out, eyes closed. Rox shifted where he stood, unsure what his role was besides holding the torch. He wished to comfort his queen, to pet her and tell her everything would be all right, but he wasn’t sure he believed anything would ever be all right again. Not with the anguish he saw on Elizabeth’s features.
Finally, she stood and dusted her fingertips on the kerchief he’d given her. “Your kindness will not be forgotten, Roxy.”
For a moment in the torchlight, she appeared youthful, her beauty shining through her eyes and in the plumpness of her cheeks. A heartbeat later, the image was gone, but she was still beautiful to him. His Elizabeth. She stood before him, head tilted as if she wished to make a decision, but couldn’t quite decide on the outcome. Rox waited, barely breathing for fear he might disrupt the moment.
At last, she rose and bent her head to better reach his neck. He cocked his head aside to give her better access and sucked in a breath when her lips touched his skin. His dream, realized. Her wicked tongue swirled and scraped over his flesh, and her teeth nipped at his wound.
He nearly dropped the torch when her hand reached inside his hose to wrap around his eager cock. Lips at his neck and hand on his member, she sucked and stroked until he was in a state of euphoria he hoped never ended. Lights flickered behind his closed eyes and his blood quickened until he feared his heart might stop.
With his free hand, he squeezed her arse through her many layers of fabric and shuddered at her moan. If he could have reached her nipple, he gladly would’ve given her loving pinches, but their bodies were too close together for him to reach her lovely nubs. Elizabeth sucked harder, her hips grinding against him, and he released in a spiral of ecstasy and shivers.
Her mouth left his neck and cool air brushed over his wound. She removed her hand from his breeches and held her fingers to her lips with a wicked grin. Oh, yes ma’am, he remembered this trick. She opened her mouth and the sight of her blood-coated tongue drove him to distraction. Pulsing desire coursed through him, and he made a reckless decision.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth, tasting his blood and sucking harder. She yelped and pushed against him, but not hard enough to dislodge his lips from her. A moment later, she relaxed into his kiss and curled her hand in his hair. He made love to her with his tongue and she did not stop him.
When he ended the kiss and withdrew his face from hers, a tiny smile lifted the corners of her lips.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. That was impertinent of me.” His apology lacked any real shame.
“It was. I could have you stripped of your title and banished for that.”
Fear and panic whipped through his overheated body. “If you did, I would die a happy man for having just this memory.”
She wiped her thumb across his lips. “You must never do that again, my darling. As much pleasure as it brought us, it could destroy everything.”
“You’re right. I was selfish and am sorry for that.” And he was. He never wanted to bring harm to his queen.
She motioned toward the door and they turned toward it, but then she stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. “What possessed you to kiss me?”
Did he need an excuse besides her lips at his throat and hand working his member?
“The blood.” He flicked a glance at her lips and back to her bright eyes. “I…crave it.”
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Did you drink Penelope’s blood?”
He shifted and wiped his hands on his breeches. “I did, Your Majesty. Gods help me, I could not help myself.”
“Yes, that seems to be a habit you’ve picked up.” She patted his cheek. “I’m afraid God can’t help you now. But I can.” She swished to the door, leaving him gaping after her.
“The attack on Penelope, erm, Lady Morecambe…she warned me you were in danger. Shouldn’t we alert your guard?”
“Darling, I am Elizabeth, Queen of England. Someone is always trying to kill me. Now, shall we see what the Master of Revels has in store for us today?”
He did not dream of Elizabeth that night. In fact, it was the first time in forever he couldn’t remember dreaming at all. In the morning when Delilah entered, she gave him a shy smile, and he beckoned her to his bed. He’d made merry the day before, skating on the Thames, playing backgammon, and riding in Elizabeth’s sleigh, but he did not feel fulfilled. Memories of their kiss tormented him. His thirst grew stronger and became a constant suffering.
Elizabeth teased and joked with him, but she did not touch him intimately again and for that, he was saddened, yet also relieved. If she stroked him, he wasn’t sure he could control himself. She’d let loose a yearning that he didn’t know how to satisfy. Nothing displeased him, and yet he didn’t know what he needed. Beer, wine, food, dance, song: nothing satiated his craving. Perhaps Delilah would be a welcome distraction from his misery, if only for a little while.
“Your Grace.” She curtseyed prettily and set down the tray she carried. “I thought today we could play a little Blind Man’s Bluff of our own.” She dangled a satin ribbon from her fingertips with a wicked grin. “Break your fast, first.”
She lay the ribbon on the pillow beside him, and he trailed a finger along its silkiness. It reminded him of Lady Morecambe’s mouth, and a thrill whirled through him. His blood heated and cock thickened.
Delilah picked up his dagger to cut an apple, and he watched with fascination as she sliced with deadly accuracy. On the fourth stroke, the blade slipped, cutting her finger. A crimson drop formed, and she lifted her finger to her mouth.
Rox sat up, eyes intent on her lips, and squirmed against the snapping of his nerves.
She held her finger out with a pretty pout to her mouth. “Your Grace.”
A low groan came from deep in his throat, and he leaned forward to lick her fingertip. As soon as his tongue touched her blood, firecrackers went off inside him, and he pulled her into bed.
She yelped and giggled, her lovely face glowing in the morning light. “Take what you need, Your Grace.” She lowered her chemise until it pooled around her hips and lifted her breast. “From here.”
Then she did the most remarkable thing. She smeared the tip of her finger along the soft underskin of her bosom.
The smell of her desire mixed with her blood undid him. He lowered his head to her and licked the trail of blood. His ravenous need pulsed within his body, and he opened his mouth to taste more.
Two of his teeth elongated to sharp tips and he cut his tongue on them. A moment of fright gave him pause, but Delilah held his head to her breast and urged him to continue. She’d known what would happen and offered herself willingly to his bite.
When his teeth sunk easily into her skin, that same sense of euphoria he’d experienced with Elizabeth in the cellar returned. He felt as if he floated and his body was not quite solid. Delilah’s blood flooded his mouth, and he gagged against the rush, while simultaneously gulping more. It took only a few moments to work out a rhythm to his feeding, all the while Delilah rubbed against
him and moaned as if they made love.
In a way, this was even better than copulating, but he couldn’t dismiss her needs. He lifted her until she straddled his cock and gently lowered her, but to do so, he had to remove himself from her breast. She whimpered and thrashed.
“What is it, my dove? What do you need?” He was unsure what to do. His body craved more of her blood, but also yearned for the warmth of her channel.
She shoved her finger in his mouth. “Suck.”
And he did. She rode him hard, bouncing up and down on his stiffened cock while he gripped her hip with one hand and massaged a breast with another. He sucked blood from her finger and delighted in the bliss clear on her face. Her eyes rolled back, and she arched into him, shuddering with her climax. His release followed hers with the shattering realization that his life would never be the same.
He’d found what sated his need.
For Twelfth Night, the queen had commissioned a troupe of actors to entertain the court. William Shakespeare and his troupe performed his play of the same name, to the delight of everyone in attendance.
Rox sat beside his queen, content in his mind and heart. He knew now what he was and relished what the future would bring. Elizabeth—his love, his queen—had given him Delilah, and she taught him what it was to be a vampire. After the first time he drank her blood, he’d experienced a change physically. A full day was spent hunched near the chamber pot, where his body expelled every morsel of everything he’d ever eaten or drank, it seemed, but then it passed and he found his taste for food had altered.
He no longer needed to consume meats, nor drink beer, but they brought him pleasures until then not experienced. His taste buds became more refined and he could identify spices with ease. So, too, could he discern the different scents of blood from one woman to the next. Theirs was sweeter and more enticing to his delicate nose, but men also excited him in ways he’d never thought possible.
He looked forward to exploring these new and mysterious cravings in the coming days, weeks, and centuries.
“Are you happy, my darling?” Elizabeth leaned over to speak to him, her hand on his forearm.
He breathed in her scent as if marking her and sighed. “I am. Thank you, Your Majesty, for everything.” He gazed at his queen and smiled at her bare forehead. The wig she’d chosen for the night was laden with pearls and had gone akimbo with her earlier dancing. She was aging, but still lovely. “You are remarkable, my queen.”
“I am indeed.” She grinned and adjusted her wig with a surreptitious tilt of her head.
“Can you read my thoughts?”
Her look of shock was as comical as the actors who performed before them.
“What an outlandish thing to say.” She patted his hand and sighed. “I will miss you, my darling Rox.”
“What do you mean? Where am I going?”
“You’re exactly where you need to be.” Her eyes grew wide and fear edged her features. “Oh, no. Roxy, darling, you must leave now.”
He followed her gaze to the side door where Honoré strode toward them, a glassy, almost fanatic look in her eyes. It was the same beatific expression she’d worn in the chapel. Rox stood and blocked the queen with his body, but Honoré was not deterred. Behind him, the queen stood as well, her fervent whispers tickling his neck. She demanded he leave the hall, but he ignored his queen.
“I shall protect you, Your Majesty.”
Honoré lunged forward, a blade in her hand. He stepped to block the dagger and felt the rip of his flesh as the sharp edge cut into his skin. His fist came down onto Honoré’s face, and she shrieked obscenities at him that would make a sailor’s toes curl.
Elizabeth gasped, and he whirled around to see her holding the hilt of the dagger at her midsection. Screams from the gathered nobles pierced his ears, but he kept his focus on his queen.
“Are you injured?” No blood spread across the fabric of her gown.
She jerked the blade free and sucked in a breath. “I am unharmed.” She tapped her stomacher. “Whalebone.”
He shook his head, not quite comprehending, but grateful his queen lived. The gash in his side oozed sticky blood down his hip, staining the pale-green silk he wore.
“Seize her and get him to his rooms, quickly now,” Elizabeth ordered, and soon he was being carried by four strong men.
Rox held his side, light-headed with the excitement and loss of blood. The scent of his own blood wasn’t as seductive as the scents of others. In fact, he quite disliked it.
The queen hurried beside him, holding his free hand and tutting that the men were too slow. At his rooms, she shuffled everyone out and closed the door behind them.
Rox lay on a chaise, his legs dangling over the side. “’Tis nothing but a scratch, ma’am.” His words were slurred, as if he’d had too much drink, but he’d hardly had any wine that evening.
“I’m not worried about the cut, Roxy.” She held up the dagger where specks of white powder covered the blade. “Poison. Take off your doublet.”
He obeyed and removed not only his doublet, but his chemise as well.
She flicked a glance at his naked torso and grinned. “There are days I regret being the Virgin Queen. This might be one of them.”
He reached a hand to stroke her cheek, delighting in the warmth he found there. “I would gladly be your lover and confidant.”
“Not my king?”
“Never. What use have I for a crown? I can barely manage a dukedom.”
They both chortled at that because it was true. “You’ll make a fine duke. Now hush and let me think.”
Sparks danced in his vision and if he turned his head, his brain sloshed from side to side. A bout of nausea sprang up, but he gulped in air to force it down. He felt his side, surprised to find he’d stopped bleeding. His fingers danced over the skin where a gash should have been, but only a thin welt remained.
“Are you doing this?”
She looked at his torso and shook her head. “You cannot be killed by mortal blades. There are rumors involving wooden stakes or sunlight at midday, but of the former, I’d rather not find out if it’s true, and the latter, well, you’ve seen I don’t combust.” Her shrug was full of innocence and curiosity. “I guess we won’t really know until it happens.”
“I’d prefer it not happen. What about the poison?”
“That does cause concern. I’ve also heard rumors of certain powders mixed together to thicken our blood and cause us to choke on our own life-force.” She bit a nail and patted her wig back into place. “I think I know of an antidote, but if I do this, you must swear on my life you will never tell a soul. Ever.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear it. On your life and mine.”
Her intense gaze bore into him as if she could read not only his thoughts, but his emotions as well. The dancing sparks increased and a throbbing hurt his head. If this was dying, he wasn’t a fan.
“Gods help me.” Elizabeth offered her wrist to him. “Feed from me.”
A tingle started low in his belly and curled up his spine. His Elizabeth. His savior. He obeyed her command and placed his lips over her pale skin. His incisors lowered to pierce her flesh and she groaned like a lover yearning for more caresses.
Her blood seeped into his mouth, and his tongue massaged her veins for more. If she never touched him again, this would be enough. Her blood, her life, pulsing into him to save his life. As if on cue, his cock stiffened, and he moaned against her skin. His mornings with Delilah had trained his body that blood meant fucking, and he was impotent to stop it. Yet at the same time, he didn’t lust for release. Her blood sustained and satiated him.
They made love without intercourse—and it was exquisite. The light-headedness evaporated and the dancing sparks dimmed. His hearing became acute enough he heard the scratching of mice behind the walls. The strength of her blood infused his, burning away the poison until there was nothing that could harm him.
Elizabeth gently remove
d her wrist from his lips, and he mourned the loss. She’d quite ruined him for anyone else. In all ways.
“I seem to break all the rules with you, darling Roxy.” She pushed his curls off his forehead and leaned forward to kiss his brow. “I’ll miss you when I’m gone.”
“You said something similar earlier. What do you mean?”
“I am old and tired of ruling. By the spring, I will expire and make space for a new king. The age of Elizabeth will come to an end.”
“You are vibrant and alive. England needs you.” Panic threatened to overtake his sanity and he struggled with her words.
“England has been my life since my first breath. Even before then, perhaps. I have given everything to my country. It is up to you to see that she is well cared for in my absence. Now, shush. We will speak no more about this. Are you recovered?”
He sat up and held her face between his hands. “I am because of you. I owe you my life.”
“You can repay me by keeping my secrets.”
“I thought you said you did not wish to live forever.”
“No, I said I did not wish to be queen forever. There is no one else I trust to be with me at the very end. Will you promise to stay with me?”
He didn’t understand her words, but nodded anyway. He’d do anything for his Elizabeth.
Queen Elizabeth expired in March, exactly as she’d planned. As promised, Rox was with her until the end. He held her hand until her shallow breaths ceased and the doctor closed her misty eyes. So, too, was he there when they interned her body into the sepulcher that would be placed inside Westminster Abbey. He wept for his queen, but not for the reasons everyone might suspect.
Honoré and Lord Ramsey were convicted of treason and hung two days after Elizabeth’s burial.
Rox often reflected on his time as Elizabeth’s favorite, always with fondness in his heart and a skip to his pulse. His lovers came and went, as did the years. The ancestral lands of his family were well tended and the surrounding area flourished under his care. The words of Lady Morecambe weighed heavy in his heart, and he strove to let kindness be his guiding star. When it became apparent he would neither age nor die, he recused himself from society and let his younger brother borrow the title Duke of Roxburghe.
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