“I beg for the honor of changing the girl myself,” said the elderly gentleman, a member of the king's council.
The king took another sip, barely looking at the man. “And why would that be, Salvatore?”
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one I would be a fool to pass up.” He leaned toward his monarch. “I only want to make it known that I would put my name in the hat.”
The king swirled the liquid in the cup, watching the patterns in made. “I see.” He mused for a moment. “You are aware of the distinction of this honor?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“That you are not the only one would take it for himself?”
“Of course, your majesty.”
The king locked his eyes on the man, though his posture and facial expression did not change in the slightest. “Very well, my old friend. On Thanksgiving Day, you will bring our Destine to full power.” Salvatore's features lit. The king spoke again. “Do not spread the word,” he cautioned. “I am growing far too fond of the lobbying for it to end so soon.” He swirled the liquid in the glass once more. “This was a former Olympian, you know.”
“Indeed, sire?”
“Yes,” the king mused, taking a languid sip. “Quite a potent taste to it, if a little leaner than I would have chosen. Still.” He shrugged gracefully. “Jydda will have to clean up after herself on this one, not I.” He chuckled, and something in it hinted at a dark power not to be ignored. “The little fool. She thinks she has gotten away with everything.” He took another sip and smiled viciously. “She will learn otherwise.”
Є
The dress fittings continued, as did Evan's absence. Integrity didn't know whether to be happy with his disappearing act, or mortally offended. Is it really so horrible to think of marrying me? she wondered. It's not as though I'm jumping for joy, you know. Freaking cad.
As the pieces of the dress came together, talk of beading, lace, and trim floating around her like so many moths, Integrity's anxiety grew. This was really going to happen. She was going to be forced to marry Evan, and she would be killed. To what end? What possible good can it do them to tie me to the royal family?
But the realization that it wouldn't be “her,” not in the sense she was used to, only complicated matters more. She wanted to mourn her own passing, but how does one do such a thing? She felt, at times, as though she were suicidal. Parts of her sanity seemed to slip away the more she tried to define what made her Integrity.
She found herself counting down to the day, wondering what hour was set for the transformation. Would the wedding be before or after? Would vampires think it ever so poetic for her to die in her wedding dress, the blood staining the white as it flowed from her body?
Unable to remain alone with her thoughts for a moment longer, Integrity scrounged up her shoes and pulled them on. It's strange, she thought, tying the laces, that I consider this place home, but I can't leave my room without shoes. It's like living in a hotel.
She wasn't surprised to see guards standing outside her room, and she nodded at them politely. They bowed low, bringing her to a shuddering halt. They remained bent, not looking at her. Reminding herself of her new role in the castle, she stiffened her spine and strode forward. She couldn't stop herself from glancing back, though. The man and woman were following her at a discreet distance. She was quick to look away before they felt the need to bow again.
I wonder why they're following so far back? she wondered, images of Paul and Bowman practically stepping on her heels crowding her mind. Is it just because they don't know me? And then it hit her—Paul knew about the test she had “passed,” so these two likely did, as well. They trust me to take care of myself. At least, to a certain extent. It was strange to feel as though she had some latent power that had awoken overnight. She tried to ignore them, and the fact that they were watching her, as she moved along.
She wandered up and down the hallways at random, striving more and more to avoid anyone else. She was not comfortable with people bowing to her, especially since some of them looked like they'd rather punch her in the face.
She considered visiting the castle's library, but she couldn't figure out where she was, let alone how to get there, and she wasn't about the ask the phantoms that were floating along behind her. Besides, there's no guarantee it'll be empty, anyway.
Her pace slowed as any kind of goal dissolved from her mind. Being out, walking around, was enough in itself; she didn't need a destination.
She paused by one large window and looked outside. Fresh snow covered every surface, smoothing the rough edges and covering any unpleasantness. It looked beautiful, but Integrity withdrew from the window, the cold seeping through the panes. Definitely not going outside, she thought, with a shiver. She saw a flight of stairs a few steps away and descended them, a new level providing more distractions than the current one.
Without consciously deciding to, Integrity drew nearer the sound of music. She wondered why she was seeking out something that was undoubtedly tied to a person, exactly what she was trying to avoid, but she continued, anyway. The sounds of the piano, growing louder and softer, faster, slower, drew nearer, and her pace increased, in spite of herself.
Turning a corner, she came across a recessed alcove, a full sized grand piano dominating the space. The piano looked oddly distorted, the length of a baby grand much more familiar to the girl. It took a moment for her to realize who was playing.
She stood at the corner, one hand braced on the wall, as she watched Evan. Even with his back to her, she knew it was him. She began to withdraw, not breathing, praying he wouldn't hear her. Just as her hand broke contact with the textured wall, Evan spoke, the music flowing unbroken. “You don't have to leave.”
Okay, he knows someone's here, she tried to calm herself. He doesn't know it's you. Just grunt and leave. “Ugh.” The noise was ridiculous.
The music stopped now, and Integrity knew that Evan was smiling. “I know it's you, Integrity.” Without ever turning, he waved a hand at a short couch along one wall. “Sit down.”
Integrity glanced over her shoulder, desperate for some reason to escape. She saw the two bodyguards separating, moving in opposite directions down the hallway, each still facing her. The woman had a knowing smile on her face, and Integrity felt horror washing over her. Well out of hearing range, each guard stopped, turned their backs to the alcove, and proceeded to guard the hallway, effectively giving her and Evan privacy. Her mouth went bone dry. Just stinking great.
Doing her best to salvage what she could of a horrible situation, Integrity moved past the piano, not looking at Evan, and sat stiffly on the seat. Making a scene won't help anything, she reminded herself, as visions of her fleeing down the hallway, arms waving over her head, screaming bloody murder, floated to mind. She couldn't help but smile at the reactions she knew she'd get from such behavior. Definitely not what the Destine would do.
Thankfully, Evan had resumed playing the piano and did not look at her. She knew he was ignoring her, that she should be offended, but she couldn't manage to dredge up the energy to be properly pissed. The music gradually pulled the tension from her, and she curved into the chair, not caring if it bothered Evan that she was putting her shoes on the fine upholstery. She lay her head back against the wall and let the music wash over her, fragmented images floating before her eyes.
She was nearly asleep, so it took a moment for her mind to register that the music had stopped. Raising her head, prying her eyes open, she glanced blearily around. Even had been watching her, but he turned smoothly away and played a few random notes. Integrity was fairly certain he was just fooling around, playing nothing in particular, but it sounded fairly good. She tried to be unimpressed.
“What did you tell them,” Evan asked, jerking his head toward the entrance of the alcove, “to get out of your room?”
“I didn't tell them anything,” Integrity said, feeling defensive for some unknown reason. “I just walked out. They chose t
o follow.”
Evan smiled wryly down at the keys, trailed his fingertips across them. “Good for you. It's about time you started doing what you want.”
Integrity snorted. “Oh, yeah, because I've always had so much freedom here.”
Evan shrugged noncommittally.
“And if I said I didn't want to become a vampire? Would that change anything?”
He glanced briefly at her. “Probably not,” he admitted.
“I guess I'd better restrict myself to deciding what I want for my final meal, then,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her stomach.
Silence fell. She refused to look at him. She dug underneath one of her fingernails, thinking how much she needed a good manicure. Before I die. She dropped her hand.
Evan began playing the piano again, but the song was completely different from what he had been playing before. Integrity recognized the tune as a duet that her father had taught her as a young child. She looked up at Evan in curiosity, and he jerked his head at her. She hesitated for a moment, but, not wanting to appear afraid, she crossed to the piano, slid onto the bench (careful not to touch him), and began playing the top part. Evan sped up, went slower, did everything he could to trip her up, finally succeeding. She couldn't help but laugh when her fingers stumbled over the simple melody. The laughter trickled away, and she grew solemn once more. “Evan?” She didn't look at him, brushing imaginary dust from between two black keys. “Am I ever going to do this again?”
“What?”
“Play piano...laugh?”
“I laugh.”
“Yeah, hardly,” Integrity rebutted. She turned, searching his face for deceit. “Seriously.”
“Maybe. Eventually.” She didn't believe him. “No, not in the way you mean.”
Unexpectedly, tears sprang to her eyes. She turned away, embarrassed, and forced herself not to swipe at them. She played a few chords, hoping he thought she was just suddenly intrigued by the keys. One tear escaped, rolled down her jawline. Of course, on Evan's side, you stupid eye.
She flinched, pulled back, when Evan slammed his hands against the piano. He struck it so hard, the bench slid back against the thick carpet. Integrity clutched at the edge of the piano, afraid she would fall. She slid off the bench, backing away from the man beside her. She glanced at him from under lowered lids, not knowing what to expect next.
He was staring at the piano, the muscles in his neck corded and jutting beneath the skin. He seemed to be having trouble regulating his breath. “Evan?” she asked, softly, afraid of spurring another outburst.
Not looking at her, his teeth clenched together, he ground out, “Don't cry.”
His words had the opposite effect on her. Unable to stop herself, the tears broke through the thin barrier she had struggled to keep in place. “Sorry, I'm sorry,” she whispered, not looking at him, backing toward the hallway that passed the alcove. All she wanted was to leave, to get away from him. All that mattered was that he didn't see her lose it like this.
In an instant, Evan was off the bench, crossing the distance and crushing her to him before she could flee. The dam broke completely, and Integrity allowed the sobs to wrack her body. It didn't matter who held her—any sympathy in this place was foreign enough to completely disarm her. If she hadn't been so caught up in her grief and fears, she would have expected him to thrust her away at any moment. He didn't.
As the storm passed, calm reigned. Integrity felt limp. If they came for me right now, I'd just stand here and let them kill me. I don't care anymore.
More unexpected than her apathy was the way she felt, held in Evan's arms like this. Here was the man that she hated more than anything in this world, and all she could think was, Oh, there you are. It wasn't thrills and uncertainty, as it had been with Ben, but it wasn't entirely platonic, either. Everything simply melted away. She felt, somehow, that all would be right with the world, although it wasn't so right now. I found home.
The ridiculous cliché caused her to laugh. She shifted her cheek against Evan's shoulder, felt the dampness her tears had spread across his shirt. Logic took over, pushing aside what she was feeling, and she pulled back, embarrassed and awkward once more. She swiped a hand across her damp cheek, wondered how red and splotchy she looked. She wanted to apologize, but couldn't seem to do it. She turned to leave once more, doing her best to block what had just happened from her mind.
Evan stopped her, turned her back to face him. Tentatively, he raised his hand, cupped it over her jaw. He wiped the tears from her face with his thumb. His skin was surprisingly rough. She felt the tears rising again. “Oh, no,” he pleaded, concern etching his features. “Don't cry again.”
Integrity laughed. “Is this the big secret, how to defeat vampires? You just have to cry?”
Relieved at her receding tears, Evan laughed, quietly. “No, I've seen plenty of you mortals cry. It's just you, for some reason.” Integrity gave him a watery smile. His face seized up and he stepped abruptly back; she had to take a step forward to keep from falling. “You'd better, uh, go back to your room.” He waved vaguely down the hallway, then turned and sat at the piano bench again. His movements were unnatural, jerky, and he made several mistakes before he got into the flow of the song.
“Now I remember why I hate you so much,” Integrity muttered to herself as she walked down the hall, in the opposite direction from where she thought her room might lie. She half hoped he'd heard her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Thanksgiving Day dawned clear and cold. Integrity watched the sky lighten to gray, then turn rapidly golden, as she lay in her bed where she had tossed and turned for most of the night, falling asleep only long enough for it to be painful when she'd jerk awake.
For once, she wished she had guards posted in her room. At least she wouldn't be alone.
She was unable to touch the breakfast that Galia brought, and felt an odd sense of relief when the woman left, rather than staying and making small talk. While she didn't want to be alone, she also didn't want company.
When the knock came at her door, she jumped completely off the ground she had been pacing across. She was trying to still her heart as the door swung open. Perplexed, she watched the king cover the distance between them effortlessly. “Ah, Integrity!” He scooped one of her hands in his and barely brushed his lips against her knuckles. Eyes sparkling, he said, “So, it's the big day. Are you ready?”
She slid her fingers from his grasp, repelled by the warmth they exuded. He sounds like it's freaking graduation, she thought, shocked. Is he seriously so clueless that he thinks I'm going to be excited?
The king was unperturbed by her silence. He clapped his hands together. “There's been a slight change in plans.” Integrity's heart dropped through her torso; changes were never a good thing here. “The wedding has been postponed.” He laughed lightly, winked cavalierly at her. “It seems my son has a touch of cold feet.”
Integrity looked at him in confusion. “Okay...” she said slowly.
He laughed, delighted. “You're going to remain single for another day, my girl.”
Mixed feelings distorting her thoughts, Integrity forced a smile. She hoped she looked relieved. “Oh, okay,” she said, brightly. I don't have to marry the bugger today, but what kind of hissy fit did he throw to postpone this? She had the random urge to check her breath.
“Hence,” the king said, continuing his earlier thought, “the day calls for a wardrobe change.” As though he had spoken a cue, the door opened again and the same women that had fitted Integrity for her wedding gown entered the room, pulling a wheeled rack behind them crammed with garment bags. “I'm sure you'll be able to find something to your liking.” Smiling like a kid on Christmas Eve, the king grasped her hand once more, failed to actually make contact between his lips and her skin, and disappeared from the room. If this were a cartoon, he'd be floating along in a happy, pink bubble, she grouched.
Silently, the slaves began unburdening the cart, unzipping bags qu
ickly. Integrity sank down on the foot of the bed, beginning to feel overwhelmed. The wedding had been postponed, but not her execution. A bit much for an 18-year-old to deal with.
Integrity tried on outfit after outfit, everything from designer jeans to gowns that would rival any red-carpet starlet's. Integrity threw aside all of the short dresses after trying on a few, deciding that she really wasn't in the mood to expose her calves in November. She finally settled on a simple, two-toned gown.
The top half looked like a cream, button-up dress shirt, with large, turned back cuffs, and a modest neckline. From just below the bust line to the floor fell a straight expanse of dark gray, metallic “satin-faced taffeta,” as one servant described it. A wide cummerbund circled the narrowest part of Integrity's waist, and the floor-length skirt had a slight train. Integrity felt understated, yet elegant in the dress, and liked that it meshed the older, almost antique, top with the chic bottom.
The pleased glow she felt dissolved quickly when she recalled the occasion that required such a dress, and she stubbornly refused to wear heels. The dressmakers were growing frantic, one or two of them fleeing the room in search of flats. When they returned, Integrity was standing on the small pedestal they had brought with them, while the remaining seamstresses pinned the hem to the proper length. Each of the flats had some glaring issue, and Integrity refused them all. You are the Destine now, she reminded herself. You may as well get what you want, at least where you can. “I will go barefoot,” she announced, surprised at how calm and authoritative her voice sounded. The servants did not question her, but silently packed away the shoes, finished pinning the hem, and then took the dress with them to be altered.
Integrity didn't care if they thought her eccentric. If they want me to be so all-powerful, they'd better learn to get out of my way, she thought as she plopped disconsolately in her chair. “Watch out world, here I come.”
Є
Time, in its perverse way, began to speed past. It seemed only a few moments since the dress had been taken for alterations, and now Integrity stood in her room, looking at the finished product. Her hair was swept up in a simple chignon at the back of her head, and the dress fit flawlessly. Integrity wiped her damp palms on the skirt of the gown, but the material was far from absorbent. She frowned.
Evan: Book Two of the Destine Series Page 30