The White Lily (Vampire Blood series)

by Juliette Cross

  She edged backward, gripping the lip of her desk with one hand. “You would?” Her brows raised.

  “Is that surprising?”

  She arched a brow curiously as if inspecting an unfamiliar creature. “It’s just that I presumed a man of your importance would have better things to do.”

  He was sure her emphasis on the word “importance” bore a sarcastic lilt though her face remained passive and pleasant.

  “Though it may come as a surprise, the well-being of the children of Terrington and their education is important to me.”

  She let go of the desk and clasped her hands demurely before her, glancing upward as she recalled something from memory. “The philosopher Grimmstone once said, ‘The wise man keeps time where his heart truly lies.’” She shot him a challenging smirk.

  “Ah. So he did.” He tried to conceal his fangs thickening in his mouth. Her sauciness only enticed him more. “Grimmstone also said, ‘A lady full of wit hides a tiger beneath. Best beware, gentlemen, or feel the prick of sharp teeth.’”

  A pink blush flushed up her neckline, but she held her tongue.

  “No retort, Miss Snow?”

  She arched a slender, dark brow. “I suppose we could recite philosophy to one another all day, Your Grace. But the truth remains, you are a royal duke with certain responsibilities. Perhaps if the lowly peasantry had more control over their own well-being, we wouldn’t seek to bother you up on Winter Hill.”

  Sharp teeth, indeed.

  They held each other’s gaze, neither saying a word.

  The stomping of boots sounded on the porch and through the door.

  “Pardon me, Your Grace.” Mikhail, captain of the Bloodguard—mercenaries Friedrich had hired to replace the Legionnaires he once kept to fortify Winter Hill—stopped at attention with a tight bow.

  “What is it, Captain?”

  “Your uncle, King Dominik, has just arrived at the castle.” Mikhail’s pale complexion and dark hair were made more striking in contrast to the full-black attire he wore like the rest of his guard. “He requests your presence. At once.”

  The mere mention of his name changed the air in the room. Brennalyn tensed, her gaze narrowing. That response boded well for him. He didn’t believe her to be in league with his uncle or worse, the queen, but he couldn’t be sure. After having to dispose of the stableman who’d tried to betray him to the king regarding his two visitors a few weeks earlier, Friedrich could not be too careful.

  He’d provided a safe haven to Nikolai and Sienna, the two recruiting in the north for the army of the Black Lily. Even though they’d taken great precautions, the stableman had heard Grant take his prized horses out of their stalls in the dead of night and had caught a glimpse of the blond vampire and the beautiful cloaked woman before they saddled and disappeared into the night. If the stableman had gotten that message to the king, Friedrich would already be dead. Or worse, in a deep, bloodless sleep—a form of torture by which a vampire was starved, resulting in a coma.

  Friedrich set aside the fact he knew someone who had been suffering this agonizing fate for months. He took Miss Snow’s hand and swept a bow, brushing his lips across her knuckles. She tried to pull away, but he held fast, pretending he didn’t notice the flames of anger now painting her cheeks. She must hate King Dominik. Good.

  He smiled. She didn’t.

  “I will see you tomorrow then.”

  “Why, Your Grace?”

  “About the school. The children.”

  “Oh. Yes. Well, unless you’re indisposed.” He released her hand and she waved it in the air toward the general direction of Winter Hill.

  “I won’t be. I’ll have luncheon prepared for you at the castle.”

  “No, Your Grace.” She clasped her hands tightly before her, voice hard and unyielding. “I’ll be finished moving the books back into the schoolroom. We will meet here.”

  He smiled. A challenge. “Until tomorrow.”

  He joined Mikhail and three others from his guard waiting atop their mounts. An unexpected visit from Dominik wasn’t a good sign. Steeling his spine, he swung into the saddle and galloped back toward Winter Hill.

  Chapter Four

  King Dominik stood in the great hall near the man-sized fireplace lit only for feasts or balls—though there had been none of those at Winter Hill for an age. He held up Friedrich’s heirloom long-sword to the light coming from the window and studied it closely.

  Friedrich tamped down the fire burning in his belly. The king always rubbed him the wrong way. He noted that Dominik had already done away with the mourning band around his right arm. It hadn’t even been a month since his wife died.

  Mikhail and his second in command—his brother, Dmitri—followed him into the hall, taking up post at the entrance. The king had ten of his own royal guard in their sharp red-trimmed-in-black uniforms lining the walls—a chest-sized black dragon emblazoned on their torsos. As if the king could intimidate by having his red-eyed demonic sigil glaring at his enemies from every uniform, flag, and banner. It probably worked on most people. Not Friedrich.

  Next to the fireplace stood three coarse-looking vampires wearing black shirts bearing red cuffs on the sleeves. They watched the king with unwavering devotion, an unhinged look about their expressions.

  The raucous noise and laughter of the king’s troops stationed in his front courtyard grated against Friedrich’s nerves. He stalked across the gray marble floor, his boots echoing off the high ceilings, his steps sounding almost as angry as he truly was.

  “Your Majesty.” Fortunately, Friedrich was a good actor and a good liar. None of his ire leaked into his voice.

  Only when he was finally behind him did the king turn, his gaze still on the gleaming sword.

  “This is a magnificent weapon, Nephew.”

  He always liked to remind Friedrich that he was king and could touch or take whatever he wanted.

  “Yes. A family heirloom. My grandfather’s.”

  “Your grandfather…a great man.” Dominik’s ice-blue gaze finally cut toward him.

  Great? Not at all. But the cunning and malevolent man standing before him might think so, since they shared like minds.

  “Indeed.” He shifted subjects. “I am sorry for your loss, Your Majesty. Lana will be missed. She was a fine woman.”

  “Mmm. But not a strong one,” he added without a tremor of emotion for his newly dead wife. She’d died along with a stillborn son, leaving the king with only a frail daughter as an heir. Perhaps that was why he bore a countenance of restlessness.

  His uncle was a large man, equal to Friedrich in height, with the languid strength of a mountain lion ready to pounce. Ever since Friedrich had finally grown into manhood and could look him in the eye, he’d sensed the king’s subtle animosity toward him. Friedrich didn’t worship him or cower at his feet as others were wont to do.

  “How may I be of service to you, Uncle?” The man never paid courtesy calls.

  Dominik placed the point of the sword on the stone floor with a clink, casually palming the top of the hilt. The fact that he hadn’t returned the sword to its place on the wall drove an unnerving shiver up Friedrich’s spine.

  The king inhaled deeply, puffing out his massive chest. The man was built bigger and broader than most vampires of the Varis lineage. A cruel twist of fate, for he took pleasure in intimidating and playing with his inferiors before he crushed them. Fortunately, Friedrich was his loyal nephew. Or so Dominik believed. Friedrich had gone through great pains to ensure that he continued to believe so, even though he was close to the king’s brother, Marius, who had betrayed the crown by eloping with the leader of the resistance a few months earlier.

  “I come to speak of the Black Lily,” said the king, his dark voice grating, as if he were divining Friedrich’s thoughts.

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Have you any stirrings in Terrington?”

  “What, here? No. At least not that I know of.” When the king eyed him with
a doubtful look, he went on. “One of my servants admitted that he’s heard of this Black Lily centered around the Glass Tower. But that is all. None of my people are involved.”

  Friedrich congratulated himself on how convincing a liar he truly was. His own pulse remained steady and calm while the king examined him with the glacial stare that had made lesser men piss their pants.

  Seeming to come to a conclusion, he flicked a hand out toward his lieutenant of the Legionnaires. “Kostya,” he snapped.

  The three vampires near the fireplace flinched at the sound of the lieutenant’s name. Friedrich tried to divine who these men were, but something told him he’d find out soon enough. He knew his uncle all too well. He did nothing without purpose. Displaying these men at their meeting who were not in Legionnaire uniforms but bearing his uncle’s colors was a purposeful move.

  Kostya, a snake of a man in his royal guard, stepped forward sharply and put a leaflet in the king’s free hand. The other still rested on the hilt of the sword as if it were his walking stick.

  “My troops have made sure these whisperings have come to an end in the north.”

  “Have they?” Friedrich slipped a hand casually in his pocket, his tone light as if they discussed the weather.

  The king’s mouth slid into a grin, but there was only malice in his steely gaze. “I have my ways.”

  “What’s this then?” He nodded toward the length-wise tri-folded parchment in his hand, frowning as if he’d never seen the like.

  “Read.” The king handed it to him.

  Opening the leaflet, he tried to ignore the dark-red stains in the corner and focused on the professionally printed decree in fine, swirling print:

  The heart of the north beats on.

  While the crown demands submission and obedience and blood,

  crushing us under their mighty yoke,

  their downfall will be the superiority they wield without a thought.

  Without a care.

  Be brave, my northern friends. Be strong.

  Have courage and know that you are not alone.

  We are many and growing by the day.

  Hidden in plain sight, we will rise when the time comes

  and fight the good fight.

  Will we win? That is uncertain.

  Can we win? Without a doubt.

  Do not be disheartened if the Black Lily appears silent.

  A dormant flower in the south, waiting and watching.

  She will bloom again.

  We must rally in the north and be prepared.

  We will withstand enslavement no longer, my friends.

  Gather your strength. Our time draws near.

  The heart of the north beats on.

  —Servant to The People, The White Lily

  Friedrich reread the close before asking, “The White Lily?” He laughed mockingly. “Do we have a second resistance?”

  This was the third of its kind he’d read in the last month, but he kept his curiosity planted on his face while he awaited the king’s response.

  “No.” King Dominik ambled toward the window, swinging the sword blade up to lay flat against one shoulder. Friedrich followed. “It appears this is simply a faction of the original group, operating in isolation.”

  “How do you know?” He schooled his features as he joined his uncle’s side.

  “These leaflets haven’t been found anywhere in the south. Only in the northern territories. And since the echoing creed is for the north, it is obviously rooted here.” He turned his biting gaze on Friedrich, voice low and menacing. “In my kingdom.”

  Friedrich didn’t dismiss the sinister glare. The king intended to find the culprit and make him pay in the most heinous way imaginable. He must find the fool before his uncle did.

  “And where did you find this leaflet?”

  The king returned his gaze out the window, watching his troops in the courtyard, then eyed Terrington in the far distance. “In Kellswater.”

  Friedrich had prepared for the answer, but his pulse tripped anyway. Kellswater was one of the villages where the inhabitants had all disappeared. It was Nikolai, his cousin’s former lieutenant now working with the Black Lily, who had sent him a brief but informative letter explaining that Queen Morgrid and her son, King Dominik, were responsible. Nikolai had seen Kellswater emptied by Legionnaires, all killed or taken prisoner then whisked away to some unknown location. Finding where they’d been taken had become Friedrich’s first mission. So far, he’d had no luck.

  The king slid his eyes to him. “Something make you nervous, Nephew?”

  “No.” He returned his uncle’s gaze with confidence. Unwavering. “I’ve just heard rumors that the people of Kellswater have disappeared. My dukedom has little dealings with a settlement that far south, but I wondered if I should no longer be expecting my tithe from them.”

  Ice and steel surveyed him carefully. The king’s square jaw tilted and his mouth ticked on one side into a half smile. “I’ll pay their tithe. No need for you to worry about Kellswater.”

  “Do you know what’s happened to them then?”

  “I said there’s no need to worry about Kellswater.”

  “I see.” Friedrich watched two of the king’s men below harassing Sylvia as she tried to veer around them to the servants’ yard. “But we need to be on the watch for this White Lily.” Sylvia swatted the soldier’s hand holding onto her skirt and slammed the servants’ gate on him, quickly making her escape. The soldiers only laughed. Thankfully. He’d seen them do worse.

  “Indeed,” agreed the king. “I need a bleeder, if you can spare one of yours.”

  For the first time, Friedrich lost his composure, knowing full well that the king was rough with his bleeders if he was in the mood. And all this talk of an offshoot of the Black Lily had probably stirred his blood.

  “I do not, Uncle. I don’t keep bleeders here. I choose a new one every week.”

  His dark brows shot up. “You still don’t keep a Blood Harem?”

  “No. Never will.”

  “You’re a duke.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Even so, I prefer to choose anew each week.” He had no plans to explain to the king that he found the practice distasteful, because it was his father’s Blood Harem that was the cause of his darkest memory. One that haunted him still.

  The king scoffed and turned away from the window. “That should grow tiresome.” He caught sight of Friedrich’s men at the door. “You seem to have many unconventional practices, Friedrich. I hear you dismissed your Legionnaires.”

  Of course he’d heard. Directly from the spy or spies he’d planted within Friedrich’s ranks.

  “I did.” He strode alongside his uncle, who moved a few paces then stopped before the three vampires by the fireplace. “After Marius left, and it was discovered that one of the lieutenants in the Glass Tower was a traitor for him, I thought it best to select my own men to guard my back.”

  And he did believe it best to choose his own men to guard his back. But because he feared they would betray him to the crown and to the man walking at his side.

  “I don’t blame you.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder, a rare show of affection, though Friedrich didn’t miss the blade still in his hand. “My brother’s betrayal has stung us all.” Again, deadly menace laced his words. “But we will put an end to this resistance soon enough.”

  “I hope so,” he lied.

  Dominik finally turned to the three men not of his Legionnaire ranks. Friedrich still didn’t take the bait and ask. It always felt like surrender with his uncle.

  Dominik nodded toward them. “These are three of my huntsmen, Nephew.”

  “Huntsmen?”

  “Yes. A special breed the queen mother and I have concocted.”

  Unable to withstand it, he had to ask. “How is that?”

  Dominik lowered his voice, but any vampire in the room had heightened senses to hear him. “She injects the blood madness in them, and then I take my t
urn and give them my elixir.”

  It took all of his efforts to mask his emotions and not react. Dominik’s elixir held the power of persuasion of the most brutal kind. Anyone who disobeyed him under his thrall would experience bone-crunching pain.

  “And who are you hunting, Uncle?” Acid swirled in his stomach.

  “The White Lily, of course.”

  The king grinned, his fangs sharp and extended. “I’m so thirsty.” He pointed the blade at the huntsman in the middle. “You. Come here.”

  The wide-eyed creature obeyed at once.

  “Kneel,” commanded Dominik.

  The vampire dropped to his knees, head bowed.

  “Give me your arm.”

  He lifted it high.

  Dominik gripped the man’s wrist and twisted it, veins up. “We got these three from a ship in Hiddleston’s Harbor. Not sure why sailor blood tastes so good,” he remarked, snickering, casting Friedrich a fiendish look. “Must be the salt in the air.” Then he opened his mouth wide, long canines protruding, and crunched into the man’s wrist. The king’s victim whimpered in pain while Dominik sucked loud and long. Friedrich didn’t dare glance away, a sign of weakness to his uncle.

  Dominik pulled away with a hiss, the man’s bleeding wrist still clutched in his hand. The king chuckled wickedly. “Look at them.” He nodded to the other two vampires whose eyes had gone black and hollow, their mouths agape and salivating at the tangy and potent smell of blood. “You two want a taste of your brother at sea?”

  The two vampires nodded mutely, staring in black-eyed awe.

  “Fine.” Swift and brutal, he swung the sword-blade down and severed the man’s arm near the shoulder. The vampire on his knees wailed in agony as blood sprayed the ballroom floor. The two huntsmen stood there in trembling anticipation. “Go on, then. Take what you want.”

  They fell upon their fellow huntsmen with savage swiftness, sinking fangs into his neck and shoulder, growling and snarling like the feral beasts they were.

  Friedrich slowly turned an icy glare at his uncle. “I don’t need this fucking mess in my home. Uncle.” How he didn’t swing his arm to feel the satisfying crunch of his fist in his jaw, he had no idea.