I share a look with Kastel. “Here is fine.”
“As you wish.” He crosses the room, his movements graceful and elegant, reminding me of a cat. His clothing is simple but well tailored; the dark blue coat and white shirt look like they’ve been cut from the highest quality cloth.
The fit and styling are impeccable, effortlessly so.
The castle might look deceptively simple and unadorned, but everything here reeks of wealth.
Suddenly, Kastel and Garan are giving off a hostile aura, like big guard-dogs, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of anything inappropriate. But Vinciel pays them no mind as he reaches my side. It’s as if they don’t even exist. “You can remain seated.” He takes my hand and turns it over, placing his fingers over my pulse. “You have no pain?”
“No, I’m completely fine.”
He places his thumb beneath my left eye and pulls, briefly checking the inside of my lower eyelid. For the briefest of moments, his gaze flicks toward the point on my neck where the demon sank his fangs into me.
My heart is hammering. I want to ask a hundred questions, but I don’t dare.
Does he know the man that did this to me?
Does he know?
I’m feeling warm again. Restless. Like I have an itch that can’t be scratched.
What is wrong with me?
“Mildly anaemic and a little dehydrated,” he says at last. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Lunch will be served shortly. Then you will be shown to your quarters and given time to rest.” He gives me a strange look. “I would recommend that you drink a lot of water and eat to your heart’s content. The servants will provide everything you ask for. And I’m certain His Highness will make arrangements to replace your damaged garments with something more suitable.”
A flush rises into my cheeks. I’m acutely reminded of the fact that I’m wearing nothing but my woolen underclothes beneath the warm winter cloak that was hastily offered to me by one of the Archduke’s men.
I have it wrapped around me right now, the well-woven deep blue cloth smelling of pine and fresh soap.
This isn’t at all the arrival I’d planned, but for some reason, I feel more comfortable sitting here in my underclothes and a borrowed cloak than I would in that cursed dress.
Vinciel steps back and tips his head. “I’ve seen all that I need to see. Please, make yourselves at ease. You are our honored guests, and you’ve been through quite the ordeal. Besides, it’s Seinmas.”
“When will I meet the Archduke?” I blurt. I feel a sudden need to regain some semblance of control, even though I’ve never been in control. “I must have an audience with him as soon as possible.”
I need to make a deal with him. I need to negotiate for Garan and Kastel’s safe passage back to Ruen. I need to see Aderick with my own eyes, so I can be assured of his wellbeing, especially after that strange man took him away.
I need to know that Aderick will be cared for, and allowed to recuperate in this place for as long as he needs.
And I need to see for myself… what kind of man this Corvan Duthriss really is.
The rumors are too much. I don’t know what’s hearsay and what’s real.
The mad prince. The ruthless commander. The bitter recluse. Afflicted with an unmentionable condition. Cursed by arcane magic.
Which is the truth?
The physician raises a finger; a stern and not-so-subtle warning. “He will summon you when he is ready. In the meantime, please. Make yourselves at ease.”
12
CORVAN
“Come in, Kyron,” I say absently as I scan the dense paragraphs of The Known Vulnerabilities of Arcane Beasts. I’ve reached the chapter entitled: The Rare and Deadly Vampyr.
Deadly? Well, I beg to differ. I haven’t killed anyone since I was turned—well, not anyone innocent, anyway.
Rare? This isn’t news to me.
I’ve never met another of my kind. Thanks to my father’s suppression of all things magical, vampire lore isn’t well known in Rahava. The most valuable information I’ve received has come from the people of the mountain tribes.
Astoundingly, after their surrender, the Khaturians—the ones Rahavans call barbarians, even though they’re anything but—decided that they would worship me as some kind of a god.
I’m not entirely comfortable with it, but it’s necessary for peace. We have a pact. In exchange, they provide me with blood-offerings on a regular basis.
“Please. Sit.” I beckon toward the simple upholstered chair in front of my desk.
“Y-your Highness, my thanks.” Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Captain Kyron Kinnivar takes a seat.
I close the book and set it aside. “Report, Captain.” There’s nothing different about the way I address him. Nothing untoward about my attire.
Really, there isn’t much that’s different about me. It’s just that my skin is pale and my hair has turned from black to white; my eyes from brown to red. I drink blood rather than consume animal flesh. That’s all. I’m no threat to any of my people.
So why is Kyron still looking at me as if he’s seen a ghost? He is trying to hide it behind a veneer of professionalism, though.
I appreciate that.
“The survivors arrived safely, Your Highness.” Kyron avoids my gaze. “It appears they’re from Ruen. The injured one is the eldest son of Baron Solisar. The brother is here too, along with a young squire called Garan. The woman is Lady Finley Solisar, his daughter. Er, you might already be aware, but she claims that they were traveling to Tyron because she’s your betrothed.”
“I see.” I rise to my feet and walk across to a small cabinet and select an aged Druthingan port. I pour some into a crystal glass and offer it to Kyron, placing it on the desk in front of him.
“Y-your Highness, I can’t possibly…”
A soft sigh escapes me. “Kyron, we’ve shared a drink on many occasions in the past. What’s changed now? Besides, it’s bloody Seinmas.”
For the first time, Kyron meets my eyes. Along with the unease, there’s a trace of guilt. “Thanks.” He takes a sip. Then he sets down the glass and reaches into his jacket. “We found the rest of their party further down the road. All dead. Devoured by lycan. Not too far away, there was a band of brigands, also dead. Looks like the lads from Ruen put up a good fight. I’ve sent out a scouting team to track down any outlaws that might have gotten away.”
I lean against the desk and cross my arms, frowning. “A mess.” They shouldn’t have come here. “Make sure you clean it up without leaving a trace. Summon a priest. The dead are to be given their last rites and cremated. I don’t want news of this to leave the castle.”
What a mess, indeed.
And yet, for a moment, I tasted pure ecstasy in the form of a woman called Finley.
Who is now residing in my castle.
Who has been sent here by a minor lord called Baron Solisar.
To marry me, apparently.
What kind of idiocy is this?
“Kinnivar, send a message to our people in the capital. I want to know who is responsible for this ridiculous situation.”
Kyron clears his throat. “Um, about that…”
“What is it?”
“We found a message scroll on one of the brigands.” He reaches into his coat and produces a small leather-bound cylinder. “I apologize. I had to cast my eyes upon it, to determine whether it was important or not. I haven’t looked at the innermost contents, but I’m guessing it’s probably connected to all this. I’ll make contact with one of our city informants; see if there’s anything major brewing in the capital.”