Jaxon texts back, asking if I need anything. When I tell him no, he explains that he’s backstage right now—a command performance with the king and queen.
Maybe I should be disappointed, but I’m not. Him being away from me is that one extra layer of anonymity I was looking for.
And as the king and queen and the rest of the Circle file onto the stage, my palms begin to sweat. I’m not ready to forgive Hudson yet, but I can’t lie that there’s a part of me very grateful I am very, very far away from his parents as I watch both of them scan the audience while they take their seats.
It’s obvious they’re looking for someone…and it’s not their son, as he was just with them backstage. But the longer they search, the more convinced I become that they really are looking for me. And after seeing Hudson’s memory of his parents last night, I’m more than happy to make sure they don’t find me. At least not until I’m ready for them.
72
Welcome to the
Paranormal Jungle
I start to text Jaxon again, but before I can figure out what to say, Uncle Finn turns on the microphone. He talks for a few minutes about the Ludares tournament, laying down the rules, talking about how many teams have signed up （twelve） and how the brackets are going to be run.
When he gets to the prize for winning the tournament, he turns toward the dignitaries seated behind him in ornate chairs—I snort; who am I kidding? Those are thrones and they want everyone to know it—and announces, “To discuss the prize for this very special Ludares tournament, we are incredibly lucky to have none other than King Cyrus and Queen Delilah from the Vampire Court here to announce the very special prize. Please join me in welcoming them and several other members of the Circle.” He starts off the applause, but soon the auditorium is filled with the sound of respectful clapping, which amuses me because in my experience, so few things at this school have ever engendered such a tepid response.
Apparently, there are very few members of my generation who actually have any interest in the Circle—and especially the vampire king and queen—at all. Not that I blame them, but it’s still interesting to see. And even more interesting to watch as that knowledge hits Cyrus full-on.
He tries to hide it, but I’m watching closely from a little spot between my two shields, and he. Looks. Pissed.
He doesn’t say anything, though, as his eyes scan the crowd. He’s smiling and waving as the queen moves to the microphone, but he’s not missing one face. I slink down lower in my seat and all but feel Hudson’s relief.
The queen introduces herself in a melodic British accent and with a smile that looks surprisingly sincere as she thanks everyone for such a warm, warm welcome. Even as her gaze—like her husband’s—moves from face to face in the crowd, I can feel people opening up, see their shoulders relaxing and their bodies leaning forward as if they’re suddenly afraid of missing even one word that falls from her bloodred-painted lips.
Her eyes are the same near-black as Jaxon’s, and her skin has the same unique—and slightly odd—olive and alabaster tint to it. Her features are sharp, angled, and it’s suddenly obvious just where the Vega cheekbones and jawline that I love so much come from. The long, lithe build and dark hair, too, though the queen wears hers in a long braid wrapped around the crown of her head—and then balances her gold-and-jewel-encrusted crown on top of it, just in case someone at Katmere doesn’t know who she is.
She makes a striking picture, no doubt, and her sons are the spitting image of her, though Hudson’s eyes are a different color. And like them, there’s a regality—an expectation of how things should be—to her that simply can’t be taught.
This is a woman who was born to rule…and to do it warmly, in such a way that nearly everyone watching her somehow feels like they have a connection to her. That she is speaking directly to them. No doubt, it’s a spectacular talent.
I just don’t know if I buy it.
Because I still can’t forget that this is the woman who slashed Jaxon’s face so severely that she scarred a vampire. The woman who took him away from Hudson without a backward glance even as Hudson sobbed for the little brother he loved.
And yet she is winking at the crowd. She is smiling and thanking people by name and even cracking a joke or two just to make her public adore her a tiny bit more.
It’s such a strange dichotomy that I’m reminded of an Andy Warhol painting. He did the same image in four different—usually tertiary—colors because each person’s brain sees colors differently, and it is up to the brain to make its color perception fact. Looking at this woman, watching her after seeing the way she was in Hudson’s memory yesterday, makes me wonder which shades of her my brain is really seeing…and which one I should make my reality.