“I have disappointed you,” I sobbed.
“You could never disappoint me.”
I was certain if he knew the extent of my truth, he would disagree. Instead, he clasped my shoulders and drew me away. Our eyes met, and he touched my chin.
“Feel no shame, Isolde,” he said. “You are but a victim here.”
A victim.
I hated the word. I was also princess of Lara and now a queen, though I did not completely understand what I ruled—a nation of monsters, a country of my conquered people? Still, there was power in the ruins of the life I was about to leave behind. I refused to fall under the weight of these circumstances, not when I had so much at my fingertips.
We did not return to the great hall. Instead, we made our way outside, into the cold evening, and followed the stone path that cut through my mother’s garden. The gardeners had lit lanterns, and the flames cast dancing light along our path. I kept my arm looped through my father’s, passing barren plots and leafless trees, our breaths frosting as we spoke.
“I tried to kill him,” I said, and my father’s steps slowed. “I knew vampires were hard to kill, but I did not think it was impossible. Adrian, though, is impossible to kill.”
“Perhaps it is not Adrian who must die,” my father said at length.
My brows furrowed. I did not understand. “What do you mean?”
“There is a greater evil than the Blood King, Issi,” my father said. “And it is the power that created him.”
“You mean magic?”
He nodded.
Over two hundred years ago, before the Nine Houses united, Cordova’s countries were advised by witches, women who were initially thought to be blessed with the ability to harness magic, until they turned upon their kings. For their treason, they were burned at the stake in an event known as the Burning. It was said that in the aftermath, Dis, the goddess responsible for witches and their magic, cursed Cordova with a plague of mortal fears. Shortly after, vampires manifested from the darkness and, with them, other monsters.
“If Adrian is a curse…can curses not be broken?”
My father’s gaze leveled with my own. “Only the king himself knows,” he replied.
It was my father’s way of telling me to find out. He turned and picked one of my mother’s midnight roses, reminding me once again, “You are the hope of our kingdom.”
He was giving me a mission—one I accepted as I took the rose.
We continued through the garden, and when we returned to the castle, Adrian waited with the same dark-haired vampire who had been present at our wedding.
“My queen,” Adrian said as he lifted his hand to his heart and bowed his head. “Allow me to introduce my general, Daroc Zbirak.”
As my gaze shifted to him, the general bowed, though I got the sense he did so begrudgingly—which was fine with me, because I did the same.
“General,” I said, inclining my head, biting my tongue so I did not say the things I truly wished. So you are the man responsible for the fire, the destruction, the death in Cordova. Still, I let those thoughts cycle through my mind, hoping my emotions were high enough for Adrian to hear them. Then I wondered if Daroc possessed the same abilities as Adrian.
“Daroc has arranged your escort,” Adrian said.
“I have appointed my best soldiers as your guards, my queen,” Daroc said. “They have been instructed to ride outside your carriage during our journey to Revekka.”
“Carriages are targets,” I said. “I will not ride in one.”
There was a beat of silence, and I looked from Daroc to Adrian. Neither of them blinked. I could not tell if they were surprised by my response or irritated.
“Our journey will be long, my queen,” Adrian said.
“I am a princess born of Lara,” I said. “I can ride for hours.”
He lifted a single brow, and the corners of his lips followed. “Very well. We shall find you a horse.”
Adrian looked to Daroc, who bowed and left, presumably to find my horse.
There was a strained silence that followed his departure. I could not help feeling completely awkward in the presence of my new husband and my father, and I was relieved when Adrian spoke. “You are welcome at the Red Palace in two weeks’ time,” he said to my father, “when Isolde’s ascent to queen is made official. I will send an escort to ensure your safe passage into my lands.”
“That is generous of you, King Adrian,” my father replied, his tone wavering toward sarcasm. “I welcome any chance to look upon my daughter again.”