Page 46 of Blood Ties (City of Blood #1)

Elina

The moon rises over the French Quarter on Tuesday night, the night walkers starting to roam around the streets below my window. Laughter filters up to me from the street as I watch longingly. I would even walk the streets alone tonight if I could figure out how to escape this prison.

Bash, where are you?

A light tap comes from the locked door, startling me out of my reverie and reminding me that I have a dinner date. Whoever is at the door appears to be waiting for me to grant them entry, odd since no one else has extended the courtesy.

“Come in?” I tell them, ending on a questioning note. A small woman, dressed in an old-style servants uniform comes in, her brown hair pinned neatly below a white cap, and a long black dress with white apron on top.

She smiles shyly. I have no way of knowing for sure, but she seems like a human. “Hello miss. I have a gown for you—for dinner with Prince Nicolas.” Blushing, she looks down at the floor.

The interactions I have had in this house have been a bizarre mix of fearful reverence, love, and flirtation. I am completely confused about half of the time and this is no different.

“I’m Elina.” I extend a hand to her, maybe that will give me a clue as to whether she is human or not. She moves her hands behind her back and inclines her head respectfully.

“Of course, I know who you are. I’m Cindy, your chambermaid.

I will lay your clothing here on the bed and go start the shower for you.

” Chambermaid? Have I been sent back in time to this place?

I get the feeling the Shadow Kingdom wishes for a time when the ruling class had unlimited power and everyone bowed at their feet.

Well, I won’t be playing along with this performance.

Walking over to inspect the clothes Cindy brought, I find a floor-length, blood-red gown, red-soled stilettos, and a jeweled choker, not unlike the one I gave to Sarah when I began wearing my pendant.

I snort in derision. Yeah, right. Undressing, I walk into the bathroom and straight into the shower, without even looking at Cindy.

After showering, I go into the closet to find the small cache of clothes I have and pull on the jeans I was wearing when I was taken, and my black t-shirt that says ‘Team Werewolf’ across the chest. The only shoes available to me are the heels that came with the dinner dress, so barefoot it is.

Sauntering out of the closet, confidently and in my own clothes, I watch in satisfaction as Cindy gasps at my outfit.

“Oh no, Miss Elina, you must wear the outfit that Prince Nicolas has sent for you. It would offend him otherwise.” Her voice trembles a little and I wonder if she will be punished for my inability to follow directions.

I will make it clear that I am in-charge of myself, if nothing else is within my control.

I roll my eyes at her, putting my hands on my hips. “No, I don’t think I will, Cindy. Nicky doesn’t like it? He can go fuck himself.”

There is another gasp from Cindy before she scurries out of the room, and I follow. I still can’t tell if she’s enthralled or terrified.

I find Claudel leaning against the wall outside my door, stoic and silent. If he has an opinion on my outfit, the only indication is a slight tightening of his jaw before he jerks his head in silent order for me to follow.

This time, we stop in front of a different set of doors than the ones I have dined behind the last two days. Shoving the doors open, Claudel bows slightly toward the interior of the room before introducing me. “Miss Elina Girard, sir.” I can’t see around him but I assume he’s speaking to Nicolas.

He steps aside and there he is—Nicolas—seated on a balcony overlooking the courtyard which is empty tonight.

He sits at an intimate table, set for two, with comfortable looking plush chairs.

There are fairy lights twinkling overhead and long climbing vines hanging all over the railings for the balconies that surround the courtyard.

It’s a dream setting for a dinner date, if only the company wasn’t my prison warden.

We watch each other in silence. Tonight, he has opted for deep green suit pants, polished black shoes, and a button down black shirt with a very subtle green stripe.

The first two buttons are unbuttoned. He seems to have gone for a casually effortless look, but he is too stiff, too perfectly put together for the sentiment to resonate.

He peruses my own outfit, looking from the top of my head, my hair a little scraggly from lack of care, to the tips of my bare feet. He clearly disapproves, based on his frown and narrowing of his eyes, but he doesn’t comment.

Standing, he indicates for me to take my seat as a small army of servants, all dressed in identical suits, crowd onto the balcony.

A glass of red wine is placed down in front of me followed by a plate of boeuf bourguignon that smells rich and herbaceous, buttery mashed potatoes, and asparagus.

The warm comfort of the French meal makes my mouth water and my stomach gives a loud rumble.

A small smile of triumph tilts up the corner of Nicolas’s mouth.

The table, the food, the setting, it all feels too intimate, too close to something real.

In front of Nicolas sits a glass of wine to match mine, as well as a tumbler of dark liquid which I assume is his dinner. I wonder who it is.

“Good evening, Elina. How are you today?” Nicolas’s voice comes out rough, as though he hasn’t spoken much this evening.

“I’m fine.” I take a sip of my wine, unwilling to give him any details and not interested in asking him the same. Pleasantries are not something I’ve given much thought to during my stay here. I am simply a prisoner—why pretend otherwise?.

“Did the dress not fit?” He looks inquisitive, like he is genuinely curious as to why I wouldn’t wear his gift.

“I thought it would go beautifully with your skin—and those bright blue eyes. Did you know my grandmother, Seraphine, had eyes almost exactly like yours? So striking.” In the back of my mind, I wonder briefly about his comment.

Where did I get my eyes from? I don’t know enough about any of my ancestors to answer my question.

“I would not know, I didn’t even try it on.

I have no interest in extravagant gifts.

You know—” I take a bite of the rich meat, chewing for a moment before continuing, “—comparing me to your old dead grandma isn’t exactly a flattering comparison for a courtship.

” I punctuate my words with a little wave of my fork and stare at him boldly as I respond to his flattery.

A laugh explodes out of him. I can’t tell if he thinks I’m entertaining, or if people usually don’t respond to him with biting remarks, but whatever it is, it has momentarily disarmed him, a lock of blond hair falling across his forehead.

It makes him look younger, the laughter making him less harsh.

I try and fail to hide a smile, and the one I get in return from him is blinding.

It unsettles me in a way I was not prepared for.

I school my features into something serious, and watch him relax back in his chair.

He takes a sip from his tumbler of blood, and I can barely see the sharp tips of his fangs everytime he brings the glass to his lips.

The food is delicious and we eat in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but not pleasant either—we’re like two strangers forced to sit together when the cafe runs out of tables.

I wonder if he will break the silence. I am not afraid of him but the desire to know his motives is bothering me. Why did he bring me here?

What am I missing?

“Elina, have you given any more thought to Le lien eternel?” he asks me casually, as though it’s not one of the most important things I will ever consider. “I won’t even ask you to turn if you don’t want to. You can produce Devereaux heirs as a human.”

“Laurent,” I respond.

“What?”

“They wouldn’t be Devereaux heirs, they would be Laurent,” I tell him, defiance in my tone. “You aren’t a Devereaux—that name came from the male line. You have your father’s name. I saw the family tree.”

“Ah, but won’t they?” He smirks at me, a secretive smirk, one I very much don’t like. I saw the bloodlines, he isn’t a Devereaux. Noe and Sabine Devereaux gave that name to their children, and when Seraphina was bound to Mathis, her line became Laurent.

“I’m tired of these games, Nicolas. Say what you want plainly or let me go.”

“I want you, dear Elina.” He stares at me intently. “But for tonight, you may go. I would implore you to consider my offer though, my kindness only holds out for so long.”

When we arrive back at my room, there is a file lying on top of the books I left open on the desk. In bold black letters, across the front, it says ‘Baby Girl Devereaux’. Opening the file slowly, I look at the first page and gasp.