Page 26 of The Crimson Princess (The Ravengale Chronicles #1)

Chapter nineteen

I wake abruptly the next morning, my lashes lifting to a blast of bright light piercing my vision.

I’m hot all over with my return from dreamland where Toren has seduced me all over again.

Images of him naked, me naked, of him biting my neck and drinking from me has me panting out a breath.

Why would I even think about such things, let alone engage in a full-blown fantasy dream?

No sooner do I have the thought than a memory of him kissing me, blood on my tongue, and the scent and taste of amber floods my senses.

A hunger for Toren’s blood overtakes me, penetrating in its depths, clawing at me.

My heart leaps with panic that I’m somehow calling Toren, who will know exactly what awakened this in me, and I throw away the bedding and sit up, my fingers curling around the blanket, my pulse erratic. What is happening to me?

Toren, I think.

He is happening to me. I never felt such things, never hungered for such things before last night with him. What magic and mayhem has he cast on me? He might not want me to acknowledge the stories of his many conquests, but with every hum of gossip there is some truth. Am I being a fool with Toren?

And what if he can feel my hunger now? What if the sleeping version of me, reached out to him in the dream?

Does he know what was in my head? The last thing I want to know right now is the answer to that question.

As my mother used to say: accept what you cannot change and do something about what can be changed .

With this in mind, I shake myself, quite literally.

It’s a mere two days until the Challenge and that means two days until the portal opens and with it comes the risk of the mysterious sorceress trying to gain control of the Third World.

In morning light, the fact that my father is nervous enough about this potential to allow King Toren to stay, feels rather ominous especially after he’s shut him out in all other ways. It’s illogical.

What is really going on?

A conversation with my father needs to happen, with frankness and level heads at the helm.

As in now, this morning, before it’s too late to change whatever is in play with the druids.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m just stepping out of the shower when the roar of pounding on my door vibrates through the wall.

In other words, my father demands my presence and he’s sent someone to urgently retrieve me, or else they’ll feel his wrath.

I decide I really miss being worlds away from that man right about now, but I’m also terrified of what he would do without me or my mother here to tame his dramatic tendencies.

Another round of pounding ensues and I decide now is the time to try out my new magic.

If I can undress myself and Toren in a fit of passion, maybe I can dress myself under the duress of my father’s demands.

I lex myself dressed and ready for my day.

To my delight and pleasure, a moment later, I’m in a version of the leathers and boots I wore last night, with my brown hair fully dried and pinned neatly at my nape.

I’m ready for battle, not the throne room, and that’s exactly what I wanted.

Hurrying to the door, I pull it open to find a young house maiden dressed in a royal uniform of deep green, her sleeves long, her simple skirt mid-length.

Her hands wrenching with nervous energy.

Her distress all but hums in the air and I wish I knew her name, but I settle for capturing her hands.

“It’s okay. You’re doing your job and doing it well. I assume the king sent you?”

“Yes.” She nods in earnest. “Yes.”

“Thank you for delivering the message. What’s your name? ”

“Evie.”

I squeeze one of her hands and release her. “Nice to meet you, Evie. Where does my father wish for me to meet him?”

“The garden.”

“Who’s visiting?” I ask, as the gardens indicate a guest and if that’s Bellar, the only gift I have for the prince is indigestion.

“Idris. That’s all I know.”

Better than Bellar , I think. I might not care for Idris, but he’s not druid, and that’s a plus. I motion Evie onward. “I’ll follow you down.”

She nods and rushes down the stairs, while I follow at a far more even pace than her hurried one.

I’m certain her apprehension reads as a success story to my father.

He who rules by an iron fist and intimidation.

He and my mother were as different as the sun and the moon in how they wore their crowns.

My mother often preached to me over how to treat others.

When those who serve you, fear you, there is no loyalty to be found, she’d warned.

And that’s when knives find the way into your back.

Has my father created a hostile environment and should that worry me?

Of course, it might not matter if he has or has not.

My mother also cautioned me about the snakes in the grass, the ones who you treat kindly, and appear trustworthy, but carry the largest blades, carving the deepest betrayals.

Toren , I think, and it’s downright unnerving that I think of him in this context.

He believes I can sense his intent, and there is no doubt, I radiate toward him, and trust comes oh so easily with him.

But he is also an ancient vampire, whose magic radiates with a fire that has burned a thousand years. Can he create those feelings in me?

But the real issue at hand this morning is the druids.

There is no way my father would partner with our sworn enemies, with Macklemore’s druids, not of his own free will.

He defeated Macklemore to protect our kingdom.

He’d never cede ground to them. And despite his supposed alliance with them, he’s invited Toren to stay in our lands, to help protect the portal.

The words “of his free will” replay in my mind, with a sense of dread following.

The sooner this meeting with Idris is over, the sooner I can press my father for real information.

At the bottom of the stairs, I’m aware of Mikhail guarding the door, while Evie rotates my direction and offers me a small bow. “Good day, Princess Satima,” There’s a flash of distress across her face, as if she fears a misstep, before she adds, “Unless you wish me to accompany you to the gardens?”

“No, thank you, Evie. I’ll be fine. And please don’t fret so much with me in the future. I assure you I’m not nearly as intense or formal as my father, nor will I ever be.”

“If you need anything I’m near.”

“Thank you. And I, too, will be here if you need anything.”

She studies me a moment, her lips parting as if she wishes to say something, but a moment later, she presses them together, as if she thinks better of whatever she intended to speak.

I watch as she rushes away, uneasy in the outcome of the encounter.

I find myself wishing I knew what secret she’d wished to share with me, a thread of my magic reaching for her, before I pull back.

My father is waiting and she’s scared enough without me forcing a confession on her.

She disappears and I turn to Mikhail, who only stands by the door at my father’s instruction. I wonder who he fears will enter this day and with that very question on my mind I close the space between myself and my father’s most trusted member of his royal guard.

“Why are you at the door today?”

“As long as you are in the castle, princess, I’m to control who comes and goes.”

“Me?” My brow pinches and my nose crinkles. “What are you talking about?”

“You are the sole heir to the throne and there is quite an obsession with you since your return.”

“What?” My brows dip. “Says who?”

“Your father. ”

Considering I’ve been out and about, this is nonsense, and I suspect we both know it. My father simply wants to control when I come and go. And to that, he’s guarding the wrong door, which I also suspect he knows. I’m not the reason he’s at the door, but if he doesn’t want to tell me, so be it.

“You were kind to Evie, princess Satima,” he comments, changing the subject. “Your mother would approve.”

There’s a pinch in my chest, emotion that threatens to become fire and my voice whispers from my lips, “I like to think she taught me right.”

“She did not fail. Did you rid us of the druid prince?”

My throat is an acid burn with the bitter truth, even before I speak it. “I did not. And I don’t understand why my father wishes to be friendly with the druids. We’re taught in school about their greed and brutality. My father went to war with Macklemore to save us from them.”

His expression remains inscrutable but there’s a cutting quality to his energy that tells me I’ve hit a nerve with Mikhail. “Permission to speak freely and confidentially, princess?”

“Absolutely. I would never betray your trust.”

“Nor I yours. I tried to take care of you mother. When she accepted her post, there was a part of me that knew she’d never come back. In your case, I think the best thing you can do is find space between you and the prince.”

I step closer to Mikhail, my head tilted low, my voice discreet, conspiratorial. “Why would he do this?”

“I do not know, but I comfort myself in him knowing what we don’t know. What the book knows.”

“What if the book only tells him pieces of a puzzle he has to figure out himself? And what if he gets it wrong?”

“I, too, have often had that thought,” he confesses, when most certainly such a statement would be the death of him if my father heard it.

“Far more often than you might think. He’s ruled a very long time, princess, but we have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.

He’s had centuries to expand his wisdom. ”

“Sometimes experience breeds arrogance and carelessness. I’m the future queen. I have to live with whatever he creates.” I hesitate and then ask, “What do you think of King Toren?”

“I witnessed the day King Toren saved your father’s life. I think far more of the vampires than any druid.”

He witnessed Toren save my father’s life, then he should have witnessed my father’s attempt to kill Toren him as well. “My father betrayed him.”

“That is not for me to judge.”

I’m stabbed with a brutal sword that cuts two ways. I’m overwhelmingly relieved that Toren has spoken the truth to me, but equally as devastated by my father’s actions. “That’s a yes.” The assumption is sandpaper ripping a path down my throat. “And now he chooses the druids over the vampires.”

“Betrayal festers and Toren has had centuries for it to do so. I suppose I can see why your father would expect a knife in the back.”

“Do you think that’s Toren’s intent? Revenge?”

“No,” he says easily, “and while that opinion is not based on the inner workings of Toren’s mind, it is based on observations. The vampire king is devoted to his kingdom and unlike his father, who craved the conquering of neighboring worlds, he has never shown that to be true in his own behaviors.”

“His brother—”

“Is a greedy monster. I know. Another reason I do not believe Toren wants or needs another enemy to conquer when he has his own blood to contend with. And let me add, that while betrayal festers, the need for revenge is far more impatient than the centuries that have passed.”

“Princess Satima.”

At the sound of Idris’s impatient voice nearby, I remain focused on my father’s trusted guard. “Thank you for your valuable insight, Mikhail. ”

“At your service and, princess, before you go, I am not suggesting the vampire king is or is not your enemy. I do not know. As with anyone, guard yourself. Guard your kingdom.”

I offer a short nod, and with the thread of caution Mikhail has reinforced in me over Toren, I walk toward Idris, a confrontation with him inevitable but manageable.

The one that will follow with my father, on the other hand, is far more explosive.

King Killian will bury me alive in a grave of submission if I allow it to happen.