Page 16

Thea

F reshly rained roses swooped down the vaulted ceiling of the corridor and twisted around the pale columns in clusters of white, red, and pink. The walls beyond the blooming pillars were a vast night sky encrusted with purple clouds, while the floor was a diaphanous moonscape, marking the luminous path to the ballroom. Below, the world was infinite. I felt as though we were treading upon a bridge in the middle of the sky, heading to a previously undiscovered Realm.

A gust of magic swept us inside the dreamy scope of the ballroom, where all the chandeliers were blazing, garlands of crystals breaking the light into a thousand uncanny patterns as some shimmered low above the marble floor while others twinkled high overhead. Everything was glimmering and undulating, light-dazzled mirrors expanding the ballroom into an infinity of brightness.

A sparkling dust was cascading from the glass ceiling as well, fine like snow, leaving golden streaks along the floor and clinging onto the hems of the elaborate gowns and trousers that dressed the Ravenors.

The only spot undisturbed by the whirling dust was the long table at the back of the hall, glowing soft and pale like the inside of a seashell. Our repast was splayed upon ivory silk, served on moonstone plates and gilded cups, and illuminated by a series of white candles floating at irregular heights above it. There were grapes and figs and pomegranates. Bottles of wine and bottles of blood. And, of course, the roast I’d prepared earlier, accompanied by a colorful array of caramelized vegetables. Yet the air smelled sweet, like honey and incense and starlight.

“We’re sorry to keep you waiting,” I said as soon as I found my voice, still in awe at the Castle’s outstanding transformation.

“Don’t worry, dear,” cooed Collette, shining like the first winter snowflake in her flowing white gown and crystalline coronet. “The Castle has been more than entertaining so far.”

Before I could ask what sort of entertainment the Castle had divined for them, Espen slipped in front of me, a stern expression on his face. “I would like to apologize to you,” he said, too solemnly to decipher the level of his sincerity. “I was a little taken aback earlier, and I think I made a terrible first impression on you.”

“Well,” I chuckled, somewhat relieved. “Terrible first impressions make for the greatest friendships.”

“And the greatest enemies,” interjected Camilla, twisting her red lips into a fraudulent smile. Her black gown gave her moon-kissed skin and unbound silver hair an eerie, ghostly glow. It was almost a shock to gaze directly into her pale eyes, her bloodless face. She was the only person in the room that looked out of place, as if her sense of superiority had given her the edge of an illusion.

“Do not listen to my sister,” sighed Espen resignedly. “She just delights in stirring chaos.”

“Only thing that excites her rotten heart,” Roan muttered under his breath, his pearl-threaded braids catching the light into a brilliant halo.

“That’s alright,” I crooned, meeting Camilla’s shrewd gaze in something like a challenge. “I quite thrive in chaos.”

Hector, not bothering with pleasantries at all, ushered me to the high-backed chair at the head of the table before allowing the rest to assume their own seats. He took the one on my right while Camilla, after hissing something I didn’t catch in Roan’s ear, claimed the one on my left.

Covertly, in the commotion of gowns swishing and chairs being pulled, I whispered to Hector, “Shouldn’t you be sitting at the head?”

“The Lady of the Castle sits at the head. It’s tradition,” he explained, giving me a secret, tender smile that made the swarm of butterflies that had indefinitely settled in my stomach go positively feral.

After the Castle filled our glasses with the blueberry wine I’d prepared, Espen stood once more, as commanding as a god in his bright silk garments. “Hector,” he began, “please allow me to steal your toast and say on behalf of everyone around this table that we are deeply, sincerely proud of the man you’ve become. I suppose one of the reasons I was so upset earlier is because I’ve always hoped to make you a part of my family. But you have to know that I respect you all the more for deciding to carve your own path. This is the Aventine way, after all, and there is no one more worthy of this honor than you.” He raised his glass, the wine glinting purple-red amid the floating candles. “To Hector, our star-chosen sovereign.” He cast his dark gaze upon me, tipping the edge of the glass ever so slightly. “And Thea, the new Lady of the Castle.”

In truth, I doubted he meant any of this, but I raised my glass along with the rest and drank to his exceptionally diplomatic toast.

“Gods, what is this?” sighed Alexandria after taking a sip.

Hector squeezed my hand over the table. “Thea made it. It’s a Thalorian recipe.”

Thaloria was mainly famous for two things: infinite magic and sweet blueberry wine. However, I’d made this one ten times stronger and therefore undrinkable to me, for vampires had very dull tastebuds when it came to human food and beverages and could hardly tell the difference between spices and herbs. Whenever Esperida was in a particularly self-deprecating mood, she would joke that there was no creature easier to poison than the vampire. Of course the only thing that could poison a vampire was juniper, but even that they had trouble distinguishing over the scent of blood, which often overpowered their sense of smell entirely.

“Wait, you made all of this?” whistled Lance.

“Just the roast. The Castle doesn’t provide food that once had a soul,” I ventured, only for Camilla to interrupt me with a disdainful snort.

“We know,” she said sharply. “We’ve been a part of the Castle’s history long before you existed.”

Petty. She was being tiresomely petty, and I refused to stoop to her level.

I offered her a cold, blatantly disingenuous smile and continued, “Yes, how lovely. Well, about the wine, I found a basket of seasonal offerings in the kitchen. I don’t know who brought it in, but I thought it would be nice if I made something with it. The blueberries looked particularly scrumptious.”

“That would be my mother’s doing,” explained Arawn, shooting me a playful little wink. “She sent the basket with me as an apology for not joining us.”

“Thank you for taking the time to prepare all of this, Thea,” Dahlia contributed with a small, shy smile, which made me feel like a complete wanker for being so resentful toward her earlier.

She sat there in her white tulle dress and fine jewelry with the grace of a princess and the face of a woman who’d rather be anywhere else in the world but here. I would recognize that look in anyone—the look of a woman trapped by familial obligation.

“No need to thank me,” I said as warmly as I could without revealing too much of my thoughts.

“You should make the wine for the ceremony too,” Arawn suggested, already digging into the roast.

“I’d be honored to.”

“Why aren’t you drinking, Hector?” Camilla’s icy voice cut through the air. “Not in a celebrating mood, or are you just too full on your darling wife?”

“Camilla,” snapped Collette.

“It’s okay,” I hummed, hiding a sly smile behind my wine glass. “I’m flattered that the famous Camilla Ravenor is so jealous of my husband.”

Arawn choked on his food, and everyone broke out laughing.

“Ah, she bites back,” purred Camilla, leaning nearer. Near enough that I could smell the heady scent of her skin and the distinct metallic tang of blood. “I like the ones who bite back.”

“Cover your fangs, Camilla,” warned Hector with deceptive calm.

Camilla regarded him with a look of chill contempt, her eyes like jagged stones. “Let me guess. Otherwise, you will remove them from my gums.”

“Of course not,” said Hector blithely. “But I can’t promise she won’t.”

Intrigue sparked in Camilla’s spectral face. “Vicious little fawn, then,” she decided.

I arched a brow. “You shouldn’t allow yourself to get so easily deceived by appearances, Camilla. I may look delicious, but I ’ m no fawn.”

As Camilla raised her glass in a mocking salute, I realized she was not easy to offend, which was rare for a vampire of her age and status. In fact, the more I studied her, the more perplexed I became by her cold indifference not only toward me but also toward everyone around this table. She spoke her mind, and if the others didn’t like it, she simply didn’t care. In a way—a very unsettling, unpredictable way—she was above them, above, perhaps, the very laws and social graces that constrained the rest.

This was what made her so dangerous. This was why Espen would sometimes look at her with an expression of indignation, Collette with distaste, Dahlia with caution, Alexandria with frustration, and Roan with a sharpness that often verged on hatred. The dynamics between them were as intricate as precarious, and I wasn’t sure how this was going to affect Hector’s ascension to sovereignty, only that it somehow would.

For a while we all enjoyed our dinner, talking about the fineness of the wine, the richness of the food, the blood that tasted as sweet as the figs on our plates. Then came talk of their own affairs: the situation the Valkhars were dealing with and the vampire who was recently caught in Kartha feeding on a human child. Espen said the vampire was executed by the order of the king. Lance asked if they beheaded him or if they cut out his heart with a hunter’s blade. No detail was too gruesome amongst a company of vampires.

The cups were emptied and poured again. Their lips grew red with blood and wine, their elegant faces shining like gemstones, their laughter like the clearest water. I’d never felt more out of place in my life. I kept catching myself staring at them, mesmerized, frozen in my seat. They were all so unbearably radiant, like living works of art. Yet to be in their presence was less of an inspiring experience than a frightening one. There was terror in their beauty, or perhaps they were only so beautiful because of it.

I forced myself to participate despite the inexplicable rise of apprehension in my blood, but, at last, I became so disengaged that I ended up getting startled when a low grunt sounded from my left.

Tieran, who was seated between Roan and Camilla, was bleeding . His wrist had been sliced down the middle and was now dripping dark red inside a tall crystal cup. For a stomach-turning moment, I thought it was for Camilla, but to my further dismay, Roan was the one who raised the cup to his lips. He swallowed slowly as if to savor the taste before leaning down to run his tongue along the gushing incision, not a drop of blood wasted.

Tieran’s face softened with affection when Roan offered him his wrist in return, but he only managed to shake his head before Camilla drew him into her arms. Impatiently, she untied the collar of his shirt, exposing his bone-pale throat.

Then she bit into him.

Her fangs sank deep enough to tear through nerves, bobbing up and down to widen the wound. Tieran moaned quietly, his scarlet eyes falling shut as his head lolled back, right into Camilla’s palm. Her fingers curled firmly around the roots of his dark hair, her other hand clutching down his unfurled shirt.

My whole life I’d never seen anything so subtly horrid. She was devouring him, right in front of us, twisting in her seat and pulling him closer until the blood overflowed her mouth and started trickling down his throat. Tieran grew listless, leaving sounds that only he could know if they were of severe agony or unimaginable pleasure.

In a sick panic, I gazed around the table only to find that no one, not even Hector, was paying the slightest attention to them, the conversation meandering from one matter to another as if a man wasn’t being bled dry right before our eyes.

My mind stuttered.

Was I imagining this? Were my human eyes deceiving me somehow, distorting the scene into something more grotesque than it actually was?

Everywhere I looked, I saw red. Wine and meat and blood, blood, blood. I was sickened by it. Bile churned in my stomach and welled up my throat, the iron tang crawling deep into my lungs.

Camilla was careless as she released Tieran, and more blood gushed out of his wound to stain his white shirt. A few droplets hit the table, dark red and viscous. Lance’s pale eyes fell on them, and something torn between lust and hunger braced his face. Before I knew it, he was turning in his seat to bite into Alexandria’s neck, his big hand closing firmly around her delicate jaw.

Some sort of sound must have escaped me then, because several pairs of eyes snapped in my direction at once, their attention bright and painful, like a peal of thunder.

Camilla leaned back on her chair, collected as a priestess on Solstice Night. Her lips and chin were smeared with blood, thick droplets gliding down her throat. With a slow, almost sensual sweep of her finger over the tops of her breasts, she gathered the blood and licked it clean with vicious delight. “Hasn’t Hector taught you not to stare at vampires while they feed?” Tracing her still-dripping fangs with her tongue, she reached across the table and snatched my wrist in her claws. “They might take it as an invitation.”

It happened lightning-fast. Hector sprang up, vanished momentarily, then reappeared behind Camilla’s chair. He bent over her like a death creature, dark and enormous, and dug his fingers into the stained column of her throat, to the exact spot where her pulse beat the strongest.

For the first time since Camilla entered the Castle, she seemed alert, her eyes rounding, her long pearlescent nails digging into the ivory tablecloth before her.

Then the light dissolved. A ripple of wind snuffed out the floating candles, and a sheet of frost crept along the walls and arched over the table. Crackling icicles dangled over our heads, precarious and sharp as daggers.

“Do not forget your place, Camilla,” Hector snarled, his mouth drawn into a ruthless line above his fangs. “You might not think of me as your sovereign yet, but I am an Aventine, and you are in my Castle.” His fingers pinched the hollow of her throat, making her red lips part for air. “If you disrespect my wife again, I will make an example out of you, and if you think I’m afraid of it starting a war, then your arrogance has not only blinded you but has also turned you into a fool.”

“Hector,” warned Espen, his fist closing around the handle of the meat knife.

Collette, following the path of my gaze, put her hand over his. “I think we all had too much of Thea’s wine,” she said steadily.

For a moment, everyone was still, poised and vigilant like soldiers waiting for their general’s command.

At last, Hector drew his hand away from Camilla’s throat.

The first ounce of breath she regained she spent on a dark, deranged laugh. “Look who finally grew some spine.”

Hector’s brows lowered, his eyes black as the night. “This is not a joke, Camilla.”

“No, but it is not a threat either,” I interjected before matters escalated. I forced myself to stand, my heart to quieten, my tongue to voice words of honesty. “I will not lie to you. I am a stranger to your world. More than I thought. More than I want to be. So now I have to ask for your patience, not only towards me but also towards Hector. He and I are a family, and since you too are a family, I’m sure you can understand why he’s so protective of me. Please, let’s not allow one unfortunate moment to ruin our evening.”

“But the Castle,” Dahlia’s frightened whisper pierced the tense silence that followed my perhaps poor attempt at diplomacy. She looked up at the darkened, frost-covered ceiling, bracing herself against the cold. “Is it mad at us?”

As I gazed upon their ashen, thunderstruck faces, I finally grasped the Castle’s hold over vampire society. Over the years it had become so much more than a symbol of power. Vampires were cursed and therefore godless creatures. They could not enter sacred ground. The Castle, which was a hallowed place in its own star-stricken way, was the only exception. It was their temple and their god.

Good , I thought, smiling at all of them, even at Camilla, who not only didn’t appear to be insulted by Hector’s attack but seemed disconcertingly bored with all of us. Let them be too scared to try and take what isn’t theirs. Let Camilla be alone in her irreverence.

“Of course not,” I chimed, just as the ice thawed and warm light dazzled over the room. Tall crystal glasses popped into everyone’s hands, and the long table between us was exchanged for a smaller, round one covered by a fountain of sparkling wine and tiered cakes spangled with pearls. I slipped my glass under the fountain, soaking my glove in the pale liquid before raising it high in a toast. “The night has only just begun.”

Slowly but surely the tension melted away, shifting into quiet laughter and excited sighs as the ceiling exploded into a shower of fireworks, golden sparks descending over us in petals of light.

At the far edge of the hall, a podium of magical instruments emerged, and music echoed all around us, notes pure and flowing as a river stream. The rush of the melody swept the golden dust from the floor and formed phantom silhouettes that began to dance in the air under the ever-shifting light of the fireworks.

Hector touched his hand to the small of my back, his hard face coming into view. He brought his cheek next to mine, his mouth to my ear. “Are you okay? I’m sorry if she scared you.”

I shook my head, speaking just as quietly, “I’m fine. But you know better than to make threats like this. It isn’t like you to be so impulsive.”

“She touched you.”

“She’s messing with me.”

Hector leaned back, holding himself with such dignity you’d think the gods were watching. Gently, he caught an escaping curl from my forehead and brushed it away. Then his fingers wandered lower, to my jawbone, his thumb resting on the dip under my mouth. “No one messes with my wife,” he said. “No one but me.”

I had no idea if we were pretending anymore. I just knew that here, in this magic-dazed room, Hector Aventine was mine, and I was his.

He cocked his head to the side, his warm fingers lingering on my face. “Your gaze is very intense, Lady Aventine. Do you see something you like?”

I glanced far behind him at the framed glass running with water. “Yes, Lord Aventine. My reflection in the mirror. I think I like myself swathed in velvet and pearls.”

“I like you always,” he blurted out, then bit his lip, blood flooding his cheeks. “But I believe you know that already.”

Suddenly, the music swelled, and all the noise around us got drowned in its buoyant rhythm. Even the golden phantoms in their dust-made finery seemed to twirl higher in the air, demanding our attention. Or perhaps daring us to join them.

Hector bowed at the waist, extending one hand toward me. “May I have this dance?”

I recalled every single time I had to beg and prod and taunt him for a single spin, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I surrendered my hand to his. “Took you ten years to ask.”

His eyes shone like ambers as he reached for my glove. It was still damp with wine, and he pulled it off me carefully, taking the time to tug loose each finger before letting it slip to the floor.

“I didn’t realize you were waiting,” he said, and without removing his gaze from mine, he raised my bare hand to his mouth, turned it around, and pressed a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist.

In Lumia, if you kissed the inside of a woman’s wrist, it meant you wanted to marry her. My whole body kindled as I realized it. My heart, my soul, my bones—nothing remained unlit.

With a hand at my waist, he brought me closer and plunged us into the rhythm. Alexandria and Lance joined us as well, then Collette and Espen, their elegant silhouettes spinning amid the increasing haze of the phantom dancers. After that, I stopped being aware of my surroundings.

Our bodies never touched apart from my fingers on his shoulder and his hand on my waist, but I could feel the very essence of him. The heat of his body. The scent of his skin. Sandalwood and incense and his own indescribable scent, the one I went to sleep with last night.

“Were you always so good at this?” I asked, a bit breathless as he swayed us faster now, in perfect harmony with the undulating melody.

“I’ve had some practice,” he said with another tiny smile. I loved his smiles. They were like secrets. Something that looked like a shell but inside was a pearl.

“Your mystery woman again?”

He rolled his eyes before rolling me too, unraveling our embrace only to pull me close again, so close that our bodies fell in perfect alignment. His chest pressed against mine. His knee slipped between the folds of my skirt. I could feel him everywhere.

“Will you let that go already?” he sighed. “They can’t see us grumbling like a cranky old couple. We’re supposed to be newlyweds.”

“They can’t see or hear us. The Castle is covering us. Besides, we’re also supposed to be separating soon,” I reminded him sweetly.

“Why do you always have to be so disagreeable?”

“Because you love it.”

He spun me again, and our breaths came in unison. “You’re as delusional as ever, I see.”

“Why won’t you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That this would have been torture without me here.”

His fingers twisted into the fabric of my dress. He nudged me forward, slanting his face over mine until our noses touched. “It is torture with you here too.”

My lips parted. His eyes followed them. I was seized with the certainty that if he tried to kiss me now, I would let him. I would forgive him for everything. For the things he said. For the things he didn’t say. I would give us both another chance. The heart, after all, was a brave thing. It took risks the mind wouldn’t.

But just as I began to taste him in that minuscule space between our lips—hot and sweet with the figs he ate at dinner—Hector plunged us into the rhythm again, our twined silhouettes speeding past the mirrors.

A strange white light seemed to waver inside the watery facades, following us, chasing our movements. Head whirling, I tried to focus on it, to decipher its origins. Where was it coming from? Inside the glass? Or was it a reflection of something else entirely?

Suddenly, an invisible force struck my shoulder and made me stumble out of Hector’s hold. My feet caught in the frilly hem of my skirt, and I pitched backward. I was about to fall on one of the freestanding benches that circled the room when Hector brought his hand around my waist and slipped behind me to break the impact, which resulted in me slumping on his lap.

Panting, I glared at the ceiling. “I swear the old bastard pushed us.”

The chandeliers twinkled. The Castle was laughing at us.

I started to get up, but Hector’s hand pressed down on my stomach, pulling me more firmly against him. The touch was a command. It lit a fire in my bones.

“What are you doing?”

“Give me a second,” he rasped, his labored breath dampening the skin at the nape of my neck. “I’d rather not make a spectacle of myself.”

“What? Why?”

He shifted under me, our legs tangling. As I felt his hardness pressing against my backside, droplets of pleasure trickled beneath my skin. More , I thought. “Oh,” was all I said.

His forehead fell against the knuckle at the top of my spine. Hot. Damp. I knew exactly how he’d look if I turned now. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I muttered hoarsely. “It happens.”

“Does it?” he whispered, his lips moving right up against my skin, sending waves of mind-numbing want through me. “Because I only seem to get like this when I’m with you.”

I squirmed in his arms, not because I wanted him to release me but because I wanted desperately to feel him through the layers of our clothes. The more I stirred, the more restless he grew in response, until a low, guttural sound escaped him, something between a grunt of agony and a groan of pleasure. Either way, it was a strike to my nerve endings. I began to tremble, my palms pressing down upon his thighs. “Hector, I—”

“I know,” he said. “I know. But try to stay still for me, yes?”

I held my breath, forcing my body to behave. Each second was the length of an eternity.

Hector brought his lips to my ear. “Good girl.”

“If I ask Lady Aventine to a dance, will you make an example out of me too?” Arawn’s drawl was a splash of cold water.

In a blink, the ballroom came into focus along with a brutal and heart-dropping surge of mortification.

Thankfully, the phantom dancers had multiplied, and everyone, apart from Dahlia and Camilla, who were standing around the wine fountain with their backs turned to the room, was too busy spinning alongside them to pay any attention to us.

“Won’t you fuck off, Celestine?” growled Hector.

Arawn shot him a wry look. “I would, but the only available partner at the moment is Camilla, and I’m pretty sure that every orifice of her body has fangs.”

I grimaced. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yes, yes, I’m a repulsive, despicable vampire. Now dance with me, for old times’ sake.”

“Alright, alright,” I sighed as Hector got us up from the bench in one sweeping motion.

Arawn’s face was pallid, etched in shadow, but his smile was bright and mischievous as he grabbed my hand and swirled me theatrically onto the dance floor. Hector laughed, and the sound of it filled me with sparkling joy.

Outside, the night was cold and dark, the forest vast and foreboding, but inside the Castle, the creatures of the night were more alive than ever.