Page 2 of The Vampire Court

Alaric holds out a white-gloved hand. I take it and maneuver to sit next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. He tucks me into his side, wrapping an arm around me, and entwines our fingers.

“Rest,” he says. “We still have several more hours before we arrive.”

I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. Already nearly asleep, I feel Cherno’s small feet as the demon clambers into my lap and settles into the crook of my arm.

* * *

“Wake up, Clara.”Alaric’s deep voice whispers near my ear.

I sit up, blinking blearily, and stretch out as much as I can in the cramped space. On one side of the carriage, the curtains have been drawn back, allowing the rosy glow of dawn to enter. I lean across Alaric and take in the view.

After three days and three nights, there is finally more to see than distant mountains, vast expanses of fields, and groups of trees too small to be considered forests.

Mountains rear up alongside the road, stretching for as far as the eye can see. Built into the side is a castle, larger than any I could have ever imagined. Surrounding the castle is a town that must be at least five times the size of Littlemire and Durford combined.

I’d expected a dark, haunted castle with broken spires, but this one gleams as though it were made of polished, white marble trimmed with gold.

The carriage slows as we enter the edge of town to avoid tramping the people going about their business.Humans. I shouldn’t be surprised. It makes sense that the vampires at the castle would need a vast human population to sustain them throughout the year after the claiming.

We pull through the gates of town and continue down the short road leading to the castle. We come to a stop at the edge of a moat. A bridge lowers with a heavy thud, and the carriage jerks forward once more. I lean forward, pressing my face closer to the glass window and gulp.

Unholy demon shit.That is not a moat, but a vast chasm that nearly reaches into the Otherworld itself. Massive stone spikes rise from below, jutting up like jagged and razor-sharp teeth.

The depth sends a wave of vertigo through me, and I drop back down to my seat. Alaric gives me a knowing look but says nothing. Outward, he is the picture of calm except for the tell-tale twitch of muscle along his jaw.

He pulls the curtain closed again. Tension builds in the air, nearly crackling like a lightning storm. It’s a few more minutes before we come to another stop. From the way Alaric scoots forward, I know this is our destination.

We have arrived at Nightwich.

My stomach bottoms out, and I’m not sure if I will be able to get out of this carriage by my own ability.

The door opens, letting in a chilly blast of winter air. I shiver, telling myself that it’s from the cold and not because I am about to walk into a castle filled with vampires.

The footman steps aside, his gaze facing forward as he holds the door open. His uniform is crisp. Red threads glint in the morning light against the black cloth, contrasting with the castle’s bright exterior.

Alaric climbs out first then turns and offers me a hand. I take it, holding a little too tight as I step down beside him.

“Your luggage will be brought to your respective rooms immediately,” the footman says.

Alaric’s head whips around to face him. “You will bring her things to my rooms. She is to stay with me.”

“Of course, Sire,” the footman says with a bow. He closes the door and walks to the back of the carriage.

I stare after him. Something about the few words he spoke snag in my mind like a splintering piece of wood.

“Come, my dear, Clara,” Alaric says, guiding me with a hand at the small of my back. His eyes never leave the castle until the second we are inside. Something akin to dread hardens his expression.

We pass through the antechamber. The walls are a dull, pale stone, but paintings, statues, and expertly placed fabric bring a touch of color. Alaric hurries us through the halls, without a second’s hesitation. He knows exactly where he’s going. After a few turns, we end up in a cramped corridor lacking any decor. These must be the servants’ passages, though I’m not sure why we are taking them.

The soft beating of Cherno’s wings against the air trails behind us.

A woman clears her throat behind us, stopping us in our tracks. Alaric’s fingers flex against my back. Taking my hand in his, he turns, partially hiding me with his body.

I list my head to the side and look past his shoulder to the woman dressed in a soldier’s uniform. The gold metal of her spaulders and bracers is polished impeccably and set against the dark black of her clothes.

“Her majesty requests your presence in the throne room,” she says.

Alaric’s hand tightens slightly over mine. “We will come as soon as we have settled.”