Page 6

DAHLIA

I ’m honestly not sure what to make of, well, any of this really, but especially last night with Alaric. He mostly ignored me for the entirety of our trip north, but my Keeper—a young turned vampire named Takara who is basically my right hand for the rest of my life—instructed me to offer blood on the fifth day, so that’s what I’d done. I don’t exactly enjoy being ordered around, but I know what’s expected of me as a Consort, and no matter how much it may irk me, I will do my duty.

So, I’d been a good little Consort. I’d gone to his room at the inn and offered him blood. It had been…interesting. Being around him again after four days had made my head spin, my entire body coming to life in a way I couldn’t explain. He’s just so… Alaric . So handsome, so stoic, so strong, so intimidating, so confusing. It’s too much all at once, like his presence, his very being, just engulfs me completely and makes it impossible to see or feel or think about anything else. For the hundredth time, I tell myself that it’s merely the binding, our shared blood telling my mind and body that it’s connected to his, but a small voice in the back of my mind keeps whispering that it’s more than that. That voice is obviously drunk or very, very misguided, so I tell her to shut her trap and she fades away into nothingness.

He doesn’t seem to know how the hells he wants to act towards me, being civil and almost gentlemanly the day we left Astoria’s Keep, then short and irritable last night at the inn before he drank my blood, and then different yet again after that. He seemed almost intoxicated by the blood, and for a second I would have sworn he wanted…more than blood. I know that often times feeding and sex go hand-and-hand for vampires, but not princes with their Consorts. Never that. Plus he can apparently kill me with little more than a look.

Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to be offended or irritated when I’d snapped at him. Some princes may have had my head for that, but Alaric actually seemed a little impressed, if not amused. Enid had begged me to watch my tongue before we’d departed, reminding me that, though he may not act like it, he is a Montclare prince.

“Be…not so much yourself, maybe?” Enid had said, scrunching her nose in that way that always makes me laugh. Now, I nearly cry thinking of it. It’s only been a few days and already I miss home so badly it feels like a part of myself has been ripped away. A leg, or an arm perhaps, something I can survive without, but something that I’ll forever feel and miss with a longing ache.

Today, we’ll reach my new home. Not for the first time, I wonder how hellish the camp is truly going to be. Will I be sleeping on a pile of furs on the ground? Will I have my own tent, or will I be expected to share with Alaric? Are there baths ? One of my favorite things in the world is to soak in a hot bath until my skin wrinkles or Enid yells at me to get out, and the thought of having to bathe in a cold river somewhere makes me shudder.

“Are you cold, my Lady?” Takara asks, startling me.

“Oh no, I’m alright.” I’m far from used to being addressed as “my Lady.” Honestly, I don’t think I ever will be. I don’t feel like myself when people call me that. I don’t feel like the girl who’d grown up in a small three-room house with a thatched roof, the one who spent hours at the forge with my father, who constantly had soot or dirt smeared across my nose. The one who, when I was older, liked to run wild with the boys in the village, swimming naked in the lake, and sneaking kisses—or more—in the stables or the caves. That ’s who I truly am. But Lady Dahlia? I don’t know that girl.

I sigh and stare out the window of the carriage, toying with the ring da had given me before we’d left. It was a round stone of polished obsidian, vines of gold wrapping around the edges and holding the stone in place.

“Just in case,” he’d whispered in my ear, hugging me after I’d slid the ring on my index finger, and I’d heard both the grin and the seriousness in his voice. When I looked closer at the ring, recognizing the design, I opened my mouth in confusion, but he’d cut me off. “Doona ask,” he’d said with that mischievous glint in his green eyes, so like my own, “just keep it on ye at all times, my firebrand.”

“We’re nearly there,” Takara says, pulling me from my memories. I straighten in my seat, squinting out the window but seeing nothing ahead.

“Have you been to the camp before?” I ask.

“No, my Lady, but I can hear the men training.”

I, of course, can’t hear anything of the sort. I can’t deny I marvel at the idea of being able to hear or see things miles away, to be able to run like the wind, to be strong enough to fell a tree with little thought or trouble. I almost ask Takara what it’s like, if she’s happy with her transformation or if she misses anything about being human, but think better of it. We hardly know each other and that seems like a very personal question.

Though, to be fair, she has asked me insanely personal questions from the moment she was introduced to me just after the Magister whisked me away from the Choosing ceremony—about my diet, the schedule of my monthly cycles, sexual preferences and if I had a partner I wished to accompany me to the camp, or perhaps partner s —plural—that I wished to join in my harem. A harem , for gods’ sake. Apparently it’s quite common for Consorts to keep them, getting their jollys off with as many folks as they wish while they luxuriate in their castles. Though I’m the farthest thing from chaste or a prude, the idea of keeping a whole host of men around to bed whenever I feel the need seems…scandalous, even for me. I suppose it could be fun, on rare occasions after a lot of ale…

By the time we finally reach the camp, I’m practically vibrating with tension, my stomach twisted into tight knots. This is it. I’m about to get the first glimpse into what will be my life from now on. I’ve been coming to terms with things over the past few days, but now that it’s truly here, I can’t seem to shake the nerves. I try to control my breathing, but it begins to come in quick, shallow bursts, my heart racing inside my chest.

“Easy, my Lady,” Takara says in a surprisingly gentle voice. She hasn’t been unkind before now, exactly, just…distant. Respectful, but a little cold. I assume that’s just how most Keepers and Consorts are together. After all, most Consorts have been raised since birth to see staff of any kind, vampire or otherwise, as beneath them.

“I’m…how can you tell?”

“I can hear your heart racing. You have nothing to fear from these vampires. They would just as soon slit their own throats with a silver-tipped dagger than harm you.” I want to tell her that it isn’t about being fearful for my life, it’s the ache of missing my home and my family, the thought of living a life that will never truly fulfill me…but I don’t. I can’t find my voice and I’m not sure I can really explain it to the vampire anyway, so I simply nod.

The curiosity outweighs the nerves and I open the window of the carriage, sticking my head out to take it all in. I think I hear Takara laugh lightly behind me. We roll through a towering stone gate, guards standing like statues on either side. They incline their heads as the caravan makes its way through, slamming their closed fists over their hearts when Alaric rides past. A clear sign of respect. I wonder if it’s a true respect, born out of admiration and love and loyalty—or respect brought by fear. I think about how deadly Alaric can be, how menacing I imagine he must look on the battlefield, Night’s Fury in his hands, the silver stars shining brightly against the dark blade. If his men don’t fear him, at least a little, they’re fools.

Takara clears her throat lightly and I reluctantly pull myself back inside the carriage, though I continue to watch raptly as we move through the camp, my mouth practically hanging open in shock. It’s nothing like I expected. Groups of soldiers train in large fields on either side of the main path—which is an actual road made of cobblestone—and the sounds of metal clanging against metal ring out all around. Grunts of pain or exertion, cheers and jeers, barked commands, hearty laughs. The camp is loud , but I don’t mind. The clash of metal reminds me a bit of da’s hammer, the laughter and chatter reminding me of the gatherings in the square outside the tavern before we’d moved to the noble district. It’s comforting but makes my heart ache, all at once.

I rub the heel of my hand against my chest, trying to ease the ache, and Takara says quietly, “It will get easier.” I turn to her, blinking away tears.

“What?”

“Missing your family. It will become easier over time.” There’s a flash of profound sadness in her deep brown eyes, so dark they look almost black, and I can’t help but ask.

“How do you know?” She looks to be debating if she should answer, and I sigh. “Do Keepers not usually speak with the Consorts? Is that it?”

The vampire purses her lips. “Not in a conversational way, no…” She studies me for a long moment, and then sighs, seemingly making some sort of decision. “But I suppose our circumstances are a bit different than most Consorts and their Keepers, aren’t they?” I see the rigidity thaw out of her, and I have a sliver of hope that maybe I’ll have a friend here after all. No one can replace Enid, of course, but having someone to talk to, to laugh or cry with? Well, it will be a blessing in the midst of this nightmare.

“You are my first assignment as a Keeper,” Takara says, the words almost sounding like a confession.

“I’m sorry that your first is…well, me .” If I’m stuck in a war camp, then so is she. I’m sure she would rather be in a castle somewhere.

“I’m not,” Takara says, surprising me. “Like you, I was not born to that world—and I don’t particularly care for it, if you don’t mind my candor. The rich accommodations and fine silks are nice, of course, but the rest of it—” She waves her hand airily to encompass what I assume is the politics and social standing and court drama nonsense. “—I can do without any of it.” My lips quirk. Maybe Takara and I have much more in common than I ever thought possible.

She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There have always been stories of vampires, myths and legends told around campfires from long before the Blood Peace, when vampires were still monsters hiding in the shadows. For some reason, all the stories claimed that vampires didn’t breathe. Though it’s true that they can hold their breath for extremely long periods of time, they do breathe, and I’ve always wondered where that particular false characteristic came from. Of course, there were plenty of other silly ones to go along with that: an allergy to garlic and sunlight, the inability to cross bodies of water, a lack of reflection in mirrored surfaces. Perhaps I can ask Takara…or Alaric? No, that’s ridiculous , I chide myself as I push the thought away. I know that once settled in at the camp we won’t be speaking very often, if at all. We certainly won’t be discussing the origins of vampire mythology over a pint.

“I had a husband and a son,” Takara finally says quietly, pulling me from my thoughts. “Long, long ago. They died in a Revenant attack and I was gravely injured. One of the vampires found me, one of Alaric’s men, actually—it’s the reason I was selected as your Keeper, I believe—and he gave me the choice of attempting the turning or ending things mercifully for me. I chose the turning.” She hikes one slim shoulder, making the gesture look ridiculously elegant as her sleek black hair shifts to the side. “At the time, I had grand notions about seeking revenge, deciding that living on as a vampire would be the only way I could avenge my family and then join them, but…well, I wasn’t made to be a soldier.” Her lips curl upwards. “I did two days of training and promptly decided to serve the Montclares in other ways instead, that my service to the family would be payment to Alaric and his Coven for taking my revenge for me.” She glances to me and adds with a scrunch of her nose, reminding me so much of Enid in that moment that my heart cracks, “The training involved lots of dirt and physical exertion—and not the fun kind.”

I bark out a surprised laugh and Takara chuckles softly, the tips of her small fangs peeking out as she smiles.

After a few moments, I say, “I’m sorry. About your family, I mean.”

“It was almost a hundred years ago now,” she says in a tone that tells me the subject is closed for now. I nod and turn back to the window, watching as we move farther into the camp. I frown. Buildings are scattered all over. Actual buildings, with walls and roofs and even chimneys, and soon there are hundreds of them, thousands maybe, spread out in neat rows. The lines fan off in both directions as far as I can see, vanishing in the distance.

“What the…?”

“Those are the living quarters, my Lady,” Takara answers. “Not to worry, I’ve been assured that the High General’s cabin is much larger than these.”

“I…well, I honestly expected to be sleeping on the ground in a tent.” Takara looks horrified.

“Absolutely not, my Lady. And besides,” she adds, “even if they did live in tents, we would have demanded a cabin for you. For us ,” she amends. “A Consort and her Keeper do not sleep in tents.”

I laugh lightly at the disgust in Takara’s voice at the thought of sleeping in a tent. The rows of cabins finally stop, but we continue on the road. Apparently, the High General’s quarters are set apart from the rest, up a small rise with an admittedly stunning view of the dark mountains in the distance behind it. We finally came to a stop in front of the cabin and exit the carriage. I roll my shoulders and neck, barely stopping myself from rubbing my ass. It’s entirely numb from sitting for so long, despite the thickly cushioned seats.

I eye the large cabin in front of me with interest. Though simple, it’s beautifully crafted, with motifs of battle scenes carved into the four thick columns flanking the oversized front doors. The doors themselves are each carved with Alaric’s sigil, the snarling wolf seeming to look right through me.

It’s at least five times as large as any of the other cabins I’d seen, made out of a deep, red wood and gray stone, with wings extending to each side, angled slightly back towards the mountains. I wonder what the inside of a vampiric warlord’s personal quarters might look like. Sparse and utilitarian? Rich with spoils of war? Maps and weapons strewn across every surface? From the little I know of Alaric, I would guess the first, but I can’t deny that I’m curious to know the truth. Will I ever be invited inside? Will I go there to provide blood? Or will he simply send someone to collect it from me from my own cabin now that we’re at the camp?

Off to the right and slightly lower down the hill, another cabin stands, much larger than the other living quarters for the soldiers, but not nearly as large as Alaric’s. It looks new—built after Alaric learned he’d be bringing a Consort back with him? This must be for me. It’s customary for Consorts to reside with their princes, technically in the same home, though they usually have their own wing and completely separate life for the most part, but I’m not surprised that Alaric would only make so many concessions. Being forced to take a Consort after all these years is one thing. Sharing his home is another.

And that’s completely fine with me. I’m perfectly content to live in the smaller cabin with Takara. A chef had also been sent from the palace, though I know there are cooks here at the camp who prepare the meals for the humans who serve the army, so why I need a personal chef is beyond me. I mean, I know exactly why—to most, the Consort is one step below royalty, someone who deserves and needs special attention—but I still think it’s silly. My palate is decidedly unrefined and I’d be more than happy to eat whatever the rest of the humans do. I’d probably prefer it, actually.

Either way, I wonder if Reginald will reside with us in this cabin or if he’ll stay with the rest of the humans. Where are the rest of the humans, anyway? Do they all live together, or do they get their own quarters like the soldiers apparently do? What do they do , exactly? Wash and mend clothes, and clean up around the camp, I imagine. Will I be allowed to mingle with them?

I puff out my cheeks and let out a long, slow breath. I’m getting extremely tired of not knowing what’s going on or what’s to come.

The wind blows in, and though it’s cooler than what I’m used to farther south, it isn’t the utterly bitter cold I’d been expecting this far into the Northlands. It feels nice, actually, and I raise my face to let it kiss my skin, blowing wisps of hair away from my face.

As if reading my thoughts, Takara says, “winter is still months off yet. When that comes…well, we’ll be sure you have proper clothing before then, not to worry. I’ll return shortly.” With that, she glides away in that eerily graceful way that vampires have, almost as if her feet aren’t even touching the ground. I’m admittedly a bit jealous of it.

I watch her go, and then glance around at the rest of the party who have all dismounted and are talking in small groups or unloading things from the carriages or saddlebags. No one seems to be paying me much attention at all, so I just stand here alone, a bit awkwardly, unsure what I should be doing. On the one hand, I’m a Consort and that means I can do mostly whatever I please, but on the other, I’ve just entered a war camp, the most notorious war camp in all of Braxhelm to be exact, and am surrounded by vampire warriors. Though they’ll be respectful of the title in that I’m sure they’ll incline their heads when I pass and not hurt me in any way, I have a feeling they won’t really give two shits about who I am or what I’m doing there. These people have far more important things to worry about than some ridiculous, ancient custom and made-up title. Little things like preparing for battle and protecting the entire continent from Revenants, for example. I shiver a little at the thought, cutting my eyes to the mountains far in the distance. I know that the Revenant army lies just beyond, always at the ready, always plotting and planning and trying to find a way through Alaric’s forces and back into Braxhelm.

I tear my eyes away from the mountains, disliking the fear that skitters up my spine the longer I look at them, as if I stare long enough, I’ll see the enemy just beyond. There’s a large stable set off to the left of the cabin, and, without having anything else to do, I wander towards it. I’ve always loved horses and have been shoeing them for years at the shop. I walk slowly at first, waiting for someone to tell me to stop, but no one pays me any mind, so I shrug and quickly speed inside. An absolutely massive horse stands in the center of the aisle between the rows of stalls. I know immediately that he’s Alaric’s horse, though this is as close as I’ve been to him throughout the journey north. He’s easily the largest horse I’ve ever seen. I’ve heard rumors that Alaric’s army is full of massive beasts, war horses bred for battle and to withstand the harsh northern climate. Though a little frightening, he’s absolutely beautiful: black as midnight save a silvery-gray patch in the shape of a star on his right flank. He reminds me of Night’s Fury and I wonder if Alaric had chosen the horse for that reason, or if it was just a happy coincidence. His mane is just as a dark, flowing thickly down his neck like spilled ink.

“Hello there,” I say softly, and the horse whickers quietly in response. “ Please don’t kick me…” I add as I approach. I gasp quietly when the horse turns his head to give me a measuring look. His eyes are a glittering crimson with a starburst of silver around his pupils. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s…menacing. I can only imagine how terrifying it would be to see this horse riding into battle, red eyes gleaming, and Alaric Montclare on his back, blade raised and thirsting for blood. I swallow hard and wait for a moment, letting the horse make a decision, and then ease forward when he lowers his head slightly, telling me that he’s going to tolerate my presence, at least for now. I let out a slow exhale before reaching out and trailing my hand down his side and up his neck as I come around to his front.

He eyes me, but the more I look, the less menacing the red becomes. His eyes are soulful with an incredible intelligence within, something otherworldly and powerful. I can’t help but smile as our gazes hold for long moments, and then he presses his nose into my hands, demanding attention. I laugh lightly.

“Beautiful boy,” I say, rubbing his nose. “Ack, but you know that, don’t you?”