Focus, Arvelle.Deal with whateverthatwas later.
I catch up to Rorrik, who strolls down the hall as if wholly unconcerned by the threat his father presents. By killing the emperor, I could be giving Rorrik almost unlimited power. I’d be removing one tyrant from the throne and replacing it with someone who could be even worse.
“I need your vow.”
He turns. “You believe you’re in a place tobargainwith me?”
I shrug. “It sounds like I’m doing you a favor. If I kill your father, what’s to stop you from killingmeas an example? Slaughtering your father’s killer would be a good way to solidify your rule.”
Interest flickers in his eyes. “Fine.” One sharp black claw extends from his finger and sweeps down his forearm. The wound immediately begins knitting back together and he takes my hand, pulling me toward him.
I hiss out a breath as he slices through the sleeve of my gown, into the skin of my own arm. Instinctively, I yank at my arm, but his hand only tightens and he slides one finger through my blood. He pushes that finger into his own almost-healed wound.
My stomach swims. Vampire bonds and vows will always sicken me.
“I vow that I will not punish you for killing my father.”
“Or allow anyone else to punish me either.”
Icy eyes meet mine. “Or allow anyone else to punish you for killing my father either.”
“There will be no repercussions.”
“Oh, I can’t promisethat.” He purses his lips, and the light flickersover the planes of his face, lingering in the hollows beneath his cheekbones and jaw. “But you will receive no consequences from me or mine.”
It will have to do.
When I nod, he finishes his oath, licking his finger. His eyes darken, becoming a deep turquoise as they turn hooded and glazed. For a moment, there’s something sofamiliarabout him, I can’t help but lean closer, searching his face.
Rorrik sweeps his tongue over his finger once more. “Delicious.”
I can’t contain my wince, and he lets out a low, mocking laugh. “We’ve lingered here for too long.” He cracks open an unmarked door and waits, body coiled.
Tension crackles through my veins, until I’m almost panting with it. Finally, Rorrik pushes the door open, and I catch a glimpse of a Praesidium guard stepping through another door at the end of the corridor.
Rorrik has managed to perfectly time the guards’ shift change.
He steps aside, and my breath stutters from my lungs. If I’d thought the imperial palace was impressive when I was downstairs, it’s nothing compared to the rooms up here.
Dark, wooden floors are polished to a gleam. On the right side of the corridor, heavy crimson drapes have been pulled away from tall, elegantly arched windows, inviting in the cool, jasmine-scented air from the garden below us. The drapes are so thick, I have no doubt they block out even a hint of light during the day.
Between each window, niches hold statues of Umbros in various poses, his form carved from Zevarian marble—the onyx speckled with gold.
To my left, I count at least twenty doors.
Rorrik continues walking, and my boots sink into soft, plush carpets laid over the wooden floors. Opening an unguarded door, he gestures for me to enter the dark room.
“I don’t think so.”
He gives me a slow smile. “Suspicious little thing.” He prowls inside, turning on a lamp, and my pulse trips in my chest.
Being the sole focus of Rorrik’s attention feels like I’m sticking my head in a lion’s mouth and waiting to see if it will snap its jaws shut. Each time he watches me with that icy gaze, I have to fight the urge to run.
It’s exhausting.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
“My bedroom.”
