But then I have a sudden thought. Did Lucian buy these for me? Or did some other curvy woman wear them before me? Was she told she was his Queen too? Did she have that special whatever it is in her blood? The Sanguis something…I can’t remember the whole name.
My throat tightens. Maybe this is all some elaborate prank—a hoax to hurt me. And it’s not like I haven’t had experience with that kind of thing before.
In high school, they called Daren Hastings a “chubby chaser” when he asked me to prom. They teased him so badly he told everyone he only invited me to “make fun of the fat girl.” Then he took Melony Jennings, who was a cheerleader instead.
Ever since that, part of me has believed big, handsome guys only look at girls like me as a joke. It’s so funny to break the fat girl’s heart, right? Because we’re nothing but comic relief. We can never be the heroine—we’re always the best friend who makes everyone laugh. Show me a Mafia romance with a chubby FMC—go on, I’ll wait. They’re all skinny eighteen-year-old virgins which isn’t fair.
Curvy girls deserve to be the main character too, damn it!
So what about Lucian? He says I’m his Queen. But he also says he wants my blood.
And he wants to tie you up in that harness, whispers a traitorous little voice in my head.
I shove it down. I can’t go there right now—I just don’t have the strength to deal with it, I tell myself.
A knock at the door startles me. Is Lucian back? will he be upset if he finds I’ve been snooping through his things?
Hastily I shut the closet door and scurry back to the chair by the fire before I call,
“Come in!”
The door opens and another prim and proper servant appears. He bows low.
“My Queen, Don Lucian regrets to inform you he will be detained for some time on a matter of utmost importance. He hopes you will not mind sleeping alone tonight.”
I force a tight smile.
“Uh, sure. Alone is fine.”
“Thank you, my Queen. I will relay your message.”
He bows again and the door closes but as it snicks shut, I’m already planning.
Sleep? Not happening—not tonight.
Because if Don Tall, Dark, and Fangy thinks I’m going to just accept being kidnapped and leaving my whole life in the Human Realm behind, he’s wrong.
He’s busy working and probably won’t be back for hours.
By then, I’ll be long gone.
21
Jules
I wait. And wait and wait and wait.
At first, the minutes crawl by like hours. The fire in the hearth burns low, red embers winking like dying stars. The clock on the broad marble mantel ticks, steady and unbothered, as though it doesn’t care that I’m plotting a prison break.
I wait until even the silence feels heavy, until I can’t hear a single footstep in the hall. It’s midnight, maybe later.
Time to go.
I swing my legs off the ridiculous silk sheeted bed and pad over to the closet. The gowns hang like accusations, a riot of crimson and black and jewel tones that look like they belong in music videos about sin and luxury and the One Percent. Not a single pair of jeans or sweats—not even one lousy pair of yoga pants. Because of course not. I’m supposed to be a Curvy Queen—at least that’s what everyone keeps telling me. And who ever heard of a queen wearing yoga pants?
This Queen would like to, but whatever. I’ll have to choose something else.
I grab a slinky black gown cut low at the front with a slit high enough to flash thigh. It’s clingy in ways that make me hyperaware of every curve. Over it, I drape the long hooded cloak I found earlier. When I tug the hood forward, it casts my face in shadow. Good.
