Keep yourself together, Ivy. You must stay strong.
The doors open with a heavy groan and I note thesparkling chandelier hanging in the center of the room, catching the light from the walls of fire-lit sconces as the hazy light of dusk filters in, shining onhim.
My gaze settles on the Castorian prince, and I have to resist the urge to gawk at him.
He’s…
He’s quite beautiful, I’ll give him that. Vampires are beautiful by nature, especially those of us who are blood born with rather prestigious pedigrees. But Wyatt Castor is the epitome of art itself. Long, thick eyelashes frame his bright, almost cerulean eyes. His hair—the color of spun gold silk—falls in his eyes haphazardly, and he cradles his jaw apathetically on his left hand, which is decked in ostentatious gold and gem-stoned rings. His shoulders are broad, but his posture is just as apathetic as the expression on his face. He raises one eyebrow at me as if he has seen it all and I am nothing. He barely looks at me as he leans back in his chair, and I feel heat flush inside me. I’m caught between wanting to stare—because he is quiteprettyfor amanand his side profile is damn near perfect—but I also feel a blazing sense of anger and defensiveness. Who is he to look at me likethat? Surely he must know who I am, and he should be at the very least upholding the image he does care, that he doesrespectroyalty, even if it is not his friend.
I am Princess Ivy Elara Reign, damnit!
Our kingdoms are certainly notfriends.Allies itself is quite the stretch, but I suppose right now it will have to do until we solidify this offering and the unity of ourkingdoms.
“Centrece.” The woman’s voice that speaks is smooth, like velvet. I tear my eyes from the prince, unable to look away from what I would garner is likely the most beautiful vampire I’ve ever seen—next to my mother, of course, who passed when I was just a baby and I never truly knew. But I’ve seen her photographs. It’s hard to discern my parentage when I am the spitting image of her with the same dark hair and the same petite form. My ruby-red eyes are a gift from my father; a trait significant to the Reign bloodline that dates back to the dawn of the first vampire.
But Temperance Castor, dressed in a dark crimson gown that illuminates her skin and her large belly, captures my gaze with her vast, black eyes.
I have to fight not to stare, because I’ve never seen a pregnant vampiress in person, let alone a pregnant vampiress of royal blood. I know the birth rate among our kind has been dwindling for decades, thanks to the necromancers cursing or plucking off our numbers every chance they get, but I’d be lying if I said the deaths were theonlything preventing our continuing population.
Quite simply, it is the fact that only blood born vampiresses, or vampiresses with noble blood, like Queen Temperance or myself, can procreate with other vampires in this way. And there are not many blood born vampiresses of high ranking and blood left in our realm. While vampires like my father or Wyatt Castor himself can mate with just about any species, the fruits of their seed will not survive until birth. Only a vampiress of noble blood can seed the next generation of vampires.
Which is why it is considered treason for a queen like Temperance to carry the child of a man who is not her king or her mate.
My gaze drifts to her stomach, only for a second. Though I had never met Wyatt or his family until this very moment, I knew enough about our rivals to know that queen Temperance had given birth three times, an anomaly among even the highest and purest of bloodlines in the realm. And it dawns on me for the first time, in the most harshest of realities, thatthisis my fate.
Thisis why I’m being offered to Wyatt Castor—not just as a bridal pawn in an attempted truce, but as a suitable carrier for his offspring. To seed his kingdom and my own with an heir as a sign of unity and hope.
The panic hits me harder as my throat tightens along with my stomach at this delayed realization.
I’ve never even had sex before. With another person, I mean.
My father had gone into great detail to make sure my bloodlust hazes were supervised and controlled and the aids I used would not cause issue for my future mate. I was allowed to feed—as preventing me from doing so would have been dangerous, especially during my bloodheat—and to hunt, but after I’d kissed a human I was feeding on, if there was even aninklingof arousal or desire in the air, my prey was removed and I was locked in my room with my bloodheat aids until the wave had passed.
I had never truly thought much of this, for in theory Iunderstoodthe reasoning was to keep me pure for myfated mate. In the privacy of my own castle, in the solace of my own bed, I could pretend that was romantic and that such a thing would be a wonderful experience.
And maybe it was even a little arousing to think of in those hazes, whilst I was locked away. I know I certainly fantasized about the idea of my future prince taking me to bed, all that blood and lust feeding us like starved humans. But now, in the presence of Queen Temperance and Prince Wyatt himself, I find myself feeling rather conflicted.
My gaze drifts back to Wyatt and the images I’d once fantasized about push forth now that I know what he looks like. For the past several years since I came into my first bloodheat—a transition which my powers can not take hold fully until I have claimed and bonded my mate—I have only fantasized about a shadow, a man without an identifiable face, save for the bright sapphire hue of his eyes. The thoughts that brought me solace in my bloodlust were more of his touch, his body, and his inevitable fangs sinking into my skin. The face did not matter. In fact, I think I preferred the anonymity of my fantasies. Perhaps there was an arousing air of not knowing who this fated mate of mine would be—what he would look like, sound like. He could have been anyone, and therefore, I could change the narrative to whatever I wished to suit my bloodheat haze.
But here, now… there is no denying Wyatt Castor; the beautiful prince who will lay claim to me in more ways than one, should this meeting go off the way my father intends.
Fate is on our side, Ivy.
At least, that is what I continue to tell myself, so I do not come undone like a thread at the idea of this fantastically gorgeous vampire sinking his teeth and cock into me like I’ve imagined in the fits of my bloodheat.
My insides twist at the very notion, and I have to push away the intrusive thought threatening to pull me under.
There will be a time and place for that. Focus on the task at hand. He hasn’t accepted you, yet. You’ve barely even looked at one another for goodness sake!
“Temperance.” My father addresses the queen with the same informality and disdain she bestowed upon him as we walked through the door.
Their tones are polite; regal and polished. But there is an edge, a judgment there that lies beneath the surface that makes me feel on edge. I’m sure to the average person, they would not detect such things and think their informality a sign of comfort. But I know better.
“I come to you today to introduce my daughter, Ivy Elara Reign.”
My father nods at the queen, and I have to remember to breathe and act accordingly. I bow, sucking in a breath as I greet her.
“Hello, Ivy.” She regards me with a politeness that is anything but warm. There is a melancholy to her voice that makes my heart ache. An understanding tone that is equally flayed with guilt and disdain.
