“The first intelligent thing you’ve said,” Balor chirps, and Second’s face whips to him.
Second doesn’t say anything else. Which, if Balor knew him better, doesn’t bode well for their future interactions.
“Come, my queen,” Second says and pulls me away as I look over my shoulder at them.
“Get somerest, Queen Veya,” Del calls after us, his smirk lighting a fire inside me that’s going to require another icy shower.
My eyes blink open as the sun sets.
I’m still foggy. But I didn’t drink the champagne.
Christine.
Reality crashes down on me, the weight of a bloodlust hangover encases me in something akin to shame. Because I promised myself and everyone in my trusted circle that I would never take a life in that way. We all know I did what was needed, but it was never supposed to happen.
And Christine is dead for no reason other than for her to be Nerian’sappetizer.
My rage burns like a brilliant star blinking at me in a sea of darkness. And I’m ready to wrangle it from the sky and douse Goreon in its fire.
I suppress a sob threatening to choke its way out of me, and my gaze lands on Second sprawled on a featherbed on my floor. Rising, I quietly pad around him so he can rest a bit longer. I don my dressing gown, strap my daggers to my thighs, and emerge into the sitting room of our suites.
Emmanuel glances up from the blade he’s sharpening, lips stretched into a thin line.
When we met, the words it took to convince Emmanuel to join me were few.“I’ve never drained a human, and I’ve only ever turned one other, and he’s my second.”
Of course, since then, I’ve turned several more, like Charlotte. But only because they begged, and who was I to deny their decision for their own life?
This day is testing all of us. A broken promise lingers between Em and I, no matter how justified or humane the choice was.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, my chest unbearably tight. I can’t stand the thought of disappointing Em.
He sets his blade on the marble table, the faint clack of steel on stone the only sound in the room. Emmanuel stands and crosses to me. “You’ve proven yourself more times than I can count. You don’t owe me an apology for an impossible choice, Veya.”
I nod as his words lay down a bridge between us and release a shuddering breath, trying to banish my sorrow and disappointment.
Charlotte yawns her way through the doorframe from her room and starts when she notices us, arms paused overhead. “How are you feeling?” she asks softly, arms dropping and mouth quirking into a hopeful smile.
I choose to tap into my rage instead of my depression. “Like a queen who needs to get towork.”
Charlotte grins. “I packed you the perfect dress for that.”
I follow Charlotte into her room and suppress a laugh as I glance around at what she’s accomplished in a day—a makeup station laid out, jewelry and crowns arranged on a table, and gowns strung up with boot and heel options beneath. She struts over to my outfits lined against the wall, choosing a rich burgundy ballgown, the wide halter neckline designed to cover the turn marks at my neck.
“A commanding color,” she says, fingers trailing along the velvet bodice studded with rubies and pink pearls before she plucks it from the hanger.
“I agree.”
“What’s your goal today?” she asks as I step into the pooled gown.
“To get a tour. I want to know this place like it’s our own.” Between the surprising correspondence in the office and getting nowhere in the west wing, we need more intel.
Charlotte drags the heavy train to the side and positions herself behind me to secure the buttons down my spine. “How in the gods are we going to convince them of that?”
My petite shoulders bounce under hushed laughter. “I’m still working on a plan.”
Charlotte hums at me while she buttons. “This dress is lovely. You look stunning.”
“Let’s hope Nerian feels the same. I have no idea what he’s thinking after last night. I hope I didn’t ruin our welcome here.”
