The crowd hoots and hollers, laughing drunkenly and singing a crude ballad to the Vampire King.
“Are they making fun of him?” I ask Blaise, who’s thoroughly enjoying getting drunk on ale and bloodwine and whatever his hands can carry, while stealing glances at Sariah dancing with strangers.
“Yeah, it’s a Kronna tradition. They do mock sketches of his life all throughout the night,” Blaise answers, but his eyes never leave my friend. I’ve never seen him so engrossed with somebody, oblivious to all the sultry stares he is getting from females all around us.
“And he allows it?” I ask, astounded. I would never have pegged Killian as a ruler who allows open mockery of himself. Sure, he’s not the ruthless villain he’s painted to be in Ryawarath, but he’s a little scary, nevertheless.
Cold.
Controlled.
Calculated.
“Why wouldn’t I, little umbra?” he asks in my ear once again, as he catches up to me and wraps an arm around my waist. “It’s all in good fun. Besides, it’s not like they are telling lies.”
“Excuse me,” Blaise calls out over his shoulder, already vanishing into the crowd in pursuit of Sariah and a blond vampire I’ve never seen before.
“You seemed insufferable though,” I say as I return my gaze to the stage. The actor impersonating Killian is stalking a brunette girl through whatseems to be a replica of Sangeries, and she’s running from him while hurling colorful insults. “Wait, is that supposed to be me?”
“I suppose I was, yes. Reckless and arrogant.”
His fingers skim my hipbones, pulling me flushed against his front, and it’s embarrassing how fast I become hot and bothered.
“And yes, I believe that would be you, though no other living creature could possibly do you justice,” he whispers against my flesh before placing a kiss on my pulse point. I shudder in his grasp and try to move further into the crowd, but his grip is unforgiving.
“No more running, Aimee,” he says as I feel our shadows pooling at our feet, coiling around one another. Always seeking each other out desperately.
“I’m not running; I just don’t want to be this close to you,” I say through clenched teeth. A few spectators have started to turn their heads our way, and excited murmurs are rising over the music and the play. They have the Vampire King and the Foretold One among them.
“Liar,” Killian huffs humorously, nuzzling my hair.
“And you’re just as arrogant as ever.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean I’m not also right.”
Commotion from the stage interrupts me before I can say anything else, a clear path opening up before us as the actors signal for us to join them. Killian pushes me gently forward, and my body moves against my will.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-shout as we approach the platform, and Killian hoists me up, joining me seconds later.
“It’s customary on Kronna for me to make an appearance and let them crown me, like they did a thousand years ago,” he answers with a broad smile, while young females wrap garlands of dahlias and blood-red carnations around our necks.
“Yes, you—it’s your fucking celebration after all,” I hiss anxiously, “but why me?”
My neck prickles with self-consciousness as I feel every pair of eyes in this damned square focused on us. My palms are getting clammy, and my heart beats painfully against my ribcage. I don’t enjoy being the center of attention, not when it’s entirely out of my control. Being Celestia, the naked temptress at the Twinkling Meadow, gave me the upper hand. I was holding the reins of my destiny.
This is different. Under the scrutiny of these strangers, I feel more naked than I’ve ever felt while dancing in bejeweled underwear.
The Killian impersonator bows deeply before taking the black crown from the top of his head and placing it carefully on Killian’s. Its metallic glint reflects the torchlight coming from the edges of the stage, and the intricate pattern is a tapestry of stylized thorns, fangs, and daggers.
It’s quietly dangerous, lethal in its beauty.
So him.
The girl playing my part approaches me with a curtsy and places a smaller, delicate crown on my head as well, and I hold my breath as if I might faint. A circlet made of black diamonds shaped like curling shadows hugs my temples. These don’t feel like mock crowns at all.
“Killian,” I say again, my gaze clashing with his.
“The people want their queen, Aimee. As do I. Would you deny them?”
