Page 132 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

For a moment, she only stares at me.

Then her eyes snap to the coat, and whatever hurt was there hardens into fury.

“Take it off. Now.”

“No.”

Her eyes flare. “I said—”

“He told me to wear it,” I say. “I cannot remove it simply because you order me to.”

Victoria stares at me for one long, murderous second. Then she turns and strides back the way we came.

“Where are you going?” I call.

“We,” she corrects without looking back, “are going to see my fiancé and settle this now.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling and follow her.

Excellent.

Victoria does not lead me towards the west wing. Nor does she climb towards the staff quarters. In fact, she does not take me upstairs at all. She marches me along the draughty stone corridor on the ground floor leading to the Potions laboratory, where the tall windows have been left open despite the cold. Wind curls through them, stirring the hems of our skirts and carrying the bitter scent of crushed herbs from Professor Parna’s classroom.

Only when I follow her deeper do I notice the simple stone archway recessed into the wall beside it, impossible to see from the main corridor. Beneath the archway stands a plain black door. I want to laugh. This is it?

I wouldn’t be surprised if it was full of cobwebs and mop buckets. Then again, maybe it isn’t a stretch to picture the elusive Prince Nathaniel living down here, lurking beside the Potions laboratory like a rat. Victoria simply seizes the handle and pushes through. The door opens for her, and I follow before it can close.

The room beyond is larger than the entrance suggests, though far less grand than I expected. Dark bookshelves cover one wall. A fire burns low beneath a carved stone mantel. Two armchairs sit before it, separated by a small table bearing a crystal decanter and two glasses. Beyond an open archway stands an enormous bed draped in black. A large, oval mirror with an ornate frame hangs opposite it, facing the mattress. I understand the arrangement in an instant and quickly look elsewhere.

Nathaniel leans against the mantel near the fire with a letter open in one hand. A sage green knitted cardigan lies over his white shirt, a pair of velvet house slippers on his feet. The effect is oddly domestic, softening the severe lines of him.

“Yes, Victoria. What is it?” he asks wearily without looking up.

“What is this I hear about you kissing wolves?” she demands.

His head lifts. His gaze lands on her, then slides to me, eyes widening. He looks almost as startled to see us as I am to find him standing by the fire in knitwear and slippers. His gaze stays on me a moment too long before returning to Victoria. I almost smile.

“Kissing?” he repeats sardonically.

“Yes, kissing. And she is wearing your coat!”

His attention drops to the black wool drowning me. Something like understanding settles over his features.

“Ah. Yes.” He extends one hand. “I’ll have that back, please.”

I clutch the lapels closed. “I thought I could keep it.”

His eyes narrow. “Did you?”

“So, you do not deny giving it to her?” Victoria asks, her gaze prowling between us.

“No,” Nathaniel says slowly, his confusion evident as he tries to untangle the chaos unfolding before him. “I do not deny it.” A pause. “She was cold.”

“Yes, I gathered she was cold!” Victoria throws up both hands, then rounds on me and points. “She claims you were in her room for hours.”

“Well, I did enter her room,” Nathaniel says, plainly failing to realise Victoria means last night. “But I was only there for a few minutes.”

“It was longer than that,” I insist. “It felt like hours.”