Page 189 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Her brow remains furrowed. “Are you sure? Do you swear?”

“I-I swear.”

She looks unconvinced, and I find myself in the strange position of defending Nathaniel. “He didn’t hurt me. I fell, and he found me. He was the one who took me to the infirmary.”

Some of the tension leaves Becky’s shoulders. “Alright. I only wanted to make sure.”

We climb the stairs together in silence, and when we reach Literature, I’ve already hatched a plan.

When Becky sees the collar, she thinks it’s Nathaniel who has hurt me. When the Poplarins see it, they think I belong to him. But I need them to think otherwise, and there is only one person in the Academy invested enough in separating Nathaniel from me to prove it.

Keep your enemies close…and your enemy’s fiancée closer.

Victoria is crossing the gallery with Felix and two other vampires when I step into her path.

“I need to speak with you,” I say.

She looks me over. “How unfortunate for you, as I have no desire to speak with you.”

“It concerns Prince Nathaniel.”

She stops.

Felix snorts. “Doesn’t everything?”

Victoria gives him an irritated glance before gesturing for the others to continue without her. Felix whispers something in her ear as he passes, making her smile despite herself. Then she follows me into an unused music room and closes the door. Dust hangs in the pale light. A black piano occupies one corner, its lid shut and its ivory keys yellowed with age.

Victoria crosses her arms. “Well?”

“I need you to pretend I belong to you.”

She merely stares at me, and then she laughs. “Did you strike your head when you fell down the stairs?” Her smile fades. “No offence, sweetie, but why would I ever want anyone to think you belonged to me?”

“Because then I can join the Poplarins.”

She blinks.

I explain what happened after breakfast, omitting Mark’s private proposition. Victoria listens with increasing interest, although she disguises it by studying the pointed ends of her nails. They are painted a garish pink with cream-coloured polka dots.

“They believe Prince Nathaniel is my Master,” I finish. “But we both know he isn’t, and he has never publicly claimed otherwise. You can tell them the collar is yours. Say you asked him to fasten it because I was being difficult, but that you only kept me because you needed help painting your nails or something—”

“Please. As if anyone would believe that.” Her withering gaze drops to my own short, unpainted nails, and I resist the urge to hide them behind my back.

“Whatever,” I say. “Just tell them you do not object to my joining a pack.”

“Why would they believe that?”

“Because everyone knows you hate me.”

“I do not hate you,” she says. “You are not important enough to hate.”

“Even better.”

“Why not simply remove the collar?”

“I can’t. It is not that kind of collar. And the prince won’t.”

“I see.”