Page 213 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

But then what?

Keep Kira locked inside these rooms indefinitely? Forbid her from speaking to her friends or setting foot in the Academy corridors? Reduce her to a ghost while the entire kingdom believes her dead? For all I know, her foster parents already fear the worst. Would I condemn them to believing it forever?

No. The idea is absurd.

Even if I could keep her hidden, Kira would tear these rooms apart. She would spend every waking moment plotting her escape. Sooner or later, she would succeed.

Yet allowing her to return to her former life is no safer. The Resistance had only ever bought her time, hiding her in a shrinking corner of the kingdom that could not remain hidden forever. Sooner or later, my father will order his soldiers to lay claim to those woods too, if only because he can.

Bringing her here has placed her within my father’s reach. I had my reasons at the time. Good, necessary reasons.

I release a slow breath, my gaze returning to her sleeping face.

There is no point dwelling on it now. That cannot be undone.

Just like I cannot undo my actions tonight. I have made her the very thing she despises most: the prince’s pet.

A dangerous occupation she is woefully unprepared for.

Still, I will not send her away. And I cannot conceal her completely. But I will hide her in plain sight.

The decision settles heavily in my chest just as Kira’s fingers twitch within mine. I lift her hand and press my mouth to her warm knuckles. “I hope one day you will forgive me,” I whisper.

Chapter 33

Kira

Ihad begun to fear I would never return to the mountains.

Yet here I am, at the very peak of a mountaintop covered in snow.

The cold should hurt, but I welcome it. I kneel before a magnificent throne carved from ice, blue and translucent in the sunlight. Meltwater beads upon its glassy surface and gathers against my fingertips as I brace my hands upon its carved legs and lean close.

My mouth is unbearably dry. And I have waited so long…

Lowering my head, I imagine the searing relief of dragging my tongue over the ice—and lick. I stroke my tongue over the throne again and again until my mouth fills with meltwater.

It tastes like him.

Him.

I wrench backwards, but the chains of ice snap taut, binding me to the throne.

I jerk and thrash, but they will not break.

A gag is suddenly wedged between my teeth.

I try to remove it, but it pushes deeper down my throat, choking me. I cannot draw breath.

I cannot breathe—

I wake with a gasp and find myself on the floor of a lavish room. The mountains are gone. My freedom, gone. The disappointment is so sharp it hurts.

I am not home.

I am not free.

Those truths echo deep in my bones before I have even registered where I am.