Page 68 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Victoria taps one heel and waits, expectant. “I am sure you do. As my fiancé.” She sharpens the word to a point and lets it hang there, clearly meant for everyone within hearing. And I hear it, my fingers tightening on the tray so much it digs into my palm.

Fiancé? The prince is engaged? The Resistance did not know that. Useful information, probably. Important information. Except for one bizarre second, all I can think is that I dislike the sound of it.

Nathaniel sighs and turns to Felix. “Lord Farrington. Did you, or did you not, make improper advances towards my fiancée, the future Queen of Volmasque, et cetera, et cetera, thereby besmirching her honour and obliging me to defend it?”

Felix’s mouth curves. “I did. Last night. And the night before that. And—” he adds, though Nathaniel’s expression suggests a cleverer man would have shut his mouth already, “this morning.”

A flurry of shocked whispers breaks out among Victoria’s friends. Hands fly to mouths. Eyes widen. One girl gasps as if the scandal has physically struck her. Yet, they do not seem surprised. They look to Nathaniel, waiting to see what he will do.

Nathaniel wrinkles his nose, looking less like a jealous groom-to-be and more like a man asked to scrape something unpleasant off his shoe. “Fine,” he says. “If it ends this conversation faster, let’s have it out.”

Victoria clears her throat pointedly.

“I should add,” Nathaniel continues, with a cool glance her way before finally deigning to look at Felix, “that I am deeply aggrieved. Prepare to suffer the full severity this insult demands.”

Victoria claps her hands together in glee, her painted lips widening in a smile that reveals sharp fangs. “On my mark, gentlemen. Three…two…”

Felix does not wait for the count. He lunges, all speed and violence—

Nathaniel steps into him. It happens so quickly I almost miss it. One moment Felix is moving, fist poised to strike. The next, Nathaniel has caught his wrist mid-air and twisted it at an angle that forces Felix to one knee with a strangled sound.

“Yield,” Nathaniel says, almost politely.

Felix makes a pained, garbled noise.

“Pardon?” Nathaniel asks. “That sounded a touch unclear.”

“I yield,” Felix gasps. “I yield.”

Nathaniel releases him and looks back at Victoria. “Happy? Your honour has been restored. You’re welcome.”

She stamps her foot, driving her sharp heel into packed dirt. “No.” Her voice is low and dangerous. “I am most certainly not happy. I want a word. In private.”

“Of course. As my future queen wishes.”

They leave the edge of the pit and move towards the walkway.

Towards me.

Shit.

Their footsteps come closer. I can’t reach the end of the walkway with the tray in hand, and dropping it would cause a ruckus.

I hurry to the nearest door and twist the handle.

Locked.

The next one too.

Fuck.

I try a third. Nothing.

Footsteps echo closer.

Behind me, a shallow alcove holds the remains of a headless statue of a wolf.

Good enough.