Page 85 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Literature does not improve things.

The other first-years stare at me in shock when I admit to Professor Marmala that I forgot the homework assignment.

“I am prepared to overlook a great deal, given how recently you joined us,” Professor Marmala says, standing over my desk with her arms folded into her robe sleeves. “I did not expect a polished essay, Kira. But I did expect you to make some attempt.” She glances at the nearly blank parchment. “Is this truly all you have to turn in?”

I push the sheet of parchment towards her, faintly hopeful. I have scribbled the title of the passage I was meant to analyse, and the opening sentence Becky had dictated for me.

She lifts one brow and fixes me with a deeply unimpressed look. “Detention, Kira. You’ll no doubt be scrubbing cauldrons for Professor Parna this Friday.”

With a groan, I put my head down on the desk whilst Becky pats my back sympathetically.

I happen to meet Professor Parna at my next class.

Well. Not meet, exactly. The wispy-haired vampire teaches Potions, and if I had any hope of learning to brew something useful for Mary’s arthritis when I first saw Potions/Service on my timetable, that hope dies quickly. Because, naturally, only vampires are permitted in the Potions laboratory.

Wolves get the other half of the subject—Service.

And it’s not a class held in a classroom at all, but a briefing outside of a broom cupboard, before we are all promptly designated parts of the castle to attend to.

Apparently, the Academy employs only a handful of actual maids and footmen, kept mostly for staff quarters. Everything else is done by wolf students, with the aim of preparing us for households that may one day want a pet who can blend in with their existing staff.

Oh, to be so lucky.

The frilly apron is back. This time, it comes with a matching bonnet, and I grumble through the entire lesson while Becky and Jane try, without success, to teach me how to tuck a corner with bedsheets properly, or how to make a swan out of a towel.

At least I get to see inside the vampire dormitories.

They had not been part of Susie’s tour, though she had pointed out the west wing. This place is another world entirely. Each vampire has their own set of rooms, complete with a balcony, an en suite, and furnishings that look expensive enough to feed a village for a year.

Even their common room is dripping in luxury, appearing less like a student lounge and more like a private club. Velvet sofas. Polished tables. Towering bookcases. Low-burning fireplaces beneath crystal chandeliers. There is a billiards table at one end, a drinks cabinet at the other, a piano by the window that plays a melody of its own accord—some dreary vampire classic—and a mezzanine circling above us like a gallery.

Wow.

I cannot help gazing up at it, imagining Victoria poised at the top of the curving stairs, half-lost in shadow, as though she might descend at any moment. Not in her uniform, but in a black ball gown, her hands and neck glittering with jewels. One of her hands resting on a certain blond vampire’s arm as though it belongs there.

Yes. I am imagining Nathaniel.

And I cannot seem to stop.

It is a horrible, beautiful sight, her red talons clutching his suit sleeve. His features imperious and indifferent. The couple born to be admired from below.

I tear my gaze away.

They deserve each other.

We are midway through turning down a bed when Victoria sweeps in to retrieve a Potions textbook.

I startle. I had not realised it was her room.

“Oh, hello,” she titters, acknowledging us all without actually looking at us. “Thank you for your work. It all looks so lovely.” Then, as she turns to leave, her gaze lands somewhere near my face. “Oh. Kira, right? Do put a little lavender on the sheets, would you? I’ve had the worst week and I need my beauty sleep tonight.”

“Of course,” I say, trying not to stare at her mouth—painted bright orange—and matching nails.

“Thank you, you’re a gem. And I’m sure you’ve been hearing it all day,” she adds with a polished, overly friendly smile, “but welcome to Volmasque. I hope you’re enjoying your first day. We must hang out sometime.”

She whirls out in a waft of perfume before I can respond.

“It’s her second day, you goose,” Jane mutters at the empty doorway.