Velvet Shadows (The Crimson Court #2)

Chapter 1

SERA

Valeria knows.

I am barefoot, walking behind Mrs Hawley through the corridors of Nighthaven — a witch to the gallows.

Where are they taking me? I reach out to Nate, but the tether between us snaps closed.

A fresh wave of fear rolls into my stomach. Is he abandoning me to my fate?

I do not need Nate’s answer to know that the Duchess is here and that she will be my judge, jury, and executioner on a night that has already seen so much death and destruction.

But if he intended to protect me, why has he shut me out?

Perhaps he realises there is no saving me. If Valeria knows what has transpired, there is no hope that I will survive to see the morning. She will see through the lies that I once told Nate — those that I clung to when I left Mayfair and came face-to-face with an entire family of monsters. She will see what I am and what I have done and there will be a reckoning, of that I am sure.

Mrs Hawley walks ahead of me in silence. She gives me no instructions or comfort — she could barely bring herself to look at me from the moment she first opened the door to my chambers and stood at the threshold with her silent summons.

I know better than to ask anything of her. There is no such thing as loyalty amongst witches when she is bound to the monsters, too.

The hallways are quiet save for the rustle of Mrs Hawley’s skirts and the thud of my bare feet on the hard floor as we pass through endless passages and doorways. Of late, I had begun to feel that I was finally understanding this place and its secrets. But now, the passageways are merely reminders of all the evil that has unfolded here, all the blood that has been spilled.

A sure sign that mine will be next.

I think of Camilla’s body strewn across the flagstones in the entryway; of the crimson rivers that flowed through the ballroom; of Eddie’s green-grey skin and ragged breathing as I tried to save him; of the grounds that were once a haven in the daylight, then ravished by nightmares in the darkness.

I squeeze my eyes shut, blinking it all away.

At least tonight, the nightmare can end once and for all.

When we finally stop, it is in front of a doorway that I have not seen before. Has it always been here, lurking in the shadows? Mrs Hawley twists the handle and as it creaks open, I expect to find a staircase that plummets into the belly of the building — stones slick with moss and damp as they were out in the woods when I stumbled across the Blackwood family crypt. But as my eyes adjust to the deepening gloom, I see we are not about to descend, but to climb. And somehow, the unknown of what awaits me at the top feels more terrifying than anything that could dwell in the basement.

For if it is not the dungeon I am being taken to with its cages and chains, then there is surely no intention of keeping me alive.

I hold my head held high as we ascend, the cool steps worn smooth by centuries of footfall. It is an ancient pathway through the centre of the building — one that has not succumbed to the changes in fashion that the rest of the house has bent to.

The monsters cling desperately to the illusion of humanity. That much is clear. The drawing room is designed to look like something from the grand residences in Mayfair. There are opulent bed chambers, sumptuous linens and feather-down quilts when I am yet to see any of the Blackwoods or Beaumonts close their eyes at all and the immaculate grounds are bursting with colour when the residents can only explore them in the darkness. None of it is useful or real to them anymore, but still they maintain the fa?ade.

I am being taken to a part of the house where the illusions are stripped away. Perhaps tonight I will see Valeria Blackwood for what she truly is — a monster, not a duchess.

At the top of the steps, Mrs Hawley rests her palm on the tarnished handle, holding it there. For the first time, she looks back at me. Her eyes are fathomless, unreadable. “Remember who she is.” A warning and a plea. “And watch what you say. My mistress is not known for her mercy.”

I nod. My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, dry as bone. If Valeria knows what I have done and the secrets I harbour, then it will not matter what I say. I will not survive it.

The door swings open abruptly, and Mrs Hawley steps aside to let me pass.

The room is vast, cavernous almost, with a vaulted ceiling that disappears into shadows. The stone walls are lined with fraying tapestries, their once-vibrant colours faded to muted shades of burgundy and midnight blue. They depict scenes of hunts and battles, of monsters and men locked in eternal struggle. The figures seem to writhe and snarl in the flickering light of the candles, their eyes following me as I move deeper into the room and breathe in the familiar hum of blood both new and ancient that has seeped into the very stones of the chamber.

There is no bed here, just a fireplace and an imposing wooden chair that mirrors the throne embroidered on the tapestries.

A throne that seats a monster wearing the king’s crown.

I swallow the bile that rises in my throat, looking away from the horror depicted on the walls to the mullioned window. Suddenly she is there, standing in the moonlight — the ageless, timeless woman who stares directly into my soul as if she would drag my secrets to the surface with only a glance.

She looks no more like a monster than she has ever done. But when our eyes meet, the knot of terror deepens in my gut — the instinctive understanding that I am in the presence of something ancient and utterly inhuman that I should be doing everything in my power to get away from.

It is logic alone that makes me stand my ground. I cannot outrun her. She could rip me to shreds in an instant. And I certainly cannot use my magic to stop her when I have so little control or understanding of it. She would know immediately what I am.

If she doesn’t already.

“Miss Sterling.” Valeria’s voice is velvet and venom, caressing the syllables in my name like a viper pulling its prey in for the kill.

I keep my back straight, refusing to curtesy to the creature who is about to end my life. “Your Grace.”

“I have summoned you here to collect your winnings. You need not look so troubled.” A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips — there, then gone in an instant. “You were the victor of tonight’s hunt, were you not? The one who found the gilded rose?”

I nod.

“Then come. Take what is rightfully yours.” She extends her hand, her fingers grasped around the strings of a silk pouch, and shakes it until the coins jingle.

When I do not move, I see a flicker of irritation pass across her perfect face. In that moment, she is different from the regal, ethereal duchess I met in Mayfair. The moonlight highlights the slashes of her cheekbones and causes her onyx eyes to glitter in her skull. She is more myth than woman; more goddess than vampire. When she was playing at being a human hostess, she was the epitome of grace. But now, she oozes brutality. It seeps from her pores and hangs in the air along with the hum of blood.

And the entirety of that fury is aimed at me.

I glance between the Duchess and the bag of coins, then back at Mrs Hawley, seeking her reassurance that this is not some trick. But of course, Mrs Hawley does not meet my gaze. She stares straight ahead, her hands clasped behind her.

Valeria does not look at her, but she misses nothing. “You may leave us, Mrs Hawley. There is much for you to attend to after my grandchildren’s games this evening.”

My stomach churns at the thought that there will be no one to intervene when the Duchess sinks her fangs and claws into me. But did I truly think Mrs Hawley would do something to protect me? She cannot disobey a command. And she is not my friend.

There is a slight twitch on her lips as Mrs Hawley silently dips her head and turns to leave down the stairway that we climbed together. Her exit is marked by the door closing behind her with a click that echoes like a gunshot in the stillness.

With it, Valeria extends the pouch once more. “Come, child. Take your winnings. You earned them.”

My feet are lead as I force myself forwards. Valeria does not meet me halfway, but stands resolute, teeth bared in a vicious smile. It is only when I reach for the bag, my fingers trembling despite my efforts to still them, that she moves. Her free palm clamps around my wrist, and I gasp as I try to pull away. She holds fast, her touch burning like ice, searing through my skin and into my bones, making my blood run cold.

“You were very clever to win when your family is relying on this money. They need your success here, perhaps more than anyone, don’t they?”

I stay silent, gritting my teeth and staring at where her fingers dig into my flesh. She is right that my family needs the money, but she and I both know they will never see it. Not now.

I try to think of something else — anything else — that might distract from the pain at my wrist. But as I squeeze my eyes shut, Julian’s swollen, smirking face burns into my eyelids. My brother would feed me to Valeria directly if it meant he could get his hands on enough coins for another wager.

I was forced to go to the ball because he had ruined our prospects. And I will die here, without having changed anything for our family. I do not care for Julian. Not now. But Aunt Cecelia…

“I would have the winnings sent to my aunt, Your Grace.”

“I am sure she would put the money to good use, unlike your brother. A wise choice.” Valeria inclines her head, but does not loosen her grip.

My stomach lurches at the thought that she knows my family. She knows where I came from.

“You really are a remarkable girl considering your humble beginnings, Miss Sterling. To be chosen by my grandson in the first place was quite unexpected. And then to find the rose?” She smiles again with another menacing flash of her teeth. “You see, during a game such as the hunt, the prize should never be found. Cruel, perhaps, but those being hunted need purpose — one that propels them into the darkness and ensures they do not merely sit shivering in the shadows. You certainly obliged this evening.” Her smile broadens to a grin, but it falls away quickly. “Yet to actually draw an end to the evening’s events… well, that is unheard of.” She tugs my arm, dragging me towards her until mere inches separate us. “So, tell me. How was it possible? How did you know where to look?”

This close, I can see the centuries in her eyes, the endless depths of time and concealed truths. And hunger, raw and ravenous, barely contained beneath a thin veneer of civility.

“I demanded the truth from my grandson this evening, Miss Sterling. But the difficulty is, he is capable of lying to me.” Her grip tightens. “I will only ask you this once. What secrets are you and Lord Nathaniel keeping from me?”

I swallow hard, my heart a wild drum. She will feel every frenzied beat of it as it clamours in my throat. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace. I believe Lord Nathaniel explained?—”

“Nathaniel spun a pretty story to our kin,” she cuts me off, her fangs lengthening. “One I might have believed if you were not such a mystery. You are a human girl with no standing, no wealth, and no power. Yet you ended the hunt and, in doing so, appear to have ensnared one of the most powerful vampires in the country. For he is quite taken with you, isn’t he, my grandson? So taken with you that he would slay his own cousin to protect you.” Her eyes continue to bore into mine, a razor gaze that flays me open and threatens to lay all my secrets bare.

“I am nothing. No one. I am just a girl caught in a nightmare, with a skill for finding things where others do not think to look.” The words crack in my throat.

One corner of Valeria’s mouth tweaks upwards. “Oh, you are so much more than that, child. And if you will not tell me the truth, then I will be forced to find out for myself.” Her fingers renew their violent dig into my wrist as she studies my face, taking in every feature. And then, as if she has seen the devil itself, her expression twists into one of pure, bitter fury.

When her fangs flare, I expect her to drag me under her jaws and take her fill, but instead, she releases me with a hiss. I am sent spinning to the floor, thrown away from her, the pouch opening and spilling its coins between us.

“You will tell me what happened. How you found the rose. How it came to be that my grandson was killed by his own cousin. What you saw. Who you are.” Any small trace of amusement is gone as Valeria spits her venom down on me. “And do not think of trying to lie to me this time, Seraphina. It is impossible.”

A searing pain lances through my skull. It feels like a thousand white-hot pokers needling into my brain, stealing the breath from my lungs. I cry out, my hands flying to my head as if I could somehow claw the sensation away. But it only intensifies, growing bigger and more desperate until every bone throbs with blinding agony.

Through the haze of pain, I feel Valeria’s power wrapping around my mind. She’s going to force the truth from my lips against my will. I’ve felt glamours before, from Nate and the others, even if they did not work. But hers is different.

With Nate, with Juliette, even with Ambrose, their mind tricks felt warm — as inviting as an open fire when you are chilled to the bone. They were almost impossible to resist because of their illusions of comfort and the trap of trust they set for their victims. But Valeria’s is a relentless wave of ice and pain. It crashes over me repeatedly, battering against the defences in my head.

Defences that are set to crumble, that cannot hold.

I grit my teeth, fighting back a scream as I try to resist. I picture Nate’s face, his dark eyes filled with hunger and fury.

Help me…

I know he cannot hear me. Would he save me even if he could? I use the memory of his touch; his fangs at my neck; the words whispered in my mind; the heat of the moment we shared this evening, all as a shield against Valeria’s icy onslaught.

But it is not enough.

My brain fills with horrors instead and the sound of it all rushes into my ears — agonising bellows, the steady drip, drip, drip of blood.

It is only when I hear my own voice amongst the shrieks that I realise I am screaming, too.

My resolve crumbles bit by bit, my will bending under Valeria’s power. And with it, the truth bubbles in my throat, desperate to be spoken.

“I… I didn’t…” The words are a choked gasp, barely audible over the roaring in my ears. I try to swallow them down, but they rise and rise…

Valeria leans closer. “You didn’t what, Seraphina? Speak the truth and the pain will end.”

I’m on the brink of shattering, of spilling every secret I have ever known in a desperate bid for relief.

But if Valeria learns what really happened, my fate will be sealed. I have to find a way to fight her.

I cannot use my powers. Even if I could harness them at will, she would know what I am and she would destroy me, anyway.

But without magic, what hope do I have of surviving the agony?

I bellow out in pain, my palms slamming into the cold floor as my vision splinters. Sparks dance behind my eyelids and suddenly they explode into a million glittering fractals. The pain subsides. It retreats, and the chill pushes back as warmth fills my veins.

Fire on ice.

I glance up at Valeria, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Speak, Seraphina.”

“Lord Ambrose attacked Miss Fairfax and tried to kill her. He violated her and was turning to me. Lord Nathanial had no choice.” The words pour out of me as if they are the absolute truth. “I watched him kill Lord Ambrose to protect me and Elizabeth. And the rose…”

My mind feels hazy and disconnected. I am dizzy, the world spinning, but my will is my own.

Against all odds, I have resisted her.

Valeria’s eyes bore into mine and I can feel her searching for any hint of falsehood, but there is none to be found. My face is a perfect mask.

“How did he do it? How did Nathaniel kill Ambrose?”

“Miss Fairfax had a stake,” I continue. “She did not know that it was useless to her. When Lord Ambrose would not cease his attack, Lord Nathaniel was forced to use the stake against him.”

Valeria is silent for a long moment. I hold my breath, waiting for her judgement, or for her to return to the question of how I found the rose amidst all the chaos and bloodshed. But she does not.

Instead, she nods — a single, sharp jerk of her chin. My breath releases, my muscles unclenching.

It is only a second’s reprieve before the pain resumes.

This time, it barrels into my stomach and throws me onto my back, a clawing fist that scrapes and grabs and clenches at my organs.

Instead of interrogating me further, Valeria takes her seat on the wooden throne, her fingers tapping on the armrests. I am held, writhing in agony, and she watches me as if I am little more than an animal in a cage — a creature to be studied.

“Please...” I choke out the words as a scorch of heat constricts my throat.

Some of the fury has gone from her face, replaced by indifference. Boredom.

My pain seems to take no effort to inflict, but she looks neither troubled nor satisfied by it, either.

As I writhe on the floor, feeling my bones splinter beneath my flesh, Valeria glances at the door. Her fingers do not stop their relentless, impatient drumming.

She is waiting for someone.