Chapter 2 #2
I nodded once and looked at the empty floral armchairs, the shivering hedges beyond the open windows, the paintings of daisies in golden frames on the yellow walls.
Anywhere but at him.
“You seem somewhat…” Amusement filled his voice. “Surprised to see me.” When my eyes drifted back to him, he asked, “Were you unaware that I was coming?”
I should have lied.
I should have told him that I was well aware, and he’d simply caught me at a bad time. That I’d consumed some old blood, and my stomach was cramping. That I hadn’t fed in weeks, and I was feeling a bit dazed and dizzy.
I should have said anything other than, “I was indeed unaware. In fact, I was not expecting a visit from you at all.”
The urge to close my eyes and groan became all-consuming. There was now no escaping it—my father was going to put me in the cellar for this.
Cicadas sang in the silence.
But although I’d just told him that I hadn’t any desire to marry him, the king’s amusement remained. “I see.” A moment later, he gestured to the armchairs. “Well, while I’m here, you might as well take a seat and talk to me.”
I frowned. “You’re not displeased by my lack of interest?”
“Displeased does not even touch the disappointment I feel.” Lifting a shoulder, he said, “But perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind.”
A shocked laugh escaped me. “Is it not the task of born women to persuade you?”
“It is.”
“Then this is a waste of your royal time.”
A brow rose. “I think you’re more concerned about me wasting yours.”
He had me there. Except staring at him, knowing that I hadn’t angered him with my reckless honesty…
Curiosity sprouted and bloomed.
He was the king.
A king who’d once been a prince no nobility had glimpsed. And he was here, in my mother’s favorite sitting room. This was an opportunity I mightn’t get again. A chance to gather intel straight from the source’s pretty mouth.
Moving to an armchair, I sat and crossed my legs. “Waste away, Majesty.”
“Are you insisting, Ethelsia Blueburn?”
He knew my name.
Of course he does, I chided myself. He’s sitting five feet away from you after someone wrote to him on your behalf.
Though I didn’t loathe how my full name sounded when he said it, I gave him a thin smile. “Ethel, and indeed I am.”
“Very well, Ethel.” His half smile made my next breath falter. “Tell me, are you not interested in marriage at all?” he asked. “Or simply not interested in marrying a king who needs a bride in order to feed the island’s wards?”
“Not interested at all.” Before he could say something else, I began to fish for that intel. “Your true name is Breyron, is it not?”
I was certain his cheeks stained. At least a little bit. But his gaze left mine for the tea set before him.
When it returned, it fastened to my mouth. “A hideous name.” He slid his teeth over his lower lip, then grinned. “I like yours much better.”
“Which one?” As if his attention was a touch from one of his long fingers, my lips tingled. “Ethel is rather plain, but Ethelsia is too dramatic.”
“I like them both,” he proclaimed, as though he’d given it some thought. “However, I’ve decided that I shall call you lethal, for your presence alone is disarming.”
I couldn’t help it—and snorted.
But he knew what he was doing. He knew he’d now leaped beyond the realm of charming into dangerous territory, and if he didn’t tread carefully, he could appear desperate rather than endearingly flirtatious.
He was good. So good that I almost wondered what it might be like to bed a king. Almost forgot all about Maxus.
With a small shake of my head, I remembered what I wanted. Information. “What is the palace like?”
“As dreary as they no doubt say.” A gleam lit his eyes. “Would you like to visit?”
“No,” I said. “Thank you.”
He hummed. “Why not?”
“Because then you might think I’m interested in marrying you.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he murmured.
My glare was ruined by my twitching lips. By the smile dancing in his strange eyes as we watched one another.
“Do you have a lover, lethal?”
The question was as expected and welcome as rain on a cloudless night after I’d curled my hair to perfection.
Though somewhat taken aback, I lied with practiced ease. “I do not, Majesty.” Really, as far as anyone knew, I didn’t.
“Brey.”
“Brey,” I repeated with intentional breathiness and a flutter of my lashes.
He seemed to tense, his smile drooping. Then he cleared his throat and leaned forward to pour two cups of tea. “Sugar?”
“I’ve heard I’m sweet enough.”
He chuckled and left my cup on the table, then sat back on the divan with his tea. He sipped it, smacked his lips, and licked them as he met my eyes. “So where does your reluctance to wed come from?”
“Freedom,” I said. “And I do not wish to bind myself to someone, only for them to do something foolish and get us both killed.”
Not to mention the bleeding.
No woman wanted to bleed once a moon, especially after they were done making offspring. Though many had tried to prove otherwise, procreating was only possible between born vampires, and only once we bonded—a deep and inescapable form of marriage.
But such a marriage between born vampires didn’t just make us fertile.
It linked our souls.
All vampires could be killed via beheading or damaging the heart. But unlike made vampires, we could enjoy the sun without burning. So although it wasn’t exactly easy for nobility to die, if you asked me, it wasn’t quite difficult enough to risk bonding.
If a bonded vampire died, the fading came for their counterpart. Fading was an excruciating way to perish. It could whittle one’s life away in a mere few moons or over many decades, and there was no cure. Of course, this king knew all about that.
Less than half a year after his mother’s mysterious death, the fading had taken his father.
Almost continuously, King Breyron’s pupils changed as he studied me while sipping his tea. “Freedom,” he said, as if he didn’t believe I truly feared the fading. “A great many things can fit in that one word.”
My stomach squirmed.
I collected my tea, but I didn’t drink any. Wanting something to hold, I wrapped my hands around the warm porcelain. “You never attend events,” I said. “Will that change now?”
“Are you saying you’d like to see me again?”
I smiled at my teacup. He knew damned well that wasn’t what I was saying.
“I was trying to be polite, but now I’ll just say it.” I straightened. “You are known to be something of a recluse.” Meeting his gaze, I dared to ask the question many would love an answer to. “What have you been hiding from, King Breyron?”
“Crimson-haired noblewomen with the uncanny ability to make me blush for the first time in my life.”
Though I probably should’ve expected such a response, the smoothness and quick delivery rendered me speechless.
But only momentarily.
Recovering with a low laugh, I sipped some tea. “Your evasion of my curiosity is a talent.” I set my teacup on the table. “You’d do well in high society.”
“Forgive me.” Yet he wore a smile that said he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “My evasiveness is not intentional.”
“No?”
He shook his head.
“Then by all means…” I relaxed into the armchair. “Tell me why you’ve never once graced noble homes with your pretty presence.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “There you go again.”
“Couldn’t resist. Honestly.” Draping his leg over the other, he looked at the red tiles. “Can you keep a secret, lethal?”
“I can,” I said slowly. “If I want to.”
His eyes rose to mine and searched them. “Your candidness is refreshing.” He then cocked his head. “And what if I need you to want to keep this one?”
The whole point of talking to him was to share this entire experience with my friends. So I gnawed at my lip, unsure. “Must be quite the secret.”
The doors burst open.
My father filled the doorway. “Ah.” A rare smile twitched his bushy mustache as he entered the sitting room. “Very good.” He dropped a thin stack of parchment beside the tea tray. “You’ve met your betrothed.”
I gaped at the parchment—a contract—then at the king who’d deceived me.
Brey lifted a shoulder, fangs glinting as he grinned.