Chapter 18
Having my own rooms indeed wasn’t such a bad thing.
Especially when my mother had insisted on helping me get ready for the wedding.
Brey’s rooms weren’t exactly untidy. However, we’d spent so much time in them that any vampire could scent I was far from miserable as soon as they climbed the tower stairs. It wasn’t pride that kept me from wanting to admit that I was happy.
I didn’t know what it was. Fear, maybe.
My mother lowered the black veil over my face. “Ready?”
I was, and I wasn’t.
So I just nodded.
My hesitation had nothing to do with Brey. In fact, I’d become increasingly excited to marry him. To bond to him.
It was the guests who concerned me.
My parents had arrived a few hours ago. Not an hour afterward, carriages and horses had begun to fill the hillside and drive. A large turnout and celebration were expected for any noble marriage.
But this was a royal marriage.
A ceremony that would be splashed across the front page of the Nightly Newsprint for evenings and celebrated throughout the city. Many a human and vampire would attempt to breach the palace gates, perhaps even the cliffs, for a glimpse of the event and the king and his bride.
Numerous guards patrolled the gates, grounds, and palace halls. A relief, yet it did nothing to alleviate my unease. The isle had crept into this palace—into a place I’d come to think of as just ours—and I didn’t like it.
“The gloves truly make it something special.” My mother ducked behind me to see herself in the dressing table mirror. She dabbed more rouge onto her cheeks. “But whoever your tailor is must have gloated. Harmony Alodene is wearing black lace.”
Though I’d known all born vampires would be in attendance, I frowned at the lace gloves covering much of my arms. “Harmony’s here?”
Mother laughed. “Of course, she is.” She set down my pot of rouge and swiped her finger on the cloth beside it. “Everyone is here.”
Everyone.
A knock on the door nearly made me jump.
Groth drifted up the stairs. “Ladies.” With a tug on his cravat, he inclined his head. “We have now closed the palace doors.”
Mother clapped. A grin ignited her eyes. “We’re at full capacity.”
My stomach curdled.
“The king is greeting guests downstairs.” Groth asked me, “Shall I tell him you’ll join him shortly?”
I hesitated.
My mother answered for me. “Yes, yes.” Darting between the armchairs, she appeared to search for something as she said, “Tell him we’re on our way.”
Groth looked at me, a blond brow arched in question.
I gave him a small smile and nodded.
He vanished, and I drew in a fortifying breath before taking one last look in the mirror.
Crimson stained my lips and lightly grazed my cheeks.
My hair bounced in curls beneath my shoulders, half of it loosely pinned back to aid in securing the veil.
I’d given my lashes more ink than usual, ensuring they were as dark as my wedding gown and that my emerald eyes were seen beneath the veil.
“There you are,” my mother groused to the armchair. Retrieving her shoes from beneath it, where she must have kicked them after complaining about them, she scooped her feet into the heeled slippers. “Deadly beasts.”
Eyeing the diamond-encrusted bows on the black suede, I huffed. “If you don’t want them, I’m sure I could squeeze into them.”
I was a size larger than my mother in every way. But that had never stopped me before.
“Aren’t they just gorgeous?” She lifted the hem of her black chiffon skirt. “I found them in that new boutique on our way in. Once I get some wine into me, I’ll manage.”
My own heels were black velvet and open at the toes. Not that anyone would see them. As I stood, my gown fell over my feet in a rush of lace-covered silk. The strapless bodice made it hard to exhale fully.
Worth it, I thought, brushing my hands over the wire-stuffed silk that put my breasts and hips on display.
The veil fluttered at my collarbones, tickling my skin as we left the tower.
In the hall, we were greeted by a slow melody from the violins downstairs. My mother linked our arms before we reached the grand staircase. I was grateful for it—and for the lace concealing most of my features—as we took our time descending the stairs.
Black-and-gray-clad guests filled the wide foyer and adjoining halls below.
My heart pounded. My fingers clenched my skirts so tight, my nails threatened to ruin the lace.
Then he turned away from the men and women fawning over him.
And my fear receded like the sea from the shore.
The king’s black pants and dress coat were both fitted. A frothy charcoal shirt spilled over the coat’s onyx buttons. Matching leather boots adorned his feet, slim and hugging his ankles. Beneath the iron chandelier, his hair gleamed like true silk, bound at his nape with black ribbon.
Every inch of him was refined lethality.
But it was the small tilt of his lips that made my heart settle and swell at the same time. To anyone else, that smirk conveyed a mischievous arrogance. To me, it was a mask hiding the storm that tightened his features and expanded his pupils.
Brey’s throat dipped. As did my stomach when he climbed the last few steps to us.
My mother gasped and released me, delighted as the king bowed and asked for her hand with his own. She gave it to him, and as he kissed it, her smile shook. Her eyes glistened.
My chest tightened.
Never had I seen a smile so genuine grace her beautiful face. Nor had I ever seen her eyes dampen.
“Thank you,” Brey murmured.
Euricia Blueburn laughed, the sound a bit choked. “Majesty…” She waved her free hand. “You’re going to ruin my face.”
“Impossible,” he purred.
Once more, my mother laughed, then she glanced at me. Her eyes had dried, but they softened as Brey straightened.
Only to bow so deeply, he placed a knee on the step.
A hush fell over the crowd behind him.
I couldn’t pay them any mind as Brey’s smirk wavered and he extended his hands for mine. My breathing ceased when he kissed both and momentarily rested his forehead against my lace gloves.
His head lifted. “For once, I am without words.” Beneath those long black lashes, his eyes swam over my veiled face. “You undo me.”
Though she should have joined the watching guests, my mother stayed right where she was, her dramatic sigh flooding the silence.
Brey wasn’t alone—but even if I had words, I couldn’t possibly have spoken. Something had lodged in my throat. My eyes burned.
All I could do was hold his stare through the lace covering my face and squeeze his hands.
Brey rose, and I descended a step to stand on the stair above him. It almost made our height even. Still clasping his hands, I pulled them to my chest, hoping it said what I couldn’t. Hoping he knew that I was glad.
Happy.
Maybe he understood. For he lifted my hands to his mouth one last time, then turned and led me down to our awaiting guests.
As we greeted some, he kept my hand in his.
Clovia, Adythe, and Deedra stood in a close huddle by the ballroom doors. They whispered when we neared, then separated and smiled while curtsying.
“Majesty,” Clovia said. “You look positively divine.”
“That is truly so comforting to hear.” Brey glanced at me. “Because when I look at my bride, I cannot help but feel woefully inadequate.”
Deedra nodded emphatically. “You are probably the most beautiful queen to ever grace these halls, Ethel.”
Clovia’s lips pinched as she regarded her sister, but she smiled at me. “Probably.”
Adythe sipped from her glass of wine. “We have so missed you these past weeks, Ethel.” Pouting, she said, “Have you forgotten us?”
“Never,” I said.
“We simply must get together for tea, then,” Adythe declared. With a gleam in her eye, she studied the king. “Perhaps once the celebrations have ended and you’re dreadfully bored.”
“We must,” I said, meaning it. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them. “I’m sure you have lots to tell me.”
“Oh, we do,” Deedra said.
Noting the emptying hall, Brey inclined his head. “Seems it’s time for us to link our souls. Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”
With that, we headed into the ballroom.
Groth had spent the past few evenings ridding every inch of dust from the iron chandeliers, the chairs that had been stacked for years, and the tables lining the rear wall. The latter were covered in crimson lace. Atop them sat various treats and liquor and wine.
Spying the large lemon cake we’d chosen, and the smaller slices surrounding it, I smiled at Brey. “I do hope there’s more waiting in the kitchen for us to have later.”
Feigning offense, he shook his head. “Of course.”
My low laughter ended when my eyes caught on a woman at the front of the ballroom.
The priestess stood on a shell-wreathed dais, her clasped hands hidden beneath the gaping sleeves of her silver-fringed gray robes. As we neared, she lowered the hood from the dark hair secured in a braided crown atop her head.
“This is Lehana,” Brey said. “Sworn servant of our dark mother.”
The priestess nodded to us, then retreated over the dais.
Brey helped me step onto the stone before joining me in front of Lehana. An aroma of wilting roses enveloped. The priestess’s scent, I realized. Her energy was strange. An oily cream that tempted me to ask how old she was.
Neither human nor vampire but both—a priestess was commonly referred to as a blood witch. Only born vampires could reproduce. However, made vampire males were not instantly rendered sterile after being turned.
Due to their deadly thirst, it was rare for a human woman to survive copulating with a freshly made vampire. But some did.
And some gave birth to a half-vampire female. Always a female.
A blood witch.