Chapter 6 Bronwen #2
The foyer was vast and dim, lit only by flickering candles in iron sconces along the walls.
Shadows danced along every surface, yet the space still managed to feel extravagant.
The floor beneath my boots was polished stone, dark and veined with silver.
Two massive staircases curved upward on either side, their banisters carved in intricate detail—serpents, roses, and things I didn’t recognize winding through the wood.
A second-floor balcony overlooked the entryway, empty now, but I could feel the eyes.
Watching. Waiting.
I could sense more magic than I ever had.
August glanced around as if he too could feel the presence of others. He took a deep breath before he said, “Come out.”
Almost instantly, several vampires stepped out from the shadows.
Some stood on the balcony above, others only feet from me.
I gripped my cloak. Red eyes surrounded us.
I knew this was what I would be walking into, but now living in it, I considered grabbing August and setting the entire place on fire.
Some bore the royal insignia like the guards outside, while others were dressed extravagantly—velvet cloaks lined with fur, jeweled pins fastening their collars, and silken fabrics.
One stepped forward with the quiet elegance of someone used to being obeyed.
He was tall and thin, with skin like old ivory and hair slicked back in an inky black wave.
His clothing was richly tailored, embroidered with silver thread that glinted faintly in the candlelight.
“Halston,” August acknowledged.
“Augustus,” he said, bowing with theatrical grace. “What have you brought home?”
“I need a human wife to continue the line, don’t I? Well, I’ve made it easier on everyone and chosen one myself.”
Halston stepped forward and I tried to back away but August’s hand was firmly on my back. The vampire brought his face close to mine, assessing—sniffing. Then he leaned down further to my neck. “I can smell why you’ve chosen her.”
“Get the fuck away from me.”
He stood. “Oh my king, this one is marvelous.”
August laughed. “You have no idea.”
Halston ran his hand down my arm. His head tilted slightly, like a dog hearing a strange sound. “So soft and delicate.”
I’d like to show him just how delicate he would be in my grip.
“Your name, dear?”
“Bronwen.”
“And how did our king get so lucky?”
I smiled. “Manipulation.”
Halston let out a wicked laugh. “Carrow is going to love her.”
August’s eyes flashed. Just for a second, but enough.
I saw the way his hand twitched at his side and his body shifted forward, like a beast coiled and ready to strike.
Halston saw it too. His grin slipped for half a heartbeat.
He dropped his gaze with the kind of instinct only something lesser had when confronted with a predator.
But he recovered quickly, straightening and schooling his face into something smooth again.
“Enjoy her while she’s yours.”
I waited for August to react, but instead he shifted his gaze to the balcony. “Where are they?”
“You know how they are. I am sure I can round them up later for you. They are going to barely contain themselves with this one.”
August stepped forward, putting himself subtly between me and the rest. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to show her around.”
Halston bowed again, slower this time. “Of course, Your Grace. We only hoped to welcome your bride properly.”
There was nothing welcoming in his tone.
August didn’t move. “You will have plenty of time tonight.”
He nodded, a new spark forming in his eyes before he raised his hand. And then, slowly, the red eyes began to fade back into the dark.
August grabbed me and pulled me through the hall, his grip tight around my wrist like he didn’t trust me to follow otherwise.
We climbed one of the sweeping staircases, the velvet runner muffling our steps, then turned down corridor after corridor.
The walls here were tall and narrow, lined with paintings whose eyes seemed to follow me as I passed.
Most I didn’t recognize, but then my gaze caught on Carrow, unmistakable even in paint, and only a few portraits later, August stared back at me from the canvas.
I tried to trace each turn, count the doors, mark the windows—anything that might help me later if I had to run.
It was still a very strong possibility.
At the end of one particularly long hallway, he shoved open a set of double doors, revealing a chamber bathed in soft, flickering candlelight. I stepped inside and stilled.
The room was massive. Ornate crown molding swept across the ceiling, and heavy drapes pooled against the floor on either side of tall windows that looked out into the dark.
A grand bed, larger than anything I’d ever seen, sat in the center beneath a carved canopy.
A small dressing table stood in one corner, with a desk positioned in the other.
A door on the left stood open, revealing a washroom, while two armoires faced it from across the room.
Everything was symmetrical. Clean. Controlled.
Perfectly placed, like no one had ever actually lived here.
“This is our room,” he said.
My heart nearly stopped. “Our room? There isn’t anywhere else I could stay in this giant castle?”
“And what would that look like if the queen wasn’t sleeping in the same bed as the king?”
“You don’t know how badly I’d like to take that smile off your face. Your magic is begging for me to take it.”
He leaned in close. “And we know just how much you love to use me.”
I caught it. It was barely there, but I heard the snap in his words. As if I didn’t already feel guilty for using him the way I did.
But he had done far worse.
“A handmaiden will be here shortly to dress you,” August said.
“Dress me for what?”
This time he smiled. “To meet the family.”
* * *
I was going to meet August’s family.
Until today, I had never once considered that there was more than just him. He told me about his mother, loving but ripped away from him far too soon and his father—who now I knew was Carrow—had shown him nothing but disdain.
But he had siblings. Knowing August had kept far more from me than he’d told me just angered me more. He had forced me into this arrangement and yet he had the audacity to keep things like this from me.
I had felt bad for what I had done to him. But after today, that guilt was entirely gone.
So here I was, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting.
The handmaiden had already come and gone—a young, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who seemed more than content with her place in this strange world.
She had smiled easily, moved with purpose, and insisted on handling every detail herself.
She bathed me, braided the top half of my hair into intricate knots, and painted my lips red.
Then she dressed me in a gown that clung to my shape like it had been made for me.
The dress was made of some thin, silky fabric that clung to every curve like a second skin.
Thin straps wrapped over my shoulders and tied in a delicate knot behind my neck, leaving most of my back bare.
The neckline plunged scandalously low, barely containing my breasts, and the sides dipped enough to reveal the edge of my ribs.
The skirt fell fluid and sheer around my legs, slit high on one side to reveal too much thigh with every step.
It shimmered faintly with every breath I took, catching the firelight like it was meant to be watched.
It was beautiful. Seductive. Dangerous.
And of course it was red.
I hated how much I liked it.
I had tried to tell her that August—to which she quickly corrected me: King Augustus—didn’t care what I looked like. That he wouldn’t notice. But she only smiled and said, “He will tonight.”
She wouldn’t take no for an answer.
And, truthfully, I hadn’t minded the warmth of the bath or the gentle tug of the brush through my hair. It reminded me, distantly, of something soft. Something normal.
Now, the quiet pressed in around me as I sat, waiting to be summoned.
Like a prize. Like an offering.
August stepped in, quickly closing the door behind him.
He was dressed in black from throat to boots—an embroidered high-collared coat with silver filigree that shimmered faintly in the candlelight, tight gloves tucked into a wide belt at his waist, and polished boots that made no sound against the stone floor.
His icy blonde hair was swept back from his forehead, just slightly tousled, like he’d run a hand through it in frustration or distraction.
The starkness of his pale skin only made the deep brown of his eyes more unnerving—ancient, unreadable, and locked entirely on me.
I stood and tried my best not to show him anything other than indifference, though the pounding of my heart betrayed me.
He slowly dragged his eyes up my body like he was memorizing every inch of it.
My skin prickled beneath the weight of his stare, heat curling low in my belly no matter how tightly I clenched my jaw.
And then he smiled. Like nothing had changed.
Like he hadn’t ruined me and I hadn’t let him.
“Can we go?” I asked, anything to keep from saying something I’d regret.
“No.” He stepped closer, nostrils flaring slightly. “You have no idea what you smell like to them. To me.”
“Like food?” I taunted.
“Like temptation and sex and everything I was never supposed to touch.” His voice dropped. “But I did. Didn’t I?”
His words only made my blood heat hotter, fury clawing up my throat. I snapped my arms across my chest, glaring at him. “Unfortunately.”
He laughed. “I’ve already heard enough whispers since we arrived. I’d hoped that knowing you were mine would be enough for them to control themselves. But it seems they need… reminders.”
“I do not belong to you.”
“Debatable.”
My jaw clenched. Now wasn’t the time to fight him. I needed to see the castle, meet everyone I possibly could to ensure I knew what I was living around. So I took a deep breath. “And how do you plan to remind them?”
“You need to smell like me.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You need to have my scent on you. All over you.”
My breath caught. The way he said it made the words feel heavier than they should have. I hated that my mind twisted them into something else. Something that made my stomach flip. “And how do you plan to do that?”
He stepped forward slowly. His hand brushed my arm, then glided up with a possessive kind of patience until he reached my hair, threading his fingers through the loose curls.
His other hand found the back of my neck.
I could feel the warm press of his palm, the weight of his intention.
He leaned down, his breath ghosting over my neck, and I felt my knees weaken.
I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.
Because if I did, I would smell him—smoke and cedar. His fascination with fires was something I never understood, especially since a stray spark could have killed him. Maybe that was why he was fascinated with me.
He brought his face to mine and rested his forehead against mine, thumb stroking my jaw as his fingers slid deeper into my hair. I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to flinch, even when he leaned in and kissed me.
Soft. Controlled. Measured.
I ignored the heat it stirred. Ignored the tremble in my hands.
Bronwen. Get a hold of yourself. You hate him.
You hate him! You hate him! You hate him!
He knelt before me, his head nearly resting against my chest, his breath teasing across my skin.
I stared down at him, at the way he moved like this was a ceremony, not a game.
One hand rested on my bare ribs while the other moved the slit of my dress before gliding slowly, shamelessly, up my thigh.
He leaned down, pressing his lips against my hip where he had shifted the fabric aside, his eyes never leaving mine.
I shivered. Not from cold.
He inched closer to my center, but I grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back before he could do what I knew he intended. He stood with an ease that made my heart stumble, adjusting his coat like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just branded me with his touch.
“You’re a vampire,” I hissed. “You could’ve used your speed and done all of that before I even realized what you were doing.”
“Yes.” He smirked. “But then I wouldn’t have seen just what I could still do to you, Winnie.”