Crowned By the Enemy Vampire (Ravenous Royals #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Claire

I’m making the vampire king’s bed and trying very hard not to think about what happens between the sheets.

This is proving difficult considering I love the soft, luxurious black silk bedding and can’t get over the mattress that’s the size of a small country.

The four-poster bed frame, hand-carved with dark wood, probably costs more than my entire student loan debt.

And this is saying something, because my student loan debt could fund a small war.

Focus. The fitted sheets need to be perfect.

I tuck the corners with the precision of someone who watched three YouTube videos on hospital corners last night.

The head housekeeper, Mrs. Vasek, showed me the proper technique yesterday, but I was so nervous, catching the flash of her fangs, I retained zero information.

Mrs. Vasek is Krovenian, which is what the vampires actually call themselves.

And I’ve already learned that “vampire” is a human word they only tolerate and in fact find a little crude.

Oops. I promise to do better.

I’m working in a thousand-year-old castle filled with a vampiric species and I’m the only human. I’m thrilled for the opportunity to get to know them better and yet deeply nervous at the same time.

Mrs. Vasek caught me in the servants’ hall earlier this morning, just as I was collecting my cleaning supplies. “You’re on the King’s chambers today,” she said, checking her tablet. “First time.”

My stomach flipped. “Is there anything special I should know?”

The head housekeeper is probably eighty years old, but she has the energy of someone decades younger.

Warm eyes, silver-streaked dark hair, and a habit of patting your arm when she talks to you.

I barely know her and yet I already like her so much.

“Just be thorough. His Majesty notices details.” A fond smile crossed her face.

“But don’t be nervous. He’s not what the human media makes him out to be. ”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen the news coverage. They make him sound so cold and frightening.

I’ve worked in this castle for thirty-one years, child.

Served his father before him. King Nikolai is the finest ruler Krovenia has ever had.

He remembers every staff member’s name and every birthday.

He pretends to be stiff, but underneath?

That male has a good heart. You’ll see.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say. I didn’t think it was a good time to admit that the real reason why I’m here is to prove to my troubled brother that the Krovenian royals aren’t evil vampire overlords.

“Now go on,” Mrs. Vasek said, handing me a stack of fresh linens that smell like lavender. “And don’t worry about rushing, the King is in council meetings all morning. You’ll have the chambers to yourself. Just take your time, making sure you do it right.”

So that’s what I’m doing, trying to take my time to make sure I clean up right.

I fluff all six pillows. Six pillows for one man. A man who sleeps alone, according to staff gossip, which I am absolutely not collecting for intelligence purposes.

Okay. I’m absolutely collecting this information for intelligence purposes.

I pause to catch my breath and really look around.

The silence here is different from human silence.

A thousand years of quiet have seeped into these stone walls.

Back home, there’s always noise — traffic, neighbors, the hum of electricity through cheap apartment walls.

Here, the only sounds are my own breathing and the occasional whisper of wind against ancient glass.

The air smells pleasant and in fact intoxicating. Maybe cedar and old books? I’ve read that Krovenians have heightened senses, that they experience the world more intensely than humans do, which makes me wonder what this room smells like to King Nikolai.

I wonder what I would smell like to him.

Okay, weird thought. Moving on.

But can we talk about these rooms for a second?

The private chambers of King Nikolai of Krovenia are not what I expected.

I thought a vampire king’s bedroom suite would be all gothic drama, purple velvet curtains, candelabras and ornate mirrors.

Instead it’s austere, clean-lined and almost minimalist. Tall windows stretch floor to ceiling overlooking snow-covered mountains.

The antique, dark wood furniture is beautifully crafted but simple.

No gilding or excess. The only indulgence is the bed, which I’m currently wrestling with and losing.

Pale winter light streams through the windows, catching dust motes that drift lazily through the air.

The view is ridiculous. Snow-capped mountains stretch toward a steel-gray sky.

A frozen lake glitters in the valley below and the surrounding evergreen forest is so dark as to look almost black.

The view is so perfect it’s like a screensaver.

And absolutely nothing like my studio apartment in Chicago with its charming view of a brick wall and a dumpster.

I could get used to this.

Which is dangerous thinking, because I’m not supposed to get used to anything. I’m supposed to be working here for only a few months while quietly gathering intel.

I blow out a breath and push strands of blond hair off my face. Okay, the bed is finally done. This suite is really three rooms linked together, like a spacious apartment, but without a kitchen. Next, I move into the adjoining personal study and start dusting the impressive bookshelves.

This is when the snooping gets good.

King Nikolai’s book collection is... not what I expected.

Philosophy. History. A collection of poetry with a cracked spine and a page marked with what looks like a well-used bookmark.

The King of Krovenia reads human poetry and dog-ears pages like a college student?

I was bracing myself for, I don’t know, military strategy guides and torture manuals. Not Shakespeare and Longfellow.

I pull out a distinctive, leather-bound volume and flip through it carefully.

It’s in Krovenian, which I can’t read, but the illustrations are beautifully hand-painted.

This single book is probably worth more than every possession I own combined.

Not that I own much right now. Just a suitcase, laptop, and roughly fifty-seven thousand dollars in student loan debt from a private liberal arts college.

And so far, my expensive degree isn’t helping much to pay back that debt.

I shelve the book and keep dusting.

Three months ago I began backpacking through Europe with my best friend Jenna.

We’d both graduated and thought now was the time to do some traveling before tying ourselves down in advanced degree programs. We scraped together all our money, which wasn’t much, and left for Europe.

The plan was hostels, cheap wine, and all that Eat Pray Love stuff but on a dollar-store budget.

It was all going great until Jenna met a hot Italian guy named Marco. She was supposed to be gone for “one night” and that was five weeks ago. Last I heard she’s living in his apartment in Trastevere and learning to make fresh pasta with his Grandmother.

Good for her. Truly. I’m not bitter.

Well, maybe a little bitter. This extended European trip only worked if I had a partner to help pay for costs.

Right after Jenna Venmo’d me her half of the next hostel booking with a string of heart emojis and an “I’M SO SORRY” in all caps, my brother got a hold of me, again.

I love him, but lately his mind is filled with muddled strings of conspiracy theories.

That was the exact same moment I saw this job listing. Krovenia Royal Household: Seeking temporary staff for castle maintenance. Work-visa program. Competitive pay. Room and board included.

I applied on a whim from an internet café in Prague, half-drunk on cheap beer.

My resume — English degree, three years of barista experience, two summers of office temp work, and a brief stint as a library assistant — was laughably unqualified but somehow I got an interview.

Apparently the household manager liked that I was “an articulate and well-read human.”

I was excited to get the job. Lucky to get this job. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of real vampire castle, but few humans are allowed.

Most vampires live in Krovenia, a tiny European country, but there are small Krovenian territories on other continents too.

I’ve learned everything I can about their society, history and culture.

As a teenager, I had a poster of a dangerously handsome Prince Nikolai on my wall — one of those formal royal portraits where he wears all black and stares into the camera with a dangerous smirk.

My older brother Derek mocked me relentlessly at every family holiday. “Still in love with your vampire boyfriend?” he’d ask, making kissy faces.

I’d throw things at him and insist it was academic interest, not a crush. I was lying, of course. It was absolutely a crush.

And now I’m inside an actual vampire castle, cleaning that same prince’s bedroom — he’s a king now — and my fourteen-year-old self is losing her absolute mind.

I stop dusting and pull out my phone. Derek’s last text from this morning glows on the screen: Any updates yet? Don’t get comfortable. Remember why you’re there.

I roll my eyes. My stupid, sweet, spiraling brother.

Derek is twenty-eight, an electrician with a solid job and his own apartment. He was always the stable and practical one who went straight into a trade while I racked up debt chasing a degree. I looked up to him my entire life.

Then six months ago, his fiancé, Sara, left him for a vampire.

Derek didn’t take it well.