CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
22
Morwenna
A jolt ripped through me, dragging me from the depths of the dream. My head throbbed, protesting the sudden shift as a voice, which had morphed into a dark, unsettling whisper, lingered in my ears. My eyes squeezed shut, fighting the pressure, then snapped open as I shot upright in bed. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Yeah, it was a dream. And yeah, it probably meant something nasty. No point denying the obvious.
Wrapping my arms around myself, a shiver danced down my spine. Was this reality, or had I simply traded one nightmare for another? The question hung unanswered, swallowed by the echoing caw of crows outside. Perfect. Just what I needed – another reminder of my current predicament.
Grunting, I pushed myself out of bed, a sheen of sweat clinging to my face. I swiped it away with the back of my hand, my gaze landing on the mirrored surface of the dresser.
Fuck.
My reflection stared back – dark brown hair (with an annoying copper-white streak thanks to who-knows-what) cascading down my face. I huffed, blowing it out of the way. Long hair? Yeah, not a fan. My eyes... still purple. So, back to normal, then. And the amulet – snug around my neck. Seriously? I thought I’d lost that thing. This whole situation felt like the universe was playing some sick joke on my already fried brain.
Blinking back fatigue, my eyelids felt like lead weights. Sleep? Didn’t seem like I’d gotten any, even if waking up from a nightmare-disguised-as-a-dream technically counted.
Sleep was supposed to be good – a cool, peaceful escape. Not the “rest in peace” kind, mind you.
Climbing back into bed seemed like a monumental task.
Then, Victoria’s words echoed in my head: “Bloody revenge.” Revenge, huh? Yet she still wants Draven? Wait. Did he use me? Could I even stomach that idea? Only one way to find out, I guess.
A knock on the door startled me, but a sliver of a smile managed to break through the tension. Elara, that’s who I figured it was.
Right now, Elara was exactly what I needed. But it wasn’t Elara’s voice that greeted me.
I sighed, the energy leaving my body like air from a punctured tire. It was Lady Jen.
“What?” I spat, my voice a low growl barely contained. It wasn’t malice, just simmering frustration bubbling over. A storm of emotions churned beneath the surface, threatening to erupt.
“Open the door,” Lady Jen commanded, her tone as crisp as the starched linens she favored. I complied with a reluctant twist of the knob. The dresser, situated near the entrance, made it the logical choice. Lady Jen stood there, the crimson dress draped over her arm like a fallen sunset. Its beauty was undeniable, yet her wrinkled face remained etched with disapproval. Her gaze swept over me, a critical inventory.
“Is there something you need?” I ventured, already anticipating the sting of her reply.
“Have you forgotten your place?” Her words were laced with customary disdain as always.
“No, I haven’t forgotten. So I ask again, Lady Jen, do you need any—”
The sentence died on my lips as Lady Jen gestured with a curt flick of her wrist. Three servants materialized at the doorway, a silent intrusion.
Perhaps, I mused, this wasn’t truly my chamber. Unlike most servants, I was fortunate to occupy a spacious, pleasant room. Surely, even in this role, a sliver of privacy was warranted.
“What are you doing?” I challenged, addressing Lady Jen who had waltzed in without so much as a by-your-leave. My frustration simmered. “Do you wish for me to begin my duties?”
In this sprawling estate, the distinction between day and night often blurred.
The skies, forever obscured, seemed determined to maintain a perpetual twilight.
Unlike the world beyond, where the sun heralded dawn and the moon and stars painted the night, here, only the mournful cries of crows and the flitting shadows of bats punctuated the unchanging gloom.
“Actually, there’s no work for you today,” she announced, her voice laced with something that resembled...dread? No surprise there. Then, she deposited the crimson gown atop the dresser.
“Lord Draven requests your presence,” she continued, a hint of forced cheer straining at the edges of her words. “And we’ve been instructed to ensure you’re...presentable.”
The way she stressed the “we” sent a spark of devilment dancing in my gut. “So, a personal handmaiden, then?” I teased, knowing full well Lady Jen’s position as the esteemed head of the household staff. A faint pink tinged her cheeks, a testament to the jab.
She cleared her throat, a hint of steel in her voice. “Precisely. You’ll have a dedicated team at your disposal to ensure your attire is befitting Lord Draven’s company. I, on the other hand, will merely oversee the preparations.”
A flicker of unease crossed my mind. “What purpose does the ‘Almighty Lord Draven’ have for me?” The question tumbled out before I could contain it. Lady Jen’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“That,” she replied curtly, “is a question best addressed directly to him.” Her tone was clipped, a stark contrast to her earlier forced pleasantries. It was no secret that she’d never quite warmed to me since my arrival.
Unfazed by her disapproval, I let my gaze drift across the room.
My mind churned with a different inquiry. “Forgive me, Lady Jen, but would you happen to know... was the late Victoria your sister?” My voice softened as I posed the question, a flicker of genuine curiosity sparking within me.
A tremor of unease snaked down my spine as Lady Jen’s gaze flickered towards the three Chimeran servants. They stood rigidly in a horizontal line, their heads bowed in deference. Her gaze flicked to me, a sliver of steel glinting beneath the surface of her carefully composed expression.
“Victoria’s name is not to be spoken within these walls, Morwenna. You understand?” Her voice clipped, leaving no room for argument.
“But are you—”
“Are you not listening to me?” Lady Jen cut me off sharply, her brow creased in annoyance. “The walls have ears, child. Mentioning that forbidden name could put us all in jeopardy.”
Disquiet gnawed at me. It seemed Draven held his staff under a tighter leash than he did me. An irony considering I was supposed to be the object of his strictures. Perhaps it was this uncanny resemblance to his deceased wife that granted me a curious leniency.
Swallowing the retort that threatened to escape my lips, I buried it deep inside.
The memory of the butchered servants was still fresh, a stark reminder of the consequences of disobedience.
To them, Draven wasn’t the tormented vampire king haunted by shadows and the specter of his lost love. He was a cold, aloof lord who wouldn’t hesitate to dole out death.
Silence settled upon us, heavy and oppressive. Lady Jen then gestured dismissively towards the servants. “See that she is dressed,” she commanded. “Lord Draven wouldn’t appreciate being kept waiting.”
The thought of being fussed over like a pampered child was almost laughable. This extravagant lifestyle, one I was utterly unaccustomed to, felt more like a gilded cage than a life of luxury.
While the prospect of displeasing Draven wasn’t appealing, a multitude of questions still clawed at my sanity. Was I destined to be the next name etched onto his personal hit list? After all, wasn’t I simply a pawn in his elaborate game of resurrection, a key to be discarded once his wife was restored?
A defiant spark ignited within me. I pivoted towards Lady Jen, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I shall dress,” I conceded, “but before we proceed, might I inquire about a pair of scissors?”
Her brow shot up in surprise. “Scissors? And for what purpose, pray tell?”
“Their purpose is of no consequence at this time,” I replied, my gaze flickering away from her scrutiny.
With that, I sank onto the cushioned stool before the vanity, the image in the mirror reflecting a chilling truth.
A single horrifying realization dawned upon me – with a touch of white dye, this very hair could easily mimic hers, his beloved Victoria.