2. Treatment and Mistreatment
A drian Neige, Crown Prince of the Vampire Kingdom of Neigera, stood staring out the window at the snow with his hands clasped behind his back. He had much on his mind, not the least of which was his recent trip to Lea Valley.
The damnable dogs were not amenable to compromise. They wanted looser regulations and would not be swayed. It wasn’t surprising, as they were stubborn by nature. He had a plan to bring them to heel but needed to discuss it with his father.
Watching the snow drift in the wind, his thoughts turned to the soothsayer he’d met in the small village of Buttertop Town just outside Lea Valley. Just the fact that she called herself a soothsayer was reason for pause. Soothsayer , not prophetess, witch, seer, or oracle. Soothsayer . The word was archaic, reaching back to ancient times, and her use of it gave him reason to doubt.
As if her dirt-caked skin, missing teeth, and ratty cloak weren’t enough reason to dismiss her .
Your mate will be your ruin . . . Your Kingdom will fall when you take the throne.
It was nonsense, complete and utter wolf shit.
Vampires didn’t have mates. They might take a spouse, a lover, or a partner, but never a mate. The use of the word denoted one that was predestined, some magic-imbued bond between two souls. Lore said they were predominant in the shifter species of the world.
And that was what it was: lore, legend, fantasy. A fairy tale meant for the fanciful.
Adrian was not that.
Mate , he silently scoffed, what a joke.
Yet, he couldn’t forget it. The idea of a destined female made for him was laughable, but the fact that she’d bring him to ruin played on his insecurities. It was one of his greatest fears, to let down his forefathers, who’d built their kingdom to the greatness it currently celebrated. To let down his father, the current King, who was so beloved by their people, would be the greatest shame.
He could not let such a thing happen.
He refused to let it happen.
“Your Grace,” came a quiet voice from behind him. Adrian turned to the bowing physician. “Your new slave is as well as I can make her.”
Adrian looked over the female lying in the bed, Larkin at her side in his leopard form, as he’d been since demanding he save the pathetic wretch of a human. Bandages covered her back, which stunk of herbal medicine.
With a wave of his hand, Adrian dismissed the doctor.
It was unheard of, a slave in a bed resting, let alone getting medical treatment, but Larkin demanded no less, and Adrian spared no expense when it came to his pet. The beast had been there for Adrian through thick and thin; he could allow this .
There would be talk. The nobility would complain.
But Larkin had always been a hit with the people, his uniqueness and the mystery of him providing intrigue that made him well-loved. Surely Adrian could sway the narrative, so he came out the doting master indulging his pet.
Females ate that shit up.
And soon his pet’s favor of the slave would wane.
As if sensing his thoughts, the big cat lifted his head and yawned, and then set it on the slave’s buttocks. She stirred, whimpering, and Larkin purred. With a sigh, she stilled, at ease once more.
It was all very strange, Adrian thought.
Turning from it, he left the room to meet with his father. He left instructions with Javier, his superior butler and head of his staff, to leave the slave undisturbed. When she woke, she was to be placed on his staff where she could be easily reached by Larkin.
His mother would nag him for days if his beast had another tantrum so soon after the last.
When Rose woke, it was daylight. A radiant beam of it shone through the gap in the crimson curtains edged in gold beside her bed. She stared at the decadent velvet, taking in the rich colors, and felt the first stirrings of unease.
Such colors were for royalty. Only royalty. For nobility or even the upper class to use such powerful colors would mean punishment, even in something as curtains. That meant she was in the home of a royal. That meant, as there was only one Royal Family in the kingdom, she was in the Crimson Palace.
Vague memories of her public flogging came to mind. She recalled the gallows, the thick crowd gathered to watch her humiliation, and the stunning pain of the whip. There had been a Devilbird. And a beautiful hawk. That hawk had shapeshifted into a spotted leopard to protect her. She’d been cut free. Taken.
And now she lay on a most comfortable bed amid a myriad of pillows and blankets of red, cream, and gold. Never had she experienced such lavish comfort.
As she stretched her stiff muscles, she fully expected the scabs on her back to reopen and bleed. They didn’t. No fire burned down to her bones from the pain; there was just a dull ache over her taut skin.
Reaching behind her to feel where there should have been long, raised welts, she found cloth bandages. Such treatment was unheard of for a slave, and the iron collar still around her neck—and the manacles around her ankles and wrists—said that despite where she currently lay, that status remained hers.
Unease turned to fear, and she rose from the bed, pulling the bandages from her skin. She winced at the pull but stretched more to work it out as she walked on the plush carpet to a tall gilt mirror beside the fireplace where embers smoldered. The warmth was divine.
But she couldn’t bask. She stared at her naked, dirt-covered skin, at the pink eyes that stared back at her, and the dirty hair that surrounded her face. Never allowed to bathe, she carried the grime of many weeks.
It was a travesty to have sullied the bed.
But her back was clean, as she saw in the mirror. Though new angry red slashes criscrossed her skin over faded old ones, they were healing well.
Tears filled her eyes at the unheard-of kindness even as the rich opulence of her surroundings made her heart race. Everything was crimson with touches of gold—the carpet, the bed, the settee in the corner, the draperies on the bed, and the curtains at the window. The fireplace was marble, large enough for five males to stand in. An ivory tub stood on a raised platform.
Trying not to hyperventilate as she wondered what her new master would expect in recompense, she pressed the bandages still in her fist to her mouth and nose. The medicine used in them had a hint of mint that was somehow soothing.
Things had been bad with her previous master, but she was likely in a worse position now. The higher up the social ladder one went in this kingdom, the worse the degradation of those below, and it appeared she was now at the top.
Breath hitching again, panic edging in, she searched the room for her sack of a dress. She had to get out —out of this room, out of the palace, whatever she could manage.
Curious amber eyes watching her from the bed made her freeze. The lounging leopard slowly curled and uncurled his tail, looking every bit the lazy cat.
She hadn’t had enough presence of mind at her whipping to realize who defended her. But of course, she knew, the entire kingdom knew of the Vampire Prince Adrian’s precious shape-shifting pet Larkin.
But what in the holy name of the Sun God had he been doing defending her ?
The leopard gave a soft kittenish chirrup and jumped smoothly from the bed to approach her. Heart skipping, she slowly retreated, recalling stories of how the beast had defended his Prince, ripping apart enemies effortlessly. He was no playful kitten. Regardless of how he’d defended her, and the lazy image he presented, he was very dangerous .
She backed into a wall. Larkin butted her, rubbing his head and cheeks all over her thighs. The sounds he made, more of those chirrups , were oddly endearing.
The medicine must have addled her brain.
But as he continued, beginning to purr loudly, there was no hint of aggression. When he nudged her hand, she tentatively lifted it. He rubbed his cheek on her fingers, and a smile tugged at her mouth.
What a big softie.
“I’ll keep your secret.” Feeling brave, she rubbed the leopard’s long-whiskered cheek, moving to his head when she was tolerated. He pressed into her, seeking more, so she explored his soft fur.
He was so pretty, she thought, red with the iconic black rosettes. His belly was white, his tail long and gently swishing in pleasure. Rose wondered if the rest of him was as soft as his face.
Before she could push her luck to find out, the door opened. Her gaze darted there as the leopard turned, pinning his ears back and hissing as a tall and thin human male stepped into the room. Wearing a blue suit, his wiry brown hair was styled back, his brown eyes assessing as they swept over Rose’s naked form. Larkin curled around her, his tail twitching as it wrapped around her legs.
“Ah, you are awake. And I see His Highness’s pet is still keeping you company.”
Not knowing what to say, Rose bowed.
“The physician cleared you for work, so get dressed, and let’s be on our way.”
Rose looked up as the male tossed her a simple dress she hadn’t realized he’d been holding, along with undergarments. Made of plain cotton, the clothing was better quality than she was used to, but still cheap by palace standards. Off-white in color, the dress wasn’t a formless sack like she’d always had, and it was softer than the scratchy material she normally wore. As she dressed, Larkin growled lowly in his throat.
“Oh, shut it,” the male told the leopard. “I have my orders, as you well know.” He looked to Rose. “I assume you have experience with laundering?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Come.”
Keeping her head low, Rose followed the male out of the room, tossing her bandages in the wastebasket they passed. The leopard shapeshifted to his red hawk form and flew to her shoulder. His weight was unsettling, but she quickly adjusted. His talons, which were long and sharp for tearing apart prey, pinched but didn’t even cut through the fabric of her dress.
Curious.
Many servants aimed glances and whispers at her as they passed on the long walk downstairs. As a new, unfamiliar face, she was sure she’d be a topic in the rumor mill, especially after all that had happened.
Hopefully, that wouldn’t make things worse for her.
When they made it to the washrooms below ground, she breathed easier. She knew what was expected of her and immediately joined the other slaves. Her new superior didn’t even check the number on her collar.
Rose worked in that room for weeks, washing load after load in the huge tubs. It was hard work that sometimes required climbing in. Her hands and feet became red and raw, burned and blistered from the harsh chemicals.
For a few short hours during midday, she was taken with the other slaves deeper underground to the rooms where they were allowed to rest. It was crowded and damp, the stone floor hard and uncomfortable. Once a day, they were given food. The offerings were always the worst scraps from the kitchens, but there were always fights over it, rotten, stale, burnt, or moldy as it was .
Rose coveted the water more. Though she tried to avoid the fighting, only darting in for small pieces when the worst fights were over, she was often the first to the water. Never selfish, she always left plenty for the others, earning snickers and sneers.
She was made fun of for her tan skin, shades darker than the pale tone normal in the northern region, for her slightly pointed ears, reminiscent of the elves that had disappeared from the kingdom years ago, and for her blonde hair. What she was made fun of for most, however, were her eyes. While she’d seen many different colors in her time as a slave—brown, black, blue, gray, green, the deep red of the vampires, and so many variations of each—she’d never seen another with pink irises like hers.
It always amazed her how, even with all the backbreaking work and little food and rest, some still had the energy and inclination to belittle those they saw as lesser. It was the same everywhere.
And it saddened Rose. Not for herself, but because things could be better if they weren’t all enemies.
As time passed, she learned the routines of her superiors and the guards, noting the shift changes, and tried to find a flaw or weakness to exploit. There were none. The exits were always manned by more than one guard.
Her one chance to escape had likely been when she’d awoken, and she’d wasted it by petting Larkin.
But she couldn’t regret it because he was a bright spot in her life. He visited at least once a day, usually swooping in during the daylight hours to stand on her shoulder while she worked. He liked to snuggle up against her cheek, rubbing his head there as she whispered about her day, never stopping her chores for an instant. She appreciated him and his company more than anything else.
Her superior, a sour woman who didn’t understand Larkin’s attachment to her, questioned her one evening about him. Rose had no answers, which earned her three days in the dungeons, hanging by her wrists. She barely had the strength to stand when she was dragged back to work, and she almost fell into one of the lye tubs.
The loud cry of Larkin, the hawk, echoed through the cavernous room as he swooped in.
And then the imposing figure of the Vampire Prince appeared, his shoes snapping on the concrete floor as he took his time crossing the room.