13. 11
11
Draven
T he sound of my chamber doors banging open jolts me from a daze. Before I can react, a whirlwind of glittering skirts and unbound ginger curls barrels across the room and launches onto my bed.
“Draven, you’re back!” my little sister Kira exclaims, sprawling atop the silk coverlet. “We all thought you’d been eaten by wolves or something, but nope! You just took the longest winter nap ever!”
I suppress a groan as she playfully smacks my leg. Barely one hundred and sixteen, Kira assumes anything and everything is proper teasing fodder.
“Yes, yes, I’ve finally awakened from my eternal slumber, oh wise one,” I reply drily.
Leave it to Kira not to stand on decorum, even with a prince of the realm. With her, everything is laughter and games. Normally, I indulge her antics, but today, my spirit remains too burdened for such lightness.
Oblivious to my mood, Kira props her chin on both palms, gazing up at me eagerly. “Spill! What happened out there after you got lost? Did some grizzled old trapper save you? Ooh, or was it a wandering wizard with a magic sled?”
I shift against the headboard, avoiding her shining emerald eyes so like our mother’s. “Nothing quite so dramatic, I’m afraid. Just a minor mishap during my travels. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more?” Kira flops onto her back incredulously. “The whole castle thought you’d died! You gotta give me more than that. Pretty please?”
She bats her lashes, somehow making her freckled face look doleful. I snort. As if such transparent manipulation ever worked on me.
“A lady does not wheedle and pout,” I chide.
She responds by sticking out her tongue. Yes, the picture of courtly manners, this one.
“Fine, keep your secrets for now, you crusty old bat.” Kira hops nimbly off the bed, skirts swirling. “But this isn’t over. I’ll get the gossip from you someday! ”
With an impish wink, she darts back out the doors, leaving blessed silence in her wake. I sink against the velvet cushions, eyelids already drooping again. Peace never lasts long around here, though.
Sure enough, another sharp rap at the door stirs me moments later. I sit up with a resigned sigh as my eldest brother Theron strides in. Even with no crown yet weighing down his brow, power and obligation shroud him like an invisible cloak.
His keen silver gaze sweeps over my disheveled state. “Still in bed at this hour? I hope you are not getting lazy.”
Though his words hold a note of humor, I bristle at the implicit criticism. Theron assumes the role of heir apparent comes with the right to scrutinize our every deed.
“Merely resting as the healers instructed,” I reply evenly.
In truth, I’ve been awake since dawn, restless dreams denying any real sleep, but Theron needn’t know that.
He settles into a high-backed chair opposite my bed, regarding me with familiar solemnity. “Jests aside, there are matters of court awaiting your return, Brother. Your seat at the war table has sat empty too long while you wandered the wilds, and Father’s health wanes…”
I tune out his well-meaning lecture, having heard variants all my life. Blah, blah, responsibilities, expectations, destinies, and so on. The same motivational platitudes royalty recites generation after generation. Instead, I study the portrait on the far wall, rendered in lifelike detail centuries ago, anything to avoid nodding at appropriate intervals until he finishes.
“Draven?”
I blink, focusing back on Theron’s expectant expression. “Yes, of course. I shall… resume my duties once I have fully recovered.” I inject confidence I do not feel into the assurances.
Mercifully, Theron seems satisfied for the moment. He clasps my shoulder with one large hand as he rises to take his leave. “It heartens me to have you returned safely, Brother. We feared the worst when the blizzard struck, but the gods watched over you, it seems.”
I force a smile as Theron departs, though his visit has left me drained .
No sooner does the door close than it bursts open again, this time admitting a gust of crisp air and familiar laughter.
“Ah, just the solemn company I hoped for on such a fine day!”
Despite my weariness, I can’t help but grin as my dearest friend saunters in. “Anthony, your talent for timing remains uncanny.”
Anthony executes an elaborate bow, wheat-gold hair glinting in the firelight. His ice-blue eyes dance with humor and affection. “I live to serve, your highness.” His playful manner smooths the lingering edge from my encounter with Theron.
I sink gratefully into a chair as Anthony helps himself to a goblet of wine with easy familiarity. He was not born a vampire. Rather, Anthony was turned later in life, inheriting immortality instead of by bloodline. For this reason, Anthony faces constant disdain and exclusion from vampire high society. Turned vampires are viewed as inferior and impure by elite natural-born vampires like myself.
Despite the prejudice he endures, Anthony excels in battle and strategy. His exceptional service earned him a position of lordship in the court, though many still reject him for being a turned vampire rather than a pureblood. Never once has Anthony faltered in his steadfast loyalty or quest for honor, even when faced with cruelty because of how he became a vampire.
In many ways his status mirrors my own—respected by some for our skills and contributions yet looked down upon by traditionalists clinging to obsolete notions of vampire purity and class. Over the years of rivalry and adventures together, Anthony has become closer than a brother to me. I would trust no one more at my side.
“That was your brother I passed, looking even more dour than usual,” Anthony remarks lightly, though his eyes are serious. “I take it our quest into the northern woods bore unexpected results?”
I nod slowly. “You could say that. The blizzard separated us before we could track down any real leads on Lady Vivian’s whereabouts.” I shudder involuntarily, remembering the bone-numbing cold and disorientation of the driving snow. “For a time, I feared I wouldn’t make it out alive.”
Anthony grips my shoulder, relief flashing across his face. “When we got separated, I didn’t dare hope you’d survived. The thought of returning without you…” He trails off then manages a faint grin. “At least you emerged unscathed. How did you survive?”
I chuckle weakly. “Stumbled on a witch, or rather she stumbled on me. Not the vampire we are looking for but possibly a powerful ally someday if I can ever find her again. It’s too bad we didn’t find any signs of Vivian, though. She could have helped with our problem with my brother.”
Anthony’s expression darkens at the mention of Theron. “Your brother is far too hungry for power. If he takes the crown…” Anthony shakes his head, unwilling to voice the dire possibilities.
“Exactly,” I reply. “The kingdom would suffer under his rule, but if we can expose Vivian and show she deceived everyone and still lives, it will undermine Theron’s power. Or, possibly, she could become his queen. She had so many supporters, many that would rather see her on the throne than him. We have to keep searching.”
“And we will,” Anthony vows, ice-blue eyes blazing with determination. “I swear to you, Draven, we will unravel Vivian’s secrets and her present location. She claimed something in her pocket that could take down your family. If only we knew what that was. ”
Our impassioned conversation falters at the sound of approaching footsteps. I exchange a quick glance with Anthony, who assumes a casually relaxed posture just as Audrey appears in the doorway. She sweeps in amidst a cloud of perfume and rustling silks.
“Time for me to make a discreet exit,” Anthony murmurs with a wink as my sister descends in a flurry of excited questions.
He slips away when I try to deflect Audrey’s curiosity about my quest. My heart is lighter knowing whatever comes next, Anthony will be there to stand stalwart and true.
“There you are, you dreadful creature!” she proclaims by way of greeting. “We had nearly given up ever finding your frozen corpse. You had Anthony in quite the uproar. He was threatening to return into the storm and find you himself! You two are always getting into trouble.”
Despite the grim words, laughter glitters in her eyes. Audrey does nothing by halves, even grief, apparently.
She arranges herself artfully at the foot of my bed, voluminous amber skirts arranged just so. At two-hundred-fifty-years-old, appearances and gossip are her chief concerns, even more so now that she’s of marrying age. I brace myself for the inevitable grilling.
“So?” she prompts, flawlessly arched brow lifting. “What happened out there? Who was this mysterious rescuer everyone is speaking about?”
I resist the urge to rub my now throbbing temples. Not this again. “No one of consequence. Just a simple woods dweller.”
Audrey peers at me incredulously. “A simple woods dweller who somehow hauled your frozen royal backside through leagues of blizzard and saved your butt? Unlikely. Oh, do tell me she was some witchy herbalist with a secret cottage!”
I school my expression to careful neutrality lest it reveal anything.
Audrey claps her hands together delightedly, misreading my silence. “I knew it! How utterly romantic. You must invite her to the Winter Festival so I can meet this fascinating new arrival. It’s the least we could do to thank her for returning my favorite brother.”
I choke on a sharp laugh at the thought of Thorn socializing in Everdusk’s gilded halls. “She did not strike me as one for balls and court intrigues. ”
“Pity. I shall have to get you thoroughly intoxicated on wine someday and pry all the juicy details from you.” Audrey sighs theatrically. “For now, I suppose your secrets are safe.” With an elegant rustle of silk, she rises and sweeps toward the door. She pauses on the threshold to add archly, “Do clean yourself up though, darling. You are simply ghastly.”
The resounding click of her departure seems to drain the room of color and vibrancy. I eye my disheveled reflection. Perhaps a bath and fresh clothes might lift my mood.
I’ve just finished dressing when the door creaks open again. My shoulders tense, but it’s only Theron, my elder of five years, who enters. His shuttered expression offers little clue to whatever brings him here.
Of all my siblings, Theron remains the one I understand least. Though alike in looks with our jet hair and silver eyes, our natures stand opposite as the sun and moon. While I crave freedom and feeling, Theron cloaks himself in dutiful solemnity.
“Greetings, Brother,” he offers neutrally. “I had hoped to see you up and about. ”
I nod warily, waiting for whatever criticism he surely has prepared. Theron loathes idleness or any perceived weakness.
“Rumors are swirling regarding your safe return. Quite the dramatic tale, though details remain scarce.” His tone holds a note of challenge.
I shrug, feigning a casual air. “Little to tell. I got turned about in a blizzard and took shelter in the first cottage I found.”
Theron strokes his bearded chin thoughtfully. “And such a humble abode happened to be equipped to revive a half-frozen vampire foundling?”
I bristle at the pointed disbelief in his words. Theron ever thinks he knows more than anyone.
“As you say, mere rumors and exaggerations.”
“This change in you since your return… it’s unexpected.”
I face him, anger simmering now. “And what business is that of yours?”
Theron’s eyes harden like storm clouds. “Only doing my duty. I find it odd, and odd isn’t always good.”
I bare my fangs on reflex, warning him to watch himself, but Theron merely studies me with that searching gaze so like Mother’s, yet his lacks her warmth.
A strained moment later, he turns sharply on his heel and departs without another word.
The heavy silence left in his wake presses down on me. I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling shakily. Gods, what is wrong with me? Why am I so on edge around my own family?
I know the answer, much as I avoid examining it too closely. Ever since Thorn sent me from that warm haven we shared, I have felt uneasy. Not like myself.
After that tense encounter with Theron, I find myself listless again, drifting around my quarters without purpose. The lavish suite, once so familiar, now seems almost alien, its opulence jarring. I was only gone a few days. This is ridiculous!
Growing weary of pacing restlessly on the plush rugs, I sink onto the massive canopied bed. Just a short nap to clear my muddied thoughts, I tell myself, but true sleep has eluded me for days.
I sink back against the plush pillows, spent after the parade of questions from my family. All I crave is to sink into oblivion’s embrace, if only for a few hours respite. As I drift off, my thoughts swirl with memories of emerald eyes and a flame-warmed cottage.
When I open my eyes, it takes several blinking moments to realize my surroundings. I find myself not in my lavish royal bedchamber but rather a quaint rustic cottage, its timber walls bedecked with hanging bundles of herbs and dried flowers.
Thorn’s cottage.
I’m seeing it clear as day, impossibly here in this vision. There is the rough-hewn table where we shared many a meal, laughing together as we ate the fragrant stews and breads she would prepare. Over there is the worn velvet armchair she would sit by the crackling fire, needles clicking as she knitted while I read aloud to her in the evening from one of her leather-bound books of poetry or folk tales.
And there, in the little kitchen nook, stands Thorn herself, serenely grinding something with mortar and pestle. Her sleeves are rolled up, exposing slender but strong forearms that flex gently as she works. Her hair is gathered back in a loose braid, little tendrils escaping to frame her face. A face of delicate beauty is marked by a faint crease in her brow as she concentrates .
Gods, even focused on some mundane chore, she is radiant.
My fingers twitch with the phantom urge to reach across the void separating us, to come up behind her and wrap my arms around that petite but sturdy frame, nuzzling into the tender warmth of her neck.
But I remain an invisible observer to the scene, unable to interact. Still, seeing her again, being enveloped in the beloved surroundings of the cottage, is its own form of nourishment. I drink in every minute detail greedily—the motes of dust dancing in a sunbeam falling across the worn floorboards and the rich mingling aromas of crackling woodsmoke and dried herbs.
After an age of drinking in Thorn’s presence, the vision begins to lose definition, fraying at the edges as I’m drawn back from the depths of slumber. I cling desperately to the last glimpses of her raven locks escaping their plait, the firelight playing across her porcelain cheek. I sear every fraction of detail into my mind before the darkness takes me, and her beloved face is lost to me once more.
I awake slowly, momentarily confused by the lavish bedchamber rather than rough-hewn rafters. Of course, I am back home in the castle, yet somehow, I am also joined to Thorn from afar. My heart aches, missing the simplicity and warmth of our time together.
“You’re awake.”
Mother sits near the bed, studying me with her piercing gaze that missed nothing. Without a word, she hands me a linen-wrapped package, the yeasty aroma hinting at its contents even before I unfold the cloth. A small loaf of hearty bread.
“Freshly baked, just as you mentioned,” Mother says. Her eyes glint with unspoken understanding.
Somehow, she deduced the bread’s secret properties from my fevered ramblings after returning, yet she does not pry or judge now, only seeks to soothe her child’s unseen hurts, as she always has. The kindness brings stinging tears I blink back.
“Thank you,” I rasp, overcome with gratitude.
Mother pats my hand. “I cannot claim to fully grasp this… bond you seem to share. It’s rare and one that I know of only a few finding, but I know your heart will ever follow its own course, for good or ill.”
I give a wry half-smile. She knows me too well, this restless spirit of mine that chafes at rules and tradition. Thorn recognized a kindred wildness in me, and she sought not to tame but to set free.
Before I can reply, Father’s gruff voice intrudes as he enters. “You’ve improved, I see. The illness passed?”
“I wasn’t exactly ill, but yes, I’m much improved, thanks to Mother’s efforts,” I reply, revealing only half the truth. While the bread grants clarity, yearning still consumes me.
I take a bite as Father watches pensively.
“You can’t know how relieved I was to have you returned safe, my son,” he rasps at length. “Losing a child… grief from which one never recovers.”
I lower the half-eaten loaf, humbled by his candid words. “I am grateful to be home,” I offer sincerely.
Yet, there is far more to tell of how I survived the deadly blizzard.
Haltingly, I try conveying the essence without betraying the full truth of Thorn’s identity and our bond. Father listens silently until I finished the tale.
“Seems you owe this witch a considerable debt,” he remarks at last.
I start, not expecting such pragmatism. “She desired no repayment, only to see me well,” I explain carefully .
Father nods gruffly. “Still, the decree of honor…” He trails off, gaze turning reflective. “For now, remain close while we determine if this strangeness between you persists. Time may yet calm such unrest. If that doesn’t work, distance only makes the heart grow fonder.”
I tense, wanting to argue I must find answers, but Mother’s restraining hand on my arm keeps me silent. Father is not forbidding me from seeing Thorn again, only counseling patience.
I nod in agreement. I will listen… for now.
After Father takes his leave, I stand gazing sightlessly out the window while shadows claim the snowy grounds below. My emotions war within—hope and fear, logic and longing. Thorn, too, surely wrestles with what passed between us. Of that, I am now certain.
“Draven.” Mother’s soft voice at my shoulder draws me back. “You seem… diminished since your ordeal. When’s the last time you had any blood to drink?”
I frown. Has it really been so long since I fed? I try to recall, but my time with Thorn now seems hazy, half-remembered. Surely her healing tea sustained… I freeze. The tea. With dawning shock, I realize I had not craved blood at all in the cottage after drinking it, and I haven’t craved it since I returned. No wonder I am so weakened now.
Mother nods knowingly and moves to the door, quietly giving orders to someone beyond. Before long, a servant enters bearing a silver goblet that he offers with a bow.
The moment the rich iron scent hits my nostrils, my fangs punch down reflexively. Gods, it has been too long. My hands tremble faintly as I accept the vessel, hating that Mother witnessed this loss of control.
Yet, as I raise the goblet to my lips, I hesitate. Somehow, it feels like a betrayal of sorts, indulging in this side again after discovering a different way to sustain myself at Thorn’s side, but denying my nature will help no one.
I drink deeply, fresh vitality suffusing my limbs with every swallow. As I lower the emptied cup, strength and clarity finally return fully to my muddled mind. My mind feels much clearer, and already, I can feel energy and health returning.
“I cannot simply pretend Thorn was merely a stranger briefly passing through my life,” I say to my mother fervently. “There are powers at work here I don’t understand. I feel as if a part of me is missing.”
Mother listens silently to my impassioned entreaty, eyes glistening with empathy. At long last, she speaks. “The fates weave many threads to bind lives together, rarely so swiftly or strangely as was done here, but destiny can’t be ignored. Give yourself time to heal. I will send out people to inquire about your witch.”
I start at her words. Does she mean…
Mother smiles gently, a bit sadly. “If it’s meant to be, we will find her.”
She pulls me into a fierce embrace then, and I know I have her blessing to follow the mysterious call that beckons me back to Thorn’s side, no matter where it leads. My course is clear at last. I will seek out my witch and finally learn if we are meant to walk this path together. Hope and fear, longing and logic, heart and mind—all seem tangled as yarn unraveled by restless kittens. I do not dare reveal the depth of this bond for fear my family will keep us apart, yet staying away feels wrong.
The vision made it clear our two fates are intertwined, however reluctantly on her part .
I splay one hand on the cold glass pane before me, imagining I’m reaching straight through and across the leagues separating us in defiance of any barriers. Heart, show me the way. For once, let cold reason follow where you lead.
I come back to myself with a start and find the room dim and empty save for flickering firelight. Mother slipped away unnoticed, leaving me to wrestle alone with my demons and desires. I glance down to see only crumbs left of the spelled bread gifted to me. Already, its effects are fading.
Turning from the starlit window, I sit slowly on the silken bed. Somewhere beyond the confines of this castle, Thorn, too, gazes upward at the night’s luminous canvas. Or at least that’s what my heart wants. The answers I crave wait out there as well.