Chapter 16
Belle
The next day passed, and that evening I found myself staring into the mirror in a fog of disbelief. My gaze followed the neckline of the red velvet dress the king had sent me. “I don’t think I can wear this.”
I’d never shown so much skin in my life.
The bustline plunged like the stem of a wineglass, while stiff ribbing lifted my breasts, as if they were offerings placed on a table for all to see.
The shoulders were nearly bare, and the sleeves stopped below the elbows, revealing the pale flesh of my forearms and wrists.
“It’s the court style, Lady Belle,” Loreli reminded me.
Or the king’s attempt to make a fool out of me. I recalled the parcel that had arrived this morning, delicately wrapped in paper and twine, and left with a note that read:
You indicated that you desired some reading material, and this seemed appropriate.
I’d torn open the paper, my fingers tangling in the twine. My excitement died the moment I saw the title: Manners for Highborn Ladies.
He’d actually listened—and this was his answer.
A slew of curses had slipped from my mouth, and I’d tossed the leather-bound book across the bed, glaring at the neatly folded gowns that had accompanied it—the least revealing of which I was wearing now.
The dress was as intentional as it was scandalous. Each flourish had been designed to give the bloodsuckers a perfect place to bite. I turned sideways to examine my profile, noting the way my leg slipped through the heavy skirts when I stepped. “I feel like an amuse-bouche.”
Loreli smiled weakly in the mirror. “Try not to worry. You may look inviting, but the lords and ladies are forbidden to feed without consent. And as you are the king’s guest, I’m certain they will honor that tradition.”
That was only mildly reassuring.
I raised my eyebrows. “And what about the king?”
Loreli hesitated a moment too long, and my heart began to drum faster.
“He’s known for his appetite, but I’ve never heard of him drinking without consent.”
Everything she’d told me about the king confirmed the rumors I’d heard in Harrowick.
Unlike most bloodsuckers, he drank from the source every night, with an insatiable thirst. The castle was crawling with blood retainers and courtesans, and I suspected he’d probably drunk from every maidservant in this castle.
I glanced up at Loreli in the mirror. What about her?
As if reading my mind, she looked down and busied herself with the lacing. I looked away, too.
She pulled the laces tight, and I inhaled sharply.
“How does he think I’m supposed to breathe, let alone talk or eat?” I choked out against the crush of the ribbing. “Is there not something… a little more comfortable?”
“We could try the other dress again,” Loreli said apologetically.
I glanced at the discarded mound of black cloth and shuddered. “Gods no. That dress is even worse. At least with this one, there’s a modicum of decency.”
I’d tried the black dress first, assuming black would be discreet. Wrong. While the red dress sculpted my body and put my flesh on display, the black one was clearly designed to provoke males into ripping it off as quickly as possible.
It was not an option.
I narrowed my eyes at my own reflection, glaring at the red monstrosity draped over me.
The king was playing games, providing me with the illusion of choice, but only ever giving me a single choice.
Choose the dungeons or imprisonment in a bedroom.
Choose one of your companions to go free.
Wear the red dress and look like a blood retainer, or the black and look like a harlot.
My jaw tightened. I was halfway tempted to call his bluff and wear the black dress just to see what he would do, but I was certain that I’d be getting more lecherous looks than I could stomach. The choice was set.
I brushed my palms over the smooth fabric and inspected myself one last time in the mirror. “This will do.”
“I know the dress is extravagant, but you look beautiful,” Loreli said softly.
Did she see the confident sister of a queen or a terrified pretender? What would the king see?
The corners of my lips turned down. I didn’t care what the king saw. Not one bit.
The king’s footmen came to collect me twenty minutes later, but I made them wait as Loreli finished my makeup and put the final touches on my hair. If I was going to wear a damned dress, I was going to look the part.
My guards escorted me down the hallway to the king’s reception, one striding on either side of me, as if they expected me to bolt at any second.
Admittedly, panicked flight was my first instinct, but unfortunately, I didn’t have anywhere to run.
I was hundreds of miles from the Bloodvale, in unfamiliar territory with no one I trusted to help or give me shelter.
Escape was out of the question.
The king and his dragon would certainly hunt me down—after killing Gregoire—and it wouldn’t put me any closer to finding a solution for the curse.
Still, I tried to memorize every door and hallway as we passed, slowly beginning to build a plan of the castle in my mind.
Knowledge was power, and I knew very little about this place, its court, or its king.
That’s why this evening would be so important—and why I hadn’t been able to say no to attending.
Ask questions. Absorb everything. Try not to get eaten.
I could do that.
We stopped in front of a pair of large doors flanked by footmen and an extravagantly attired immortal. He wore a ruffled shirt and a long fitted blue-and-gold coat with a voluminous skirt. It was the most outlandish garment I’d ever seen a man wear.
“Ah, Lady Marquette. Welcome.” He glided forward as if on ice and swept up my hand before I realized what was happening, planting a kiss on my fingers.
“I will present you, if you are ready. The court has been eagerly awaiting your arrival—everyone is abuzz with speculation, and it’s rumored you’re even the sister of a queen. ”
I gently extracted my hand. “I assure you, my lord, I’m no one worth talking about.”
His welcoming smile took on a foreboding light. “Anyone who has so clearly caught the eye of the king is worth talking about.”
I furrowed my brow. Caught his eye? The bastard had left me locked in my room and barely acknowledged my existence. I was lucky that he’d remembered to have me fed.
The master of ceremonies stepped to the door and glanced back. “Ready?”
No.
“Of course,” I said.
He waved his hand with a flourish, and the guards swung the doors wide, revealing a long reception hall. I inhaled deeply and readied myself—or at least, I tried—the confining ribs of the dress made anything more than a shallow breath nearly impossible.
The delicate music of a harpsichord drifted over the murmur of voices, and my gaze swept over the crowd before me.
Dozens of bloodsuckers mingled together, laughing and whispering among themselves as servants swept through the tightly clustered bodies, offering flutes of golden wine and small cordial glasses of crimson blood as dark as port.
I barely kept my jaw from dropping. Most of the lords and ladies were as extravagantly dressed as the master of ceremonies, with raucous clothing and preposterous hairstyles. Was this truly the fashion beyond the Bloodvale? Cassius’s court seemed nearly austere in comparison.
Yet their daring attire failed to hold my attention. Only one person mattered here, and he drew my eyes like a flame in the darkness.
The king lorded over the assembly, lounging in a high-backed chair raised on a low dais, his legs spread wide in that casual arrogance that made my blood simmer. Sycophants surrounded him, hanging on every word, while he stared directly at me, gaze burning.
My chest tightened, and for a second, I felt like I was looking into the dragon’s mouth once again.
Even reclined in his chair, there was a furious intensity to the king, a crushing energy that rippled through the room like flames.
I dug my fingers into the soft fabric of my dress, grasping for control.
I knew he could hear my heartbeat and my breath.
Stay calm. Don’t give him anything.
A faint mocking smile curled the corner of his mouth, and he raised two fingers half an inch.
The subtle gesture was like a roar. The harpsichord cut off, and a deafening silence swallowed the room as conversations stumbled to a halt.
The revelers all twisted and turned, angling to catch a glimpse of the king’s newest plaything: me.
Their looks were hungry and scheming, and my confidence collapsed in a single breath, leaving me tumbling. I was a sheep walking into a den of wolves.
The master of ceremonies cleared his throat and subtly inclined his head toward the king—but I was rooted in place. Petrified, my shoes became lead. The king’s wicked grin broadened.
He was enjoying this. The bastard was sitting on his throne, watching me squirm, and he was enjoying every second of it.
To hells with him. I wasn’t going to show him fear. A week ago, I’d watched beasts tear apart my companions, I’d shot one dead and put an arrow in the neck of a dragon. I could face the king and his bloody court.
I straightened my back and forced my feet forward with every ounce of willpower I retained.
“Lady Belle Marquette,” the master announced in a ringing tone as I stepped into the room. “Sister to Her Majesty, Queen Ella of the Bloodvale, and the royal guest of His Majesty the King.”
The word Bloodvale rang through the room like a pistol shot. Expressions of curiosity and contempt collapsed into hatred and hostility. The change was so fast that the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose.
What had I gotten myself into?
I ignored the suddenly spiteful glares and kept my gaze leveled on my captor—which was almost worse.
Unlike his court, the king’s attire was refined and practical, like he could ride into battle at a moment’s notice.
He wore no crown or jewels to emphasize his wealth or authority.
He didn’t need to. His presence was commanding.
Consuming. Arresting. And I felt myself drawn to him like a ship readily sailing into a tempest.
Somehow, I kept walking forward, and when I reached the dais, I drew in my skirt and curtseyed low, though I didn’t let my gaze leave his. “Your Majesty.”
He studied me, his eyes assessing, leaving molten trails in their wake. Finally, when I thought I could bear it no longer, he rose and took my hand with impossible grace, pressing his lips against my fingers.
His touch was like lightning’s kiss. I inhaled sharply, my heart racing as he lifted my hand gently, bringing me to my feet, dizzy and weightless. “Welcome to my court, Lady Marquette.”
What was wrong with me? Was it the room? The crowd? It certainly couldn’t be him.
The king stepped close and bent his head to my ear, amusement evident in the mocking lilt of his lips. “The dress suits you, princess.”
His voice was a low rumble, something that had to be felt more than heard. The compliment warmed me even as I fought it down. No. I refused to let this monster toy with me in front of everyone.
I lifted my lips to his ear in turn. “The dress may suit you and your court, but I’m afraid that I fit neither the fabric nor your retinue.”
He gave a low chuff. “You do yourself a disservice, Lady Marquette. Had King Cassius seen you like this, I imagine it would be you sitting on the throne of the Bloodvale instead of your sister.”
Heat climbed my neck, fury and disbelief tangled together. We’d whispered everything, but bloodsuckers had inhuman hearing. No doubt they were hanging on every word. I could practically feel the icy gazes of the courtly ladies boring into my skin.
Before I could bite back, the king twisted away to face his court. “It is my pleasure to announce that Lady Marquette will be joining us indefinitely, under my protection.”
The fact that he had to openly state the last part didn’t bode well.
“I know many of you have enduring ties to the Bloodvale, and I’m certain that Lady Marquette will be able to slake your thirst…for news of King Cassius and his human queen, of course.”
Murmurs swept through the room like droplets of water skating over hot iron. Hatred. Envy. Reproach. Disgust. It was all there beneath the curiosity and fascination. The king wasn’t just throwing me to the wolves; he was riling them up first.
He turned back to me, smirking. This is what I got for asking for a little freedom. He’d dance me through his court like a doll and let them tear me to shreds.