Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Selene
Is it too much to request a dress from my seamstress that’s voluminous enough to conceal my bow? Perhaps a few spare arrows sewn into the layers of fabric? Someone imaginative enough to make it work must exist, I’m sure.
Damn this gown Galen picked! Yes, it’s lovely, made of the finest red silk that feels incredibly soft against my skin. But honestly, I feel naked. Vulnerable and at Galen’s mercy; that’s what my husband wants me to feel. He wants me to cling to his side for protection.
My curves? They are more on display than Galen’s most prized horses.
I pinch my stomach, feeling the food my maid brought earlier settle. Don’t get me started on the cheese I had with the warm, fresh bread roll. Pieces of the crust are still flaked on my floor.
I stare at my fingers, still pruned from the long bath I took. What a queen I make tonight, bloated and wrinkled like a raisin.
I can host, regardless of the guest. “My looks need not be lethal, only my aim.” Bending down, I gather up the dress, grab the single arrow I carved, and take gentle care when I tie it to the inside of my thigh. The sharp tip presses into my inner knee.
One single arrow. I’m a fine marksman. Everett taught me, after all.
Don’t think about those memories now. Focus.
As the sun sets, the cool night air surrounds me as I walk through the gardens towards the grand hall for the feast. Roaring laughter and fine music penetrate the castle’s stone. Even the scent of ale and wine sully the fragrant florals of the gardens.
During my time here, I studied all the hidden pathways. Killing Titus out in the open would be reckless; finding him in his sleep would also be unwise, since only whores enter the soldier’s barracks.
I need to be a shadow that is both seen and ignored.
I stop at one of the famous Blackthorn rosebushes.
Such ugly flowers; dark, deceitful, and riddled with numerous tiny thorns.
Porcupines would look better in a vase than these roses.
The black flower is a symbol of death to me.
They grow all over these lands, devouring all the other florals, taking over everything.
Killing and killing until only they survive.
Reaching for a lone one, I snap the stem in half and hold it gently, making sure the thorns do not pierce my skin.
Not yet. All in due time.
I walk off the path, and my heart skips a beat. I force it to settle when I slip into one of the hidden passages that the florist use. The scent of the black roses stifles my nostrils. Musky, velvety, woodsy notes. Elegant yet garish… like my husband.
A small set of stairs curls up towards the roof of the hall, resembling a tortured spine. It functions like a skeleton, allowing servants to hang the chandeliers and decorations without being seen.
Galen loves for the roses to line the rafters of the feast halls, and I intend to use their shadows as my cover. The passages are never used during the feast since everything is already set up.
A smile curls my lips. I’m alone here, with my thoughts and thirst for vengeance.
I run my fingers along the walls of the stairwell, pressing my fingertips into the cold stone. The stairway opens up onto a hallway. Large shelves line the walls, storing a variety of lighting options.
And what I hid last night.
Every few feet, narrow slits too small to be called windows line the walls. They’re only big enough for a head to fit between; these small holes secure the ropes supporting the floral decorations hanging in the feast hall.
Or a hole big enough to shoot an arrow through.
“Finally.” I bend down, hike up my red silk dress, and untie the arrow. The trembling in my fingers increases. “That won’t do.” I need a steady hand.
I push up on my tiptoes and tuck the arrow along the same ledge where I hid a bow I had stolen a few nights ago. I was wise enough not to use my bow but rather one from Galen’s army barracks.
My heels hit the floor, and my exhalation is so heavy that it knocks me into the stone wall.
“It’s almost time,” I whisper, but first, I need to make my appearance.
Welcome to the den of vipers. Yes, they bite out in the open. They are vampires, after all.
Stiffen your spine. Okay, chin high.
I nod toward the guards. A loud groan signals to the guests inside that the doors are opening, but it feels like my lungs are closing. Each step I take is labored as the weight of the eyes in the room pivots towards me.
Whether they are looking at my face, the new necklace Galen gave me, the red silk dress, or my body, I don’t care. They see I’m here, which is all I need.
Soon, they will be too drunk to remember when I leave. I never stay long at these parties, and everyone knows it.
The dancing stops, and the crowd parts so I can walk down the aisle towards the king’s table.
I’m not a plague, I’m a fae. You can step closer. Unlike you, we don’t bite.
There, in the center, my husband sits upon a large dais that houses his royal table.
Arrangements of candles give his skin a magical glow.
Black roses in polished vases create a receiving feel that Galen exploits down to the very last drop.
His thick, curly brown hair wraps around a crown made of white-gold and embellished with black diamonds, like the vines of those thorny roses he adores, claiming it and ensuring no one will grab the item from his head.
Oh, look at that smile. Marble can’t be carved that straight.
I admit, his smirk has fooled me until he flashes his two sharp fangs. He holds a goblet filled with blood, as he does a woman’s hips with admiration and authority.
My masked smirk falters. Galen’s always sipping blood, ensuring his magic is at peak reserves.
How has he not slipped into total bloodlust? It’s a mystery we've all asked. The only work he does is with his dick, so his magic doesn't need to be recharged that much.
He raises the glass to his lips lazily as his eyes look me up and down. The red dress outlines every curve I possess, marking each asset as his.
I could have been yours, Galen. ‘Could have’ will be your final words.
I want to reach up and rub away the pain behind my ears. Even though the braids in my hair help cushion my crown, they still hurt like all fashionable things do.
Galen’s throat rolls as he swallows. There is something sexy about a man swallowing, but then repulsing, knowing he is a vampire, and it’s blood he’s drinking.
The civilized act of drinking blood from a cup is just a show.
I know Galen drinks from the veins of willing women whom he houses in luxury and most likely fucks, too.
He never mentions the others. I just assume he has others, as my father does. He’s king, so he’s pardoned for the crime of welcoming others into our marriage. I grew up with men like this, so it’s not shocking or news to me, and it wasn’t like I could feed him my blood.
His brown eyes smile with each step I take. When he looks at me like this, it makes me want to smirk back, to push up on my toes and kiss him.
The way I sway my hips has him setting his goblet down. I might not have fangs, but I can be a viper, too. Snakes don’t just bite; they squeeze. Hard. Get ready, husband.
His relaxed posture grows firm. He stands, and every eye shifts towards him as he rounds the table.
He has a power that brings others, including me, to their knees. He’s charming. And that smile? It keeps people in a daze, too happy to realize how deceptive he is. He takes everything within his reach—women, men, a fork and knife, even a black rose—and turns it into a weapon.
Even me.
He forged me into a lethal one. His touch smelted me, his decisions were the hammer’s blows that shaped me, and his silence to my pleas was the cold plunge that sealed his work, hardening the metal that replaced my heart.
Some weapons, when wielded improperly, inflict immeasurable pain, not just on their target, but on the one who holds them.
“My queen.” He opens his arms, which swing past the sword he always wears. He sleeps next to it like a child clinging to a stuffed animal.
We meet in the middle of the hall, where I bow to him; the tightness of the silk dress makes the action hard, and I know every male and female is looking at how the material tightly hugs my ass like a second skin.
Look, but don’t touch. That’s what this dress says.
I keep my eyes downcast, watching the chandeliers illuminate the polished marble. His finger tucks under my chin as he guides my eyes up.
He’s the captain and I the mere anchor. He commands me, lowers me when he wants me to stop, and dredges me up when it is time to set sail. He forgets that a ship needs an anchor or it can never make port, never be safely docked.
And this party? It has severed the rope, cutting the anchor free from the ship. There is no going back after this. My heart is forever under the pressure of the unrelenting water, and Galen’s mind will be like a shipwrecked sailor: all his hope of a treasured future lost.
His eyes grow with lust as he looks from my red-painted lips to the ruby necklace he gifted me. It’s so heavy around my neck that if I inhale too deeply, I worry it will choke me.
“Thank you for the gift,” I whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
He holds my chin, measuring the value of my words. Galen thinks jewels will win my heart. “One day, I will find something worthy of your beauty to wear.”
I know you are upset. That’s what he means.
“All I need is you, my king,” I reply, knowing everyone is listening, but only Galen knows the hidden meaning in my words.
Don’t do this! My eyes scream at him.
His steady glare says, I have no choice.
Lies; the king makes the choices.
He steps closer; his soft velvet suit rubs against my dress, creating a sensation that has my nipples surely showing through the fabric. He presses his lips to my ear, “You can have every inch of me, Selene,” he rasps. “Whenever you want.” He sucks my earlobe between his teeth. “Just ask.”