Chapter 5
Vastion
The Vampyr hosts talked amongst themselves and nursed their beverages while the humans indulged in the practiced rituals of peeling, slicing, and dipping their food.
It was only polite that we gave them time to eat their meals.
I couldn’t stop fixating on Esiree’s snide remark about the Vassals from Leto.
The treaty was straightforward. She did not have to like the terms to adhere to them.
Humans so easily forgot we were once just like them. We hadn’t chosen this.
I could still remember the first time I had drunk human blood. The act disgusted me. Though my body desperately craved it, I had fought the urge as long as I could, until starvation overwhelmed my logic.
Those were painful, bitter memories signifying a loss of innocence for not one but two.
I know not how long the other heirs lasted under the strain, but my father was intent in his Turning of us all—and he would not tolerate delays.
I struggled for days, evading both my father and the horrific hunger that seemed to sabotage every thought and action the longer I denied it.
One night, my father lured a youthful human servant to my bedchamber.
She did not resist as he pulled back her sleeve, baring her wrist, the thrumming blood just below her skin now impossible for me to deny.
I could smell the fear emanating from her, and I would later learn that it bitters the blood.
I took her hand and lowered my lips just above the skin, kissing it gently as if to apologize for the pain that would follow.
Mina’s voice drew me from the trance of my vivid memories.
“Orin and I are placing bets on which one you fancy most,” Mina said, leaning in close to my ear. “Care to give your dear sister an advantage?” she questioned.
“You two are no better than the dim-witted townspeople.”
“Perhaps,” Mina replied slyly. “The difference is, I have far too much gold to care.”
I shook my head in disappointment, especially because she meant my gold. Technically, none of it belonged to Mina.
“If I had a vote in the matter—”
“You don’t,” I quickly cut in.
Mina scowled but continued anyways, since voicing her opinion was her second favorite pastime.
“I think I quite like the Tribute from Lyr. She seems to have good taste in jewelry. I wouldn’t mind her company.”
“What makes you think they’ll pay you any mind? Just because Adria tolerated you doesn’t mean these Tributes will. They hate us, Mina.”
I was somberly reminded how Adria was one of the few human queens that had managed to overcome her prejudices quickly, eventually befriending my sister.
The prospect of these Tributes also possessing such grace was unlikely.
I thought back to a couple of my wives whose distaste for the Vampyr lasted until their dying breath.
“Well, whatever you do, don’t select that spiteful redhead from Leto. I can’t believe how she spoke to you in front of everyone! Plus, I confirmed with Orin that she’s well on her way to being a spinster. The oldest of the Tributes—there must be a reason she hasn’t secured a husband yet.”
“Mina,” I said, calmly. “I have picked six wives without your counsel. I do not intend to change that now.”
She turned away from me in frustration to reignite conversation with Orin, who had come to accept her nonstop meddling long ago.
What Mina—and practically no one else—understood about the Harvest was the difficulty in arriving at the proper decision.
I learned long ago that choosing one purely in my own self-interest didn’t always lead to the best outcome.
No matter how attractive I found them, they might always despise Vampyr.
Some were incapable of ever truly settling into their new home, away from humans.
Some found themselves in the throes of inconsolable sadness.
Selecting a human queen meant finding someone with enough fortitude to embrace a path they may not have otherwise chosen.
It meant finding someone—and quickly—who possessed a strong sense of self, but who was adaptive enough to mold themselves to the new image of their royal position.
Thus far, Roxelana and Esiree had been the only two that displayed hints of these qualities.
The musicians began a familiar waltz, one that indicated the Dance of Tributes. A select group of human couples and Vampyr nobles entered the dance floor to begin the choreographed movements. Adhering to tradition, I stood from my seat and made my way over to the first Tribute.
While Mircea had clearly practiced the steps and knew them well, it was impossible to avoid tripping over one another’s feet.
My height paired with her short stature made for awkward positioning of our hands on one another and my strides forced her to stutter step with each turn just to keep up.
Her embarrassed giggles with each misstep almost cracked a smile from me, but it was standard for me to keep up the appearance of being far more intimidating than I actually was.
My council advised that it was better for a king to be feared than loved.
After escorting Mircea back to her seat, I took Alius’s hand in mine, and we made our way back to the floor.
Her posture remained stiff throughout the entire dance.
Mostly to keep all of the jewelry in place, but still, with each of our movements, the metals shifted about, and I could tell she was uncomfortable trying to keep her composure.
In an attempt to distract her from this, I offered her a compliment, quietly enough so that no others would hear my praise.
“Has anyone ever told you how stunning your eyes are? They’re golden, like rich honey.”
Alius perked up.
“Thank you,” she said after our next twirl. “I am happy you find one of my qualities attractive. I apologize about my hair.”
I wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for. I had surmised the head covering was a decision of styling made by her attendants. Her comment itched at my curiosity, and now I sought to understand her meaning.
“What about your hair, my dear?”
Alius glanced nervously over at her mother and father, then back to me. “There was an…accident before our arrival. Unfortunately, my hair was badly singed and damaged by an open fire. It’s my fault—I can be so clumsy sometimes.”
I did not observe her to be anything of the sort, so I found her explanation confounding. However, I had only known this woman a few hours. She continued the methodical steps in sync with mine, but her anxious glances toward her family continued.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Hair grows back, anyhow,” I offered.
Interestingly, one of the qualities I found most attractive was long, luscious hair.
But how could anyone know that? Had they surmised it from portraits of the past queens I’d selected?
And if they had, would Lyr really have sent a Tribute whose hair just so happened to have been compromised?
I brushed it off as nothing and concluded my dance with Alius, who had become increasingly distracted by the onlookers surrounding us.
The music continued, and new dancers braved the floor.
I welcomed Roxelana as my next partner. Her attire was an interesting choice: a fitted leather gown spanning her waist, bodice, chest, and even accessorized with elaborate bracers.
Despite their attempts, she looked every bit a warrior forced to don a dress.
Her movements were practiced. I could feel her strong, muscular frame beneath my grip.
Roxelana was no stranger to physical exertion, and seemingly the most fit of the four women.
She wasn’t delicate, in any sense, and what she lacked in gracefulness on the dance floor she made up in endurance.
We were well-matched despite her height, and we moved with speed across the room.
It gave me confidence to try a couple of moves that I had not dared with the other two.
She followed my lead, and the audience oohed and aahed, captivated by our athleticism.
“You are a worthy dance partner,” I remarked to her.
“So I have been told,” she said, before realizing, perhaps, I would not be so interested in her prior courtships. “I mean, thank you, Your Majesty.”
She then pulled away from my embrace, bowed, and returned to the table.
I stood there waiting for my last companion to take her place on the dance floor, but Esiree remained seated and looking at me expectantly.
I nodded my chin, assuming the acknowledgement would compel her to my side, but she didn’t move.
Others in the room were beginning to take notice of the interaction, and I, too, was confused at her insubordinate behavior.
Was she trying to ensure I did not choose her?
I strode casually to the table and stood before her. “Should I assume you have fallen ill—perhaps too much wine?”
Her eyes narrowed into a slight glare.
“You should assume a Lady of Leto prefers to be asked to dance.”
The other three Tributes looked stunned at Esiree’s outlandish statement.
She was the first to refer to herself as a Lady—something none of the other Tributes had done, as no noble bloodlines existed within the human territories.
It was a temporary title bestowed upon each Tribute during the Harvest to acknowledge her elevated standing.
Unaccustomed to nobility, they rarely addressed themselves in such a manner, knowing the honor was little more than borrowed etiquette for the duration of the Harvest. If they were not chosen, they would return to their homelands with nothing more than memories of the event.
Refusing to let her wound me, I responded without missing a beat. Bending into a half bow, I held out my hand to her and lifted my gaze, mirroring her own introduction.
“Lady Esiree, would you accompany me to the dance floor?”
She replied, “If it pleases you, My King.”
Esiree made her way around the table, allowing me to direct us to the floor for the final Dance of Tributes.
She placed one hand on my shoulder and the other in my palm, then framed her body apart from mine.
I abruptly pulled my body near to hers, closing the gap between us to mere inches.
Her breath hitched at my show of dominance, and I squeezed her waist a little tighter, so she had no doubt who was in control.
As the song transitioned and she followed my guidance, I leaned in closely to whisper in her ear.
“I have been doing this far longer than you, my dear. Do not play games with me,” I warned, while keeping my expression neutral.
Esiree raised her voice a pitch higher than her normal tone. “Whatever do you mean, My King?” she said, all too innocently.
“Your people have only acknowledged me as their king under duress, and I’m to believe your sudden loyalty so easily?”
She did not waver in her dedication to her performance.
“My allegiance to you is unquestionable,” she declared, with no hesitation.
I laughed and spun us toward the open edge of the dance floor, closer to the musicians. I leaned into her neck once more and inhaled her scent deeply.
“I’m confident your allegiance was elsewhere recently,” I surmised.
Esiree’s palm began to sweat, and I could feel her muscles tense below my grasp, confirming my suspicions. She attempted to rally her confidence.
“You’re mistaken.”
As the song hit the final notes of its crescendo, I gave her one last twirl and ended the dance on a dip, her warm body suspended just above the ground by my embrace. I leaned in once more so that only she could hear my voice.
“Brave. Little. Liar.”
I raised her back to her feet as the crowd clapped and cheered at the skill we exhibited.
Esiree curtsied by my side, and I bowed before pointing at her and urging an additional round of applause. She smiled back at me. Her veneer may have had everyone else fooled, but I didn’t believe the act for one moment. And I was the one she needed to convince.