Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
You haven’t changed a bit. Cassius murmured low, and the weight of him settled around her—over her. Gods, the sounds you used to make for me.
Thalia felt it then, barely the brush of his lips against the sensitive underside of her jaw. She arched into him, biting back the moan that gathered in the back of her throat. She felt his heat, his strength.
Cassius’s nose nudged near her ear, and she let out a breathless gasp when his teeth nipped at her skin. “I’ve missed you. Missed hearing those little noises,” Cassius chuckled softly, his bare chest vibrating against hers.
Thalia knew she should pull away. Should take the dagger hidden under her pillow and plunge it straight into his neck, then grab the stake she’d placed under the mattress and finish him. But she did nothing as his lips trailed over her shoulder, his body familiar to her—comforting.
“Aren’t you at all curious what it would be like again?” His words were rough, near guttural.
Thalia swallowed her tongue as Cassius’s callused hands were suddenly on the hem of her dress, his fingertips touching her skin. They trailed upward, slowly, torturously. Thalia’s breath stuttered as his fingers paused near the inner part of her thighs.
“Aren’t you at all curious if it would feel as good as it did then?” Cassius pressed his lips right into her neck, and Thalia’s pulse fluttered. She gasped when his other hand grasped her breast, his fingers playing over her hardened nipple.
“Tell me that you want this,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. Thalia shifted, aching for his fingers to keep going up. To finally sink inside her—
“Look at me, Thalia. Tell me that you want me. Tell me that you want a monster.”
Thalia forced her heavy lids open.
Red, glowing eyes stared back from sunken flesh.
Thalia tried to scream, but nothing came out as Cassius sank his teeth right into her throat and ripped—
Thalia jerked awake, snagging the dagger tucked under her pillow, and lunged at the person looming above her.
The person yelped as Thalia grabbed them, twisting to pin them to the bed beneath her.
“Fuck’s sake!” the person barked. Golden eyes widened with fear at the blade pressed against her lifeblood.
Thalia blinked down at the woman under her. She couldn’t be much older than she was, with ebony skin and curly black hair. “Who the fuck are you?” Thalia practically panted out. Her heart was a riotous beat in her chest, her skin covered in cold, clammy sweat.
The woman swallowed, the knife wavering with the movement. “Camilla. I’m to oversee you while you’re here.”
“Says who?”
Camilla’s golden eyes narrowed, and she brazenly placed her hand over Thalia’s, pulling the dagger away with more strength than Thalia expected. “Says His Highness.”
At the mention of the prince, everything came flooding back, including the night before and finally arriving in Irenbis. Thalia’s eyes flew to the sitting area, but Cassius was nowhere to be found. In fact, he wasn’t even in the room.
Thalia’s heart rate still hadn’t returned to normal, but she eased off the woman. “And what exactly do you do for the prince?”
Camilla got up, casting her a glare as she rubbed her neck. “I’m one of his advisers. I’m on his council.”
Thalia raised a brow at that. “Oh? And what do you advise him on?”
“Well, I would have advised him not to take a human wife if he was here,” Camilla snapped.
Thalia’s brow only quirked further, but something caught her attention. Or the lack thereof. She gasped. “You’re not—you’re not a Vampyr.” Indeed, no sharp canines peeked from behind the woman’s full lips.
Camilla placed her hands on her hips. The ruby gown she wore was corseted and cinched, highlighting her lithe figure. “I’m not.”
Thalia sat up, her hands trembling. “How is it—I mean, how are you—are you human?” For some reason, the thought of another human in this world of monsters gave her a sick sort of comfort.
Camilla barked out a laugh, the sound high and brassy. “Gods, no.”
Not human? Then what the hell was she?
Thalia’s eyes narrowed. “Get out.”
Camilla shook her head, curls flying. “I’m here to ensure that you are properly introduced to the courts this afternoon.”
Thalia faltered. Her poor heart couldn’t take all this starting and stopping. She’d known the introduction was coming, yet still she had to force the dread from her face. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to say as neutrally as possible, “Where is Cassius?”
Camilla gave her a look, as if noting the way her breath had hitched. Thalia couldn’t stop the heat from flooding her cheeks. But she couldn’t ignore the feeling of how his teeth had sunk into her flesh—the pain as he tried to rip her throat out, dream or not.
Camilla finally inclined her head. Something about it seemed almost animal-like. Not in the way of the Vampyrs but something … else. “He’s probably off being the good little hand to the prince that he is.”
Something oily squirmed in Thalia’s gut at the words, at the tone.
There was a fondness in the way Camilla spoke, no indication of bitterness despite her words.
Then the words hit Thalia—the knowledge that this truly was Cassius’s kingdom now.
He served the very creatures who’d sent those other Vampyrs to her home thirteen years ago, the creatures who’d taken her family.
White-hot rage slammed into her so hard that she choked.
“Do you want me to find him?” Camilla added after a moment.
Thalia uncurled her fists, forcing a sharp exhale, only so that she didn’t shatter something. She picked at her thumbs. “No.”
Camilla looked at her like she didn’t believe her. But before the strange woman could question her further, Thalia stormed to the bathing chamber.
“What are you doing?” the woman demanded at her heels.
Thalia turned the water on in the large tub. “Becoming presentable.”
Camilla watched her from the doorway, arms crossed. “You could have a servant do that.”
“There are servants here?”
Camilla snorted. “Of course there’s servants; it’s a castle and you’re the princess.”
Thalia stared at the water rising in the black tub.
Another perk of the ore—having access to clean water sent straight into your home.
But Camilla’s words stuck. Yes. Yes she was going to be the princess of a realm that meant to ruin her.
That she needed to destroy instead of allowing her fear to take over.
She needed to think, needed to figure out a new plan.
And she couldn’t very well do that with Camilla watching her like a hawk.
She turned suddenly to the woman. “Can you bring me a breakfast tray?”
Camilla’s brows rose. “I said there were servants here. Not saying I’m a servant.”
Thalia bit down on her rising annoyance. “I know that. But can you ring for them?” For anyone, really. Anyone except you. “You said I’m to be presented to the courts this afternoon. I should get ready.”
Camilla’s eyes narrowed at her as if trying to sense the lie. Finally, she stiffly went back into the room to do as she was asked.
Thalia locked the door of the bathing room chamber, her body already weary and strung out, though she’d been awake for less than ten minutes.
She stared at the tub again. It was still heating, given its size, but something caught the corner of her eye—she’d almost missed the scrap of a shirt hanging out of the laundry chute.
His shirt.
Thalia pulled it out. It was dirty and sweat stained, but she could still smell him under it.
Smell the way the wind always seemed to cling to him and how he used to worship the sun, lying in the fields with her when the first stalks of grass sprang up from the earth.
Yet underneath it all, she smelled blood.
That cloying stench of rot as he left the Scarecrows for her to find like some sort of fucked-up bread trail.
Thalia shoved the shirt into the chute. She shut her mind to her growing rage as she switched the running water to ice cold.
“I can’t breathe,” Thalia gritted out as one of the servants Camilla had been referring to pulled at the laces on her dress.
Camilla rolled her eyes from where she watched the servants tend to their new princess. Thalia had been lathered and plucked and pinched into what she guessed was perfection. It was almost worse than when Katrina tended to her.
The thought of her handmaiden sent another pang of sadness through her. She pushed it aside. She had a job to do.
“The Vampyr courts are adamant about appearance,” Camilla tutted, pulling Thalia from her thoughts. “If you can’t breathe, you can’t say something that will offend them.”
Thalia held back the insult poised on her tongue that would surely offend Camilla. But she wasn’t surprised to hear of the Vampyrs’ preferences. Given the way they seemed to idolize elegance and their own ethereal beauty, vanity must run deep.
“And if I pass out? Will you or anyone stop the courts from feasting on my blood?”
The servant tightening her dress faltered. Thalia couldn’t tell if the three who attended to her were Vampyrs or whatever mysterious thing Camilla was. They hadn’t spoken at all to reveal their canines.
“Are you always this dramatic?” Camilla raised a well-groomed brow.
Yes, appearances must be important, because somewhere between the time Thalia had gotten out of her freezing bath and the time the servants finished making her up like a porcelain doll, the woman had changed.
She wore a silk gown of such a deep violet that it was nearly black, the sleeves three-quarter length with lace trim.
Black diamonds dripped from her throat and ears.
Thalia didn’t comment as the servant finally stepped back and she had a chance to look in the mirror.
Her gown was similar in fashion to Camilla’s, only a rich crimson color that reminded her of dried blood. A stiff piece of red lace wrapped around the back of her neck; it was scalloped, with tiny droplets of black diamonds sewn into the rigid fabric, and flared slightly in a small half-moon.
Thalia’s hair had been curled and pinned up, ruby clips holding the strands in place.
Her lashes had been darkened and lengthened, her cheeks painted to bring out a natural blush.
While she couldn’t deny that at least she did look good, like a princess, she wanted to laugh at the pomp of it all—it was far more ostentatious than when her mother held court.
But she didn’t. She kept her face carefully blank as a servant handed her a black silk fan.
The cold press of her dagger against her thigh was her only comfort as she faced Camilla. Neither she nor the servants had seen her slip it under her dress when their backs were turned.
Camilla looked her over, nodding once. “This will have to do.”
Thalia bit her tongue as Camilla pulled something out of her dress pocket and held out her arm. “Here.”
Thalia looked at the cream letter and a small velvet pouch dangling from Camilla’s fingers. “What’s that?”
“From His Highness.”
His Highness.
Thalia swallowed as she tentatively took the items, cracking open the thick seal of the letter to read the contents.
Princess,
I hope your journey into Vaccarium was uneventful. Please accept this token as a symbol of our everlasting union and the beginning of true peace.
His Royal Highness
“Not one for words,” Thalia muttered, and she could have sworn Camilla snorted. Thalia opened the pouch, spilling the contents into her palm.
A ring with a blood-red ruby stared at her. The band consisted of silver spires that twisted to hold the ruby in the middle, almost like a rose covered by thorns.
Camilla whistled. “Got the family jewels.”
Thalia glanced up, but the woman’s face was serious. She looked back at the ring. A part of her wanted to throw it into the fire—to watch it melt and crack under pressure.
But she needed to think of her mission.
Thalia slipped the ring onto her left hand, ignoring the weight and coldness of the metal against her skin.
Camilla nodded, then inclined her head. “Shall we?”