CHAPTER NINETEEN
The corridor is much cooler than the ballroom, and I lift my hair off my neck as we pass an open door, allowing the breeze to dry the sweat on my nape.
Rorrik cuts his eyes to my neck. “Flirting, darling?”
I drop my hair, sidling away from him.
He tuts, and my skin prickles with unease. I shouldn’t be following him anywhere. But this isn’t about me at all. How long has he been planning to kill his father?
Guards walk past, bowing their heads to Rorrik. They ignore me, but I keep my head ducked anyway, so I won’t be recognized later. He leads me down another corridor, and I mentally map my footsteps. When he turns toward a narrow staircase, I hesitate.
He turns, hand trailing down the banister. “Scared?”
I swallow. “No.” We can both hear the lie in my voice.
“Then keep up.”
We pass another group of guards, and Rorrik leads me to the right. A long, dim corridor stretches out before us, without a guard in sight. Trepidation slides through my veins. We’re entirely alone.
If Rorrik turns on me, my only chance is the dagger in my boot.
The blade is silver, which will hurt him. I’m fast, but I’d need to reach beneath my gown, unsheathe the blade, and slide it directly into his heart before he snaps my neck.
Leaving the safety of the ballroom was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. I indulged in impulse. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.
Ahead of me, Rorrik lets out a deep, mocking sigh. “Your fear is only whetting my appetite.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He whirls, pushing me against the closest wall, and I cry out.
“I’m tired of you lying to me.”
His gaze drops to my throat, where my pulse races.
“Fine. You’re terrifying. Is that what you want to hear?”
I can’t get to the blade in my boot. Rorrik’s arms are planted on either side of me, those deadly fangs just inches from my throat.
He’s close enough that I can see silver flecks in his eyes.
Close enough that the icy scent of him burns through my nostrils.
Close enough that he could lean forward and …
My thighs clench, even as horror sweeps through me.
Rorrik’s smile is cruel and filled with dark awareness. “Terrifying,” he muses. “And yet I can scent more than just your … fear.”
My cheeks flame. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A low laugh. He turns and walks away. I take three deep breaths and force myself to follow him.
Focus, Arvelle. Deal with whatever that was later.
I catch up to Rorrik, who strolls down the hall as if wholly unconcerned by the threat his father presents. By killing the emperor, I could be giving Rorrik almost unlimited power. I’d be removing one tyrant from the throne and replacing it with someone who could be even worse.
“I need your vow.”
He turns. “You believe you’re in a place to bargain with me?”
I shrug. “It sounds like I’m doing you a favor. If I kill your father, what’s to stop you from killing me as an example? Slaughtering your father’s killer would be a good way to solidify your rule.”
Interest flickers in his eyes. “Fine.” One sharp black claw extends from his finger and sweeps down his forearm. The wound immediately begins knitting back together and he takes my hand, pulling me toward him.
I hiss out a breath as he slices through the sleeve of my gown, into the skin of my own arm. Instinctively, I yank at my arm, but his hand only tightens and he slides one finger through my blood. He pushes that finger into his own almost-healed wound.
My stomach swims. Vampire bonds and vows will always sicken me.
“I vow that I will not punish you for killing my father.”
“Or allow anyone else to punish me either.”
Icy eyes meet mine. “Or allow anyone else to punish you for killing my father either.”
“There will be no repercussions.”
“Oh, I can’t promise that.” He purses his lips, and the light flickers over the planes of his face, lingering in the hollows beneath his cheekbones and jaw. “But you will receive no consequences from me or mine.”
It will have to do.
When I nod, he finishes his oath, licking his finger. His eyes darken, becoming a deep turquoise as they turn hooded and glazed. For a moment, there’s something so familiar about him, I can’t help but lean closer, searching his face.
Rorrik sweeps his tongue over his finger once more. “Delicious.”
I can’t contain my wince, and he lets out a low, mocking laugh. “We’ve lingered here for too long.” He cracks open an unmarked door and waits, body coiled.
Tension crackles through my veins, until I’m almost panting with it. Finally, Rorrik pushes the door open, and I catch a glimpse of a Praesidium guard stepping through another door at the end of the corridor.
Rorrik has managed to perfectly time the guards’ shift change.
He steps aside, and my breath stutters from my lungs. If I’d thought the imperial palace was impressive when I was downstairs, it’s nothing compared to the rooms up here.
Dark, wooden floors are polished to a gleam.
On the right side of the corridor, heavy crimson drapes have been pulled away from tall, elegantly arched windows, inviting in the cool, jasmine-scented air from the garden below us.
The drapes are so thick, I have no doubt they block out even a hint of light during the day.
Between each window, niches hold statues of Umbros in various poses, his form carved from Zevarian marble—the onyx speckled with gold.
To my left, I count at least twenty doors.
Rorrik continues walking, and my boots sink into soft, plush carpets laid over the wooden floors. Opening an unguarded door, he gestures for me to enter the dark room.
“I don’t think so.”
He gives me a slow smile. “Suspicious little thing.” He prowls inside, turning on a lamp, and my pulse trips in my chest.
Being the sole focus of Rorrik’s attention feels like I’m sticking my head in a lion’s mouth and waiting to see if it will snap its jaws shut. Each time he watches me with that icy gaze, I have to fight the urge to run.
It’s exhausting.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
“My bedroom.”
Drop into a crouch. Left hand pulls up my gown. Right hand reaches for my blade …
Rorrik strolls past me, looking amused. “You’re too easy to rile. You should work on that. These are the emperor’s quarters. And I have the perfect hiding spot for you.”
He turns, and I allow myself to take in the emperor’s room, my eyes immediately drawn to the grand, four-poster bed dominating the space, velvet curtains of deep crimson and gold draped on each side.
The walls are paneled with dark, polished wood that perfectly matches the intricately carved walnut desk and chair in one corner.
No part of me can picture the emperor sitting in such a space made for writing or contemplation. I can’t help but crane my head, catching a glimpse of marble columns within the attached bathing room.
“If you’ve finished gawking …” Rorrik holds open the door to a spacious closet.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do you believe I am someone who likes to joke?”
Well, when he puts it like that.
“What happens if a servant checks the closet?”
“Come closer.” The words are a dare, and I ignore the pounding in my chest as I approach.
When he points to the hidden door, the breath escapes my lungs in a puff.
“Claustrophobic?”
“No. That doesn’t mean I want to hide beneath the floor.”
“It’s larger than it looks.”
I peer down into the dim space. He’s right. It’s not as cramped as I’d assumed. While it’s certainly not expansive, it’s large enough inside for three people to stand side by side.
“Why is this here?”
He gives a languid shrug. “This palace holds many secrets. The guards will return soon,” he warns, and I crouch, lowering myself into the space.
“What about wards? Traps? Your father is a First vampire.” Created by Umbros himself.
“This is a man who can’t walk into his own bathing chamber without several servants surrounding him at all times.” Rorrik curls his lip, flashing a fang. “He relies on his guards, on his reputation, and on fear. But alone? My father is no invincible god. Not while he’s resting.”
I narrow my eyes. “But not defenseless.”
“Not defenseless. But predictable. He’s grown accustomed to power, his guards scurrying to keep him protected, and any true threats are eliminated long before they make it near his palace.
His wards were created to keep out armies, not a single assassin with this.
” He throws something into my lap. “You move like a drunk bull. This pendant will cover the sound of your clumsy footsteps.”
“Rorrik. Wait.”
“There’s no turning back now, little rabbit. Harness all that courage I’ve caught glimpses of.”
Without another word, he seals me in.
I panic, immediately pushing the door back up until it opens a crack. Rorrik has already disappeared, but at least I know I can escape.
I should have made him vow that I would be safe here.
Pulling the door closed, I sit down, bringing my knees to my chest. I slide a hand down to my dagger, my breathing steadying at the familiar comfort of the hilt in my hand.
I shouldn’t be here. But the need to kill the emperor has suddenly become almost intolerable, impossible for me to ignore. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch, constantly driving me toward my goal.
Tonight was the best choice. I may not be as prepared as I would have wanted, but who knows when I would have gotten another opportunity to get this close? It could have taken weeks or even months of planning.
And yet I can’t deny that this is impulsive even for me.
I reach for the cool stone in my lap, lifting it by the chain and slipping it over my head.
The fact that I didn’t think of this proves I have no business attempting to assassinate the emperor.
Hopefully whoever wielded the aether to create this pendant is powerful enough that it truly will hide my presence from the emperor as I attempt to sneak up on him.
Pushing that thought away, I focus on the steps I’ll take to get out of here, memorizing each direction until I can do it unthinkingly.
Time crawls.
Eventually, the sun must begin to rise. The vampires should be feeling the weight of the day, urging them to rest. But who knows when the emperor will retire for the day? The older the vampire, the longer they can go without sleep. Terror slowly transforms into boredom.
I must doze, because I jolt awake, confused and tense as light pours into the hidden space. Someone is standing above me in the closet.
I hold my breath, my entire body quivering. Any moment now, the door above my head will fly open, and I’ll be hauled out.
Will I feel the blade sink into me? Or will it be instantly over?
Stupid questions. The emperor will ensure my death lasts for days.
I can feel their presence, hovering above me. And even if I couldn’t sense them, I’d still hear their shallow breaths, would still see the shadow moving in the tiny gaps between the floorboards as they step inside and pause.
Something rustles.
Clothes.
I don’t move. I barely breathe.
And then it’s over.
The light disappears, and the relief makes me lightheaded, my eyes burning.
Voices sound, too low for me to hear anything but a rumble. A feminine voice joins them. After what feels like an eternity but is probably only an hour or so, all lights go dim.
I don’t move.
I’m armed with a weapon while the emperor falls asleep, oblivious. And yet I’m the one who is truly trapped.
Even if I could change my mind, could back out, the chance of me making it to the door and out of this palace without Rorrik’s distraction at dawn …
Beyond low.
I need to make my move. Now.
Slowly, gently, carefully, I push the door open.
My every sense is heightened, until I can feel the barest whisper of the draft from beneath the closet door, curling around my hands.
It takes me an eternity to climb from the hidden chamber, muscles stiff, bones aching, my every moment laced with tedium and pain. But I can’t rush. Even with the pendant firmly around my neck, I won’t risk the pop of a joint or the brush of my gown against wood.
I’m wearing a fucking gown to assassinate the emperor.
I push the thought away. If I focus on the ludicrous nature of my life, I might do something stupid like burst into hysterical laughter. Or tears.
Evren and Gerith. With my brothers’ faces clasped firmly in my mind, I take a deep breath and crack open the closet door.
The room is dark, the curtains likely enchanted.
I’m glad I took my time memorizing the location of the huge bed.
With the pendant around my neck, I could likely dance my way toward the bed.
But my instincts overrule any trust I might have in the emperor’s son, despite his obvious longing for his father’s throne.
Slowly, step by step, I creep toward the bed.