CHAPTER 9
Aimee
For the last three days, I have dodged the same number of dinner invitations from the Vampire King.
The first time Nella came into my bedchamber at dusk to announce to me that the King is expecting me to have supper with him, I laughed bitterly and told her to relay word for word, the following message:
“Tell that despicable monster I would rather starve myself to death while ravens pick on my skin endlessly than ever consider sitting at the same table with him, pretending to be civil.”
Her face reddened to ripe tomato levels before she left, mumbling to herself, and I am not entirely sure she carried on the message as intended.
The next evening, to my utter surprise, she sheepishly declared that Killian is graciously requesting my presence for dinner again. I just gave her a curt answer, .
Earlier tonight, when she entered my room with a guilty look on her face, I just sighed and shook my head. She didn’t utter another word before leaving to let him know about my refusal.
He’s a stubborn bastard, I’ll admit. But so am I, and I have no desire to eat my evening meal in his presence, as if this is all normal, and I am not a fucking prisoner in his castle.
I’m careful as I pick crackers and dried fruits from the platters spread on top of my bed and fold them neatly in a stolen linen, before I hide the food in the back of my wardrobe. I’ve been saving small amounts of non-perishable food every day, making provisions for my escape.
I have also been spending my time scouting the castle floors to find the best route to take during my escape.
Leaving the stone walls doesn’t seem to pose a problem.
Finding a way out of the surrounding gardens is another story.
I have taken many fresh-air walks by now, and none has been fruitful.
No matter where I searched, there is no damn gate, door or portal in sight.
And the gigantic walls are so steep and polished, there is no crack or brick out of place that I could grip for a successful climb.
The entire place is made to keep everything out, or inside, in my particular case.
Unless vampires have the hidden ability to fly, I don’t understand how they move about. I sigh, remembering that I should have asked Blaise if the rumor about them turning into bats is also false. That would explain a lot of things.
I would have asked him when the thought first occurred to me the other day, but the second-in-command has vanished, out in the kingdom at his king’s orders.
I move back towards the bed, eyeing the dinner knife sitting on the silver tray.
I have been avoiding falling into temptation, and stashing the only knife they provide me with during dinner, as its disappearance surely wouldn’t go unnoticed.
Polishing off the food is one thing. I could always blame it on my big appetite.
But holding onto the knife would definitely be suspicious.
Besides, what can a flimsy table knife do against hundred years old vampires, trained to kill on sight?
No, for my plan to succeed, I need to get my hands on a dagger, preferably more.
I exhale in despair as I grab the wine glass and down it before refilling it promptly.
The dagger part of my plan seems as impossible as climbing those darn outer walls.
A small part of me is starting to believe I will remain trapped here forever, or at least until they realize my sister will never come running to my rescue, and then they will kill me for proving to be the useless Fae that I am.
I cringe at my inner monologue, just as dark red mist pours in from the crack between the stone floor and the closed door, and the wretched Vampire King appears from a cloud of shadows.
“Fuck’s sake!” I startle, clutching my chest with one hand, my heart galloping through my ribcage. The bastard lifts a corner of his lips in a barely there smirk, as if he finds it amusing to scare me. Motherfucker.
“There’s this thing called manners. Knock first, will you? So I can refuse your entry,” I say, lifting my chin in defiance.
I wince at my choice of attire. My gossamer lavender nightgown is most probably giving him a good view of, well, everything.
He studies me for a beat in that unnerving way of his, his onyx eyes crinkling just a fraction.
“I’ve been courteous enough to invite you to dine with me several times, little girl, but make no mistake.
This is my castle, my bedroom, my rules.
” His narrowed stare penetrates me to the marrow in my bones.
“I do not need an invitation to enter this room, nor will I wait forever for you to accept joining me for supper. I am done playing games.”
“This is my bedroom, not yours!” I sputter in response. My brain seems to lose all ability to form coherent thoughts. I cross my arms defensively in front of my chest, but it’s the wrong move, drawing his wicked attention towards my breasts.
He closes the distance between us in two steps, his shadows tickling my naked feet.
“Your staying in this chamber doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s part of my castle. Everything here is mine, little girl, including you,” he says in a menacing voice.
“I am absolutely not yours!” I raise my voice on instinct. “And stop belittling me with that stupid nickname. I am not a little girl.”
“No, you are not, indeed. You are proving to be quite a little menace, aren’t you?
The question is whether you’re all bark and no bite, or if you can back up your attitude with actions.
” He smirks in a deprecating manner, and before I can think better of it, my arm rears back, preparing to throw a punch in his handsome face.
My fist collides with a swirl of his shadows, and he has me pinned on my back against the mattress in seconds. His heavy weight presses on me, and the telltale prickles of a panic attack envelop my senses, as the tray of food falls on the ground with a resounding thud.
“Get off me, you brute!” I scream in his face as my chest heaves uncontrollably.
No. No. No. This is not happening! I feel the locked-away memories of that incident fighting to resurface.
White dots swim in my vision.
His hands pinning my own against the bed are no longer his.
His breath fanning my face turns sour and acrid.
The knees spreading my thighs apart are of vicious teenage Faes. I’m fifteen again, in that dilapidated shed on the outskirts of Vroni.
My breath catches in my throat painfully, a single tear rolling down my cheek.
“Please, please, stop!” I whisper in a broken voice that sounds like it just got dragged through shattered glass.
Killian recoils as if I’ve just burned him, releasing my hands and jumping from the bed. He searches my eyes for a long moment; whatever he sees there darkens his features with something akin to guilt.
“I apologize for losing control like that. I did not intend to cause you distress, little umbra.”
He retreats another step before continuing, “I will send someone right away to clean the mess from the floor. I insist, though, that the next time I extend a dinner invitation, you accept it.”
With that, he disappears into a mist of crimson shadows, leaving me breathing erratically on the bed.
I spent the remainder of the night pacing up and down my room, incapable of succumbing to sleep.
The visceral reaction I had to Killian’s manhandling cracked open the mental vault where I keep my most terrifying memories locked away. Even worse, my reaction might have tipped him off about what is wrong with me. I shake my head dejectedly. Here I start again with the self-deprecating thoughts.
Nothing is wrong with me; I know that. But it’s damn hard to hold on to my self-worth when the sad reminders of my childhood and teenage years creep up on me at the most inconvenient of times.
I take a swig from the wine bottle; the liquid sloshes in my mouth before gliding down my throat, keeping the numbing buzz afloat in my brain.
On nights like these, the only thing capable of simmering the roaring self-loathing and of stopping the never-ending spiral into pity and despair is a huge amount of alcohol.
I requested a few good bottles of faerie wine when the servants came to clean the mess on the floor, just like Killian had said they would.
I was down to the last bottle now. Sweet apathy was invading my body, one inch of skin at a time.
I was already swaying on my feet, my movements clumsy and uncoordinated. It would take only a few more gulps before I blacked out.
Was it wise to chase my collapse in a castle full of enemy creatures? Of course it wasn’t, but I couldn’t care less at the moment.
I needed to shut down my raving mind more than I needed to stay alert to my surroundings.
Besides, I didn’t feel as threatened here as I did before; a small, traitorous thought kept murmuring in my ear. I know it’s only been a few days, but for some Godsforsaken reason I didn’t feel unsafe here.
Killian could have overpowered me with ease if he had wanted to. He could have profited from my panic attack and done despicable deeds to me. I would have been too weak and too frightened to do shit all about it.
That he didn’t, that he jerked back from my “deer caught in a hunter’s stare” lack of response, took me by surprise.
And that sorrowful look that he threw my way before vanishing, like he was equal parts shamed and appalled by causing me such anguish, it fissured my defensive walls, even if just a fraction.
The most villainous creature in all our history, since the beginning of time, had looked me dead in the eyes. He had seen the searing pain and stepped back instead of pouncing on me. Killian could have shattered the last unbroken parts of my soul. He chose not to.
What the fuck do I do with that?
The next day when I wake up, a splitting headache is pounding in my skull, and I retch, sluggishly moving to the bathroom to hurl away all the alcohol I ingested during the night.
It takes me half an hour of spewing my guts in the toilet before I can rise on shaky feet and wash all the nausea away.
When I emerge from the bathroom, it’s almost sunset.
I sigh in resignation, knowing the King will summon me to another supper. I don’t have any fight left in me to refuse him again, and I dread another confrontation like last night.
I choose a simple black velvet dress with delicate flowers sewn in the long, swirling skirt, and braid my hair in a crown.
When Nella finally makes an appearance, I’m prepared to follow her to wherever the vampire ruler wants me to be, and I’m more than a little taken aback when she’s followed in by servants bringing me trays of nourishing foods and teapots steaming with calming tea.
I frown at the carefully selected foods, chosen specifically to nurse a hangover, and gaze questioningly at the lady-in-waiting.
“The King wishes you a speedy recovery, my lady. Aimee!” She corrects herself immediately. “He conveys you should rest and eat well to fortify your body and mind after the strenuous night you previously had.” She smiles kindly before ushering the servants away.
“Do you require my presence for anything else?”
I shake my head no, and she parts, leaving me alone with my confusing thoughts.
A big part of me is relieved that I don’t have to muster up the energy to face him tonight, but another infinitesimal part of me is maybe disappointed?
I have no intention of opening up to him, or anyone else for that matter, about my dreary past.
I do feel inclined to at least explain that my reaction had nothing to do with him, per se.
Why the hell would I care, though, if he believed to be the sole cause of my agony? He might not have caused me any harm last night, but he had me fucking kidnapped and is keeping me prisoner on his estate.
I gingerly take a spoon and dip it in the chicken soup bowl, taking small sips of the soothing meal.
This feels like a peace offering of sorts on his part, and I’m just too drained and undernourished to throw it away.
I settle on the bed, polishing off the soup bowl, before choosing another dish to sink my teeth into.
Tonight I will lick my wounds, metaphorically speaking.
Tomorrow will be another day to face that baffling creature, head on.