Chapter 17
Aimee
“Ireally should be the one doing that,” Nella huffs from the armchair she’s perched on, glaring at Sariah’s fingers braiding my curls into a half-crown as if they’ve offended her.
“Oh, hush. You do enough already,” Sariah responds with a laugh. She grabs an apple from the overflowing fruit tray that sits on my vanity and throws it at the petite human, who scrambles to catch it before it hits her in the face. “Here, to keep you busy.”
Nella takes a bite of the apple, with a bit of juice dribbling down her chin. “You spoil me rotten,” she concedes.
“That’s what friends are for.” Sariah gives her a playful wink before finishing my hairdo with a crimson velvet bow that matches the long-sleeved dress I’m wearing.
The exact same shade as Killian’s shadows.
I play with the golden hem of my bell sleeves, smiling at their playful banter. It’s such a Sariah move to befriend Nella, and it reminds me of when we met. Sure, it turns out she had ulterior motives, but I can’t find it in my heart to stay mad at her for that.
Maybe having Sariah as a confidante will bring Nella out of her shell, just like it did for me.
I should have done the same, I realize with a start, but I was not in the right headspace when I arrived in Sangeries, against my will.
“Now, be honest, how do I look?” Sariah asks, doing a little twirl, the skirts of her pearlescent dress swaying with the movement. Her milky-white dress hugs her curves before flaring into ankle-length chiffon drapes that glimmer in the candlelight.
She looks like a dangerous angel, with her pale locks and cunning eyes.
“Like Blaise will have a stroke when he sees you,” I say mischievously.
“Oh, please, that vampire has a near-stroke every time he sees anyone with a pulse and a pair of good breasts,” she huffs a laugh.
“True, but the way he looks at you is different,” Nella says with a knowing smirk.
“Allow me to doubt that.”
“So you’re not interested in him at all?” I ask with unveiled amusement. I wonder if she remembers when he bumped into me on the streets of Annerough, all those months ago, and she was practically drooling over his retreating form.
“He’s good-looking, I’ll grant him that,” she answers, “but the guy’s one horny bastard.”
“You are too,” I huff a laugh.
“Exactly. I don’t want to date myself.”
“Who said anything about dating?” Nella wiggles her eyebrows conspiratorially, and I swear I see a hint of pink staining Sariah’s cheeks.
Interesting.
“I’m more intrigued about the brothers, though,” Sariah says without missing a beat. Changing the subject. “Mattya and Axel. I heard they sometimes share.”
“There are rumors among the maids, yes,” Nella confirms. “Are you into that?”
“Why not? I’m into anything as long as it’s pleasurable for me,” Sariah answers, smoothing the creases of her gown.
“Sariah, always the pleasure opportunist,” I giggle.
“Oh, I like that. Make sure to put that on my tombstone if I die before you. Which I will. Because you are the Foretold One, and I’m, well…not.”
Just like that, all the playfulness vanishes into thin air, and I frown.
“Sariah…”
“Sariah, the mood killer. That should go on my tombstone as well,” she says with a strained laugh.
Her joke doesn’t land as intended, and silence stretches between us for a moment.
“I will not let you die. Neither of you,” I say in a solemn whisper. I’m unsure whether it’s a promise I can uphold, but I would rather sacrifice myself than let anything befall them.
“Right, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Nella says, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Wouldn’t want to let those vampires wait for you much longer, or who knows what havoc they would wreak around the castle, and I really do not desire to be on cleaning duty on my night off.”
“Those vampires, you say? Look at your lack of etiquette, Nella!” I say in wonder. “I’ve never heard you address Killian in any other way than King before. Sariah must be really rubbing off on you.”
“Oh, Gods, please don’t tell him.” Nella covers her eyes in mortification, just as a bloody mist swirls into existence in the middle of the room.
“Tell me what?” Killian asks with feigned curiosity, as if he hadn’t overheard us. He steps out of his shadows, all polished darkness and lethal beauty. My heart stutters in my chest, against my better judgement.
How can he wear the same variation of an outfit all the time and yet look increasingly sinful?
“What’s with you and knocking?” I ask with raised eyebrows. “You seem to avoid it like the Fae plague. What if I were naked?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, little umbra,” Killian says with a grin plastered on his stupidly handsome face. “You seem to forget my nature. Your little plague would have no effect on me.”
“What if I were naked then?“ Sariah quips, making Blaise stumble through the bedroom door in the next second. His eyes scan the room hastily before his shoulders slouch and he huffs, “Tease,” under his breath.
“Shall we?” Killian asks with a mock bow, keeping his eyes trained on me, scorching a path along my exposed cleavage with his intense gaze.
Drovillan, dressed in festive colors, is a sight to behold. If I found it breathtaking the first—and only—time I was here, now it slithers under my skin like a thief in the night and steals not only my breath, but my last working brain cells.
I stare dumbfounded, mouth agape, at the gothic spires draped in garlands of crimson dahlias, the bloody red lanterns lighting up the night sky, and the fountains spilling faerie wine from the top instead of water.
The whole city is bathed in an eerie blood moon, casting its menacing glow in waves, as if moonlight is chasing the darkness, not to cast it off, but to embrace it in a lover’s sensual kiss.
I watch it glide along the cobblestones, reflect from the shiny surface of the river winding its way through the middle of the city, and caress each human or vampire that walks the boisterous streets.
And Fae.
Thanks to Sariah’s Dark Umbras, Drovillan’s alleys are also filled to the brim with awestruck Fae, taking in the beauty and the promise of sin.
“I never thought I’d see the day…” Killian whispers in my ear as he steps behind me, pressing his chest against my back. I feel the strong ridges of his torso through the layers of clothing between us, and an ice-cold heat seeps into my skin wherever our bodies touch.
I’m rooted to the spot, unsure whether to put some distance between us or revel in the mind-boggling sensation and sink into his embrace instead.
Caught between such jarring choices, all I can do is glance his way, at how the reddish moonlight unravels those tightly controlled emotions he keeps hidden behind his obsidian eyes.
“You’ve made this possible, Killian. Surely you know that,” I murmur, lost in the softening edges of his demeanor.
There’s a subtle vulnerability in his expression right now that reminds me of another Killian from weeks ago, the one that swore his undying love, the one that was ready to burn the world to ashes in my vindication, the one I single-handedly killed with my lies.
Something shifted between us in those dunes of Reweroth, as much as I’d like to pretend it didn’t. He doesn’t seem to hate me as much anymore, and I almost wish I could trust his change of heart.
“Are you lovebirds going to just sit there and stare at each other all night, or what?” Blaise hollers from a few feet in front, already grabbing a goblet of bloodwine and downing it in one go, followed by a giggling Sariah.
I break into a sprint after them, laughing and twirling to the same imaginary tune as everybody else.
Children are running through the crowds, wearing crimson flower crowns and mock-fighting with wooden swords. Lovers are swirling on the edges, sneaking into back alleys, drunk on faerie wine and lust.
We reach the central square, where the main festivities seem to take place. A large wooden platform occupies the center of the square, and people flock around it, watching the actors on stage.
A human man dressed in black head-to-toe and wearing fake fangs fights against an enemy army; other humans painted completely in crimson surround him like a devious halo.
Killian and his shadows.
He wins the fight and gains his crown, crowds cheering him on as he places the crown askew on his head and proceeds to kiss several maidens one after another.
Then another fight breaks out, another win, another string of meaningless conquests.
They show Ayana and Silvestrus; they show her losing her mind over him and killing herself; the Fae war; all in a slightly obnoxious, cartoonish representation.
The crowd hoots and hollers, laughing drunkenly and singing a crude ballad to the Vampire King.
“Are they making fun of him?” I ask Blaise, who’s thoroughly enjoying getting drunk on ale and bloodwine and whatever his hands can carry, while stealing glances at Sariah dancing with strangers.
“Yeah, it’s a Kronna tradition. They do mock sketches of his life all throughout the night,” Blaise answers, but his eyes never leave my friend. I’ve never seen him so engrossed with somebody, oblivious to all the sultry stares he is getting from females all around us.
“And he allows it?” I ask, astounded. I would never have pegged Killian as a ruler who allows open mockery of himself. Sure, he’s not the ruthless villain he’s painted to be in Ryawarath, but he’s a little scary, nevertheless.
Cold.
Controlled.
Calculated.
“Why wouldn’t I, little umbra?” he asks in my ear once again, as he catches up to me and wraps an arm around my waist. “It’s all in good fun. Besides, it’s not like they are telling lies.”
“Excuse me,” Blaise calls out over his shoulder, already vanishing into the crowd in pursuit of Sariah and a blond vampire I’ve never seen before.
“You seemed insufferable though,” I say as I return my gaze to the stage. The actor impersonating Killian is stalking a brunette girl through what seems to be a replica of Sangeries, and she’s running from him while hurling colorful insults. “Wait, is that supposed to be me?”
“I suppose I was, yes. Reckless and arrogant.”
His fingers skim my hipbones, pulling me flushed against his front, and it’s embarrassing how fast I become hot and bothered.
“And yes, I believe that would be you, though no other living creature could possibly do you justice,” he whispers against my flesh before placing a kiss on my pulse point. I shudder in his grasp and try to move further into the crowd, but his grip is unforgiving.
“No more running, Aimee,” he says as I feel our shadows pooling at our feet, coiling around one another. Always seeking each other out desperately.
“I’m not running; I just don’t want to be this close to you,” I say through clenched teeth. A few spectators have started to turn their heads our way, and excited murmurs are rising over the music and the play. They have the Vampire King and the Foretold One among them.
“Liar,” Killian huffs humorously, nuzzling my hair.
“And you’re just as arrogant as ever.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean I’m not also right.”
Commotion from the stage interrupts me before I can say anything else, a clear path opening up before us as the actors signal for us to join them. Killian pushes me gently forward, and my body moves against my will.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-shout as we approach the platform, and Killian hoists me up, joining me seconds later.
“It’s customary on Kronna for me to make an appearance and let them crown me, like they did a thousand years ago,” he answers with a broad smile, while young females wrap garlands of dahlias and blood-red carnations around our necks.
“Yes, you—it’s your fucking celebration after all,” I hiss anxiously, “but why me?”
My neck prickles with self-consciousness as I feel every pair of eyes in this damned square focused on us.
My palms are getting clammy, and my heart beats painfully against my ribcage.
I don’t enjoy being the center of attention, not when it’s entirely out of my control.
Being Celestia, the naked temptress at the Twinkling Meadow, gave me the upper hand. I was holding the reins of my destiny.
This is different. Under the scrutiny of these strangers, I feel more naked than I’ve ever felt while dancing in bejeweled underwear.
The Killian impersonator bows deeply before taking the black crown from the top of his head and placing it carefully on Killian’s. Its metallic glint reflects the torchlight coming from the edges of the stage, and the intricate pattern is a tapestry of stylized thorns, fangs, and daggers.
It’s quietly dangerous, lethal in its beauty.
So him.
The girl playing my part approaches me with a curtsy and places a smaller, delicate crown on my head as well, and I hold my breath as if I might faint. A circlet made of black diamonds shaped like curling shadows hugs my temples. These don’t feel like mock crowns at all.
“Killian,” I say again, my gaze clashing with his.
“The people want their queen, Aimee. As do I. Would you deny them?”
A chant erupts from the drunken crowd, first as a slurred purr, growing louder with each moment that passes.
Louder. Clearer. More articulate, more demanding.
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
What the fucking hell?
Killian smirks as he grabs my waist and pulls me in, our mouths a breath away.
“Tell me, my Queen, would you deny them? Deny me?”
He clasps his mouth to mine before I could even blink, his tongue pushing forcefully against my lips to part, invading my mouth in one sweep.
The crowd goes into a frenzy, screams and whistling drowning out every other noise, and the sensory overload makes me hold on to Killian’s arms for dear life.
No, I can’t deny his people a semblance of hope and normality when what’s coming is anything but.
I can’t seem to deny him either; his hold on my body and soul as formidable as ever. And the cocky bastard knows it too, toying with me like I’m one of those mindless conquests he’s had over the centuries.
“Then maybe I will just have to try harder,” I think as I bite down on his tongue until the coppery taste of his blood fills my mouth and a guttural moan reverberates from his chest.