Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Hazel
“ I t is a developmental milestone, not an infection,” the Krovenian royal physician continues, I assume, for my benefit.
“Every Krovenian child goes through it between the ages of four and seven. The body is maturing the vampire physiology, the fangs strengthen, the senses sharpen, the cool-running biology stabilizes. It is the body doing its work.”
I stand on one side of Lily’s bed. Viktor stands on the other. Madam Petrova hovers in the doorway with both hands folded against her chest.
“How long?” I ask.
“Twelve to seventy-two hours,” the physician answers. “The first twelve will tell us much.”
“And the treatment?”
The physician shakes his head gently. “There is no medicine that ends it, the fever is the maturation, to suppress it would interrupt the process. We can manage comfort and keep the temperature from spiking dangerously high with a mild Krovenian fever-reducer, which I will administer now. Keep her hydrated and cool. But her body must do this on its own.”
He prepares a small syringe at the bedside cart and gives Lily the dose with practiced gentleness. She does not wake.
“How serious is this likely to be?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Most cases are mild,” he answers.
“Most children come through fine in a day or two. A small number have severe cases. Severity tends to be related to the child’s overall strength going into the fever.
Children who are stronger going in tend to come through quicker…
Twelve hours,” the physician repeats gently.
“I will check in every two hours. Send for me at any change.”
He bows slightly to Viktor and steps out.
Madam Petrova sets down a large basin of cool water, a stack of soft white cloths, a small thermometer, fresh towels, a tray of tea, and quietly slips out behind him.
I shrug off my cardigan and drape it over the back of the small bedside chair. I dip the first cloth in the basin of cool water and wring it out and fold it in half. I move to her bedside, and I sit down on the small wooden chair beside her, and I begin.
I press the cool cloth to her tiny forehead, gentle as I can.
Viktor watches me with a surprised look, like he is realizing, in real time, that I am not going anywhere.
He sits down opposite me in the matching chair.
I am also surprised. I suppose I had expected the Crown Prince to give orders, defer to the physician and retreat to his study for updates. Royalty is not supposed to sit at sickbeds. They have staff for this.
The afternoon stretches into evening.
Madam Petrova brings food. Neither of us eats much.
I make tea. Viktor drinks it without comment.
At one point Lily wakes long enough to whisper, “Papa?”
“I am here, malenka. ”
She drifts off again, her tiny fingers tightening on Max.
The light at the windows changes. Gold afternoon into pink dusk into soft dim evening. The sconces dim. A single soft lamp burns on the bedside table.
Madam Petrova arrives with clean clothes. For both of us. She has thought of everything.
We take turns stepping into the small adjoining nurse’s room to change. Viktor goes first. He returns in soft pajama pants and a clean dark shirt with the cuffs rolled back to the elbow again, his hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck.
I take my turn and come back in soft cotton lounge pants and a thin sweater. I bring my hair down out of its bun and put it up again, looser, because the bun was starting to give me a headache. I remove my makeup and wash my face.
I come back into the nursery.
Madam Petrov is now directing two quiet porters who arrive with comfortable armchairs to place on either side of Lily’s bed. Small wooden side tables have appeared at each chair. A reading lamp is on each table. A neatly folded throw blanket is over the back of each chair.
Madam Petrova looks up at me from where she has just placed the last basket beside one of the chairs. “You will be here a while, dears,” she says softly. “May as well be comfortable.” She gives my arm a small, steady squeeze as she passes me.
Viktor is already in his armchair, holding the cup of tea I made an hour ago.
I sit down in mine.
A small thick hardcover book is on the side table next to Viktor’s chair. He must have asked Madam Petrova to retrieve it from his study. He picks it up and settles it on his lap. The leather cover gleams in the lamplight.
I lean over slightly. “What are you reading?”
He shows me the spine. It is in Krovenian, which I cannot read, but the cover has a small embossed image of a mid-twentieth-century European city skyline.
“It is a history,” he says quietly. “World War Two. The Krovenian volume.”
“The Krovenian volume? Is this the one where… “
He nods grimly. “Where we kill Hitler. Yes. It is a very accurate account. The human authors actually got most of it right.”
I stare at him for a moment. The Crown Prince of Krovenia is reading a history book about his ancestors murdering a human dictator because it relaxes him. Hmm.
I reach into the basket Madam Petrova left at the side of my chair.
She has, I see now, also stocked it. Bless that woman.
There are two books in the basket. A small bag of Krovenian shortbread cookies wrapped in cloth.
A spare cardigan in case I get cold. A pair of warm wool socks.
I pull out the book I have been reading lately, a military romantic suspense paperback.
Hot alpha Navy Seal saves brave heroine from a crazy stalker.
Great story. I have been on a romantic suspense kick for the last six months and I am not ashamed of it.
I open it to my bookmark.
Viktor glances over. “What are you reading?”
I turn the book toward him so he can see the man chest cover.
He studies it for a moment, then his eyebrow rises. He shakes his head with a rueful smile and returns to his Hitler-killing chapter.
I return to my Navy Seal.
Lily breathes softly between us.
Eventually I stop reading. I’ve been rereading the same paragraph for twenty minutes. My mind has gone somewhere else. I keep remembering our conversation from this morning, before we found out Lily was sick.
I look at the little girl who is still struggling past her fever, and at the handsome Krovenian sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, intently reading his book.
He told me all about the Blood Calling this morning, admitting that he wanted me as more than simply his daughter’s nanny.
And then he listed all of the reasons why he has not been actively pursuing me but has been in denial of this Blood Calling.
At least now I know I was right, this man wants me as much as I want him.
I think, in fact, he was trying to say he basically wanted to marry me?
But now my brain, free of the immediate fire of that conversation and worn smooth by the long hours of sitting still, is turning that last piece over and looking at it from every angle.
I think about Claire.
Everyone in America knows the Claire story.
I mean, everyone. It was on every news channel for weeks.
The American maid who married the vampire king of Krovenia.
The whole thing felt like Princess Grace of Monaco, Queen Noor of Jordan and Meghan Markle all at once, except with fangs.
There were profiles of Claire’s hometown.
Interviews with her old high school teachers.
A Vanity Fair cover. People I knew who had never opened a magazine in their lives were suddenly experts on Krovenian royal protocol.
And Claire got pregnant immediately.
The world media tracked it like a national pregnancy. Tabloids speculated within weeks of the wedding. Within months it was confirmed. Baby Prince Alexei William of House Draven was born within the year. The first half-human, half-Krovenian royal child in modern memory.
And he was adorable.
Every photo of baby Alexei went viral. Round cheeks. Tiny fangs. Pale silver eyes when he smiled. The internet collectively melted. There were memes, t-shirts and knitted hats.
Sure, there were Krovenian purists and human conspiracy theorists who were furious. There are always furious people. But the vast, overwhelming majority of the world thought baby Alexei was the cutest thing the two species had ever produced.
I set my book down quietly on my thigh and do the math.
Claire got pregnant withinmonthsof becoming queen.
This means that if I chose Viktor I would get pregnant immediately.
Birth control would almost certainly not work against the Calling.
The biology is designed to produce offspring.
The body would override anything pharmaceutical that tried to interrupt it.
I glance up.
Viktor is watching me. He has been watching me for a moment, I realize. His book is still open on his lap but his dark eyes are on my face. His expression is unreadable in the dim lamplight. He does not ask what I am thinking. He just looks at me. Steady. Patient. Waiting.
I drop my eyes back to my book.
I love him. I have fallen in love with him. I do not know exactly when it happened. Maybe in the kitchen. Maybe in his study yesterday.
I press my lips together.
It’s now past midnight. Viktor recently checked on Lily’s temperature again and checked in with the Doctor. Madam Petrova has long ago gone to bed. The fire in the small hearth has settled to embers.
Lily breathes softly between us.
I wring out a fresh cool cloth and press it to her temple.
Viktor speaks quietly. “Hazel.”
“Yes?”
“What were you thinking about earlier?”
I do not pretend to misunderstand, but I need to know more before I can fully commit to a whole explanation. “A lot of things…Can you tell me about Lily’s mother?”
“Elara was a pure-blood Krovenian noble, from a small allied house, Vorovka, in the eastern hills. Her family had been close to mine for several generations. Our marriage was arranged when we were both twenty-two. We were not in love. Not in the way humans use the word. There was no Blood Calling. Krovenians without a Calling do not feel passion. We feel — deep regard, when we are fortunate. Respect. Sometimes friendship. We do not feel what I feel for you. We do not know that we are missing it.” His eyes are on his daughter’s face.
“But Elara and I were lucky in that at least we became best friends. She was kind, funny, and gentle. She loved Lily from the moment she knew Lily existed. She died suddenly, two years ago,” he says.
“It was sudden. A Krovenian equivalent of what humans call an aneurysm. There was no warning. She was at breakfast with me in the small dining room in the morning and gone by lunch. Lily was only two years old.”
“I did not know how to be both parents to her. I told myself I was being a good father by providing for her, by reading her bedtime stories, facetiming her every night when I was away. But I was hiding from the empty seat at the breakfast table.”
“I understand some of what you were feeling. My mother died of cancer,” I say softly, “when I was four years old. The same age Lily is now. I do not remember her well. I was so small, but I remember the smell of her perfume and the sound of her humming in the kitchen — she always hummed when she cooked, she could not help it. I remember the way she braided my hair every morning. But I have to look at photos to remember her face.” I take a breath.
“My father was devastated when she died. He shut down for a few months. But then he kept showing up, Viktor. He kept doing his best. He read me bedtime stories even when his voice would crack halfway through. He learned how to braid my hair. He hired help. He grieved openly with me, which was not standard parenting practice in our small town in those days, but it was the right thing to do. He has been a good father my whole life. He still is. He lives in Dubai now and we talk on the phone every week.”
“Thank you for that,” he answers. “It’s good to hear a positive outcome.”
“And thank you for all you said to me this morning about the Blood Calling. It was good to hear you explain everything.”
“No decisions need to be made immediately. We can talk about it after…” he waves his hand at Lily’s still form.
“Yes,” I agree. “After.”
The light begins to change at the windows, hinting at the pale gray and soft pink of dawn.
The physician comes in for his next check. He places a hand on Lily’s small forehead, checks her pulse and looks at the thermometer. His whole face transforms. “It has broken,” he says. “She has come through.”
I burst into tears I did not realize I was holding.
Viktor closes his eyes and bows his head over his daughter’s tiny hand.
The physician smiles for the first time in twelve hours.
He explains the next steps in his gentle calm voice.
Lily will sleep deeply for several more hours and wake hungry.
She will be tired for a day or two, but her body has safely completed the milestone.
She is officially a small step closer to full Krovenian maturity, with the slightly stronger fangs and sharper senses.
He recommends light food, plenty of water, plenty of rest. He says he will return in the afternoon for one more check.
He bows and leaves.
Viktor and I are once again alone with Lily.
She sleeps peacefully now. Her cheeks are pink in the normal way, not the fever way. Her breathing is even. Max is still tucked under her chin.
Then I sink back in my soft armchair and close my eyes, just for a moment. Just to rest them. I have been awake for over twenty hours. The chair is so soft and the room is so warm. My eyes drift closed...