Chapter Five #3
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lord Hennawi said. He didn’t immediately look nervous, though Mr. Connors did, and I certainly felt nervous, though I kept my body as still and unchanged as possible.
“Wonder what the old bat has to say to us,” the marquis murmured in a tone only I could hear.
I sputtered in shock—thus far, he’d kept his remarks limited to the duties he expected me to fulfill and the rebuff he’d given me when I asked about his family. I wouldn’t have expected him to make the kind of snarky pun that could result in complete and total exsanguination if we were overheard.
Or, more exactly, complete exsanguination for me. The Devil’s son would not be exsanguinated.
Once again, being a human meant facing the worst consequences and having the least power.
I was glad I hadn’t been born into privilege in the first place—my parents always made certain we had enough, but we weren’t wealthy by any means.
But the humans who’d been raised on believing that money and the power of their name would allow them to do whatever they liked must have been struggling with the new reality.
Another course was served, and this time, I actually ate something—it was the cheese course, and I did like a good bit of cheese, especially since I knew the Queen’s kitchen wouldn’t have done anything to the cheeses before they were served.
There was a lovely Stilton, a hearty cheddar, and a remarkable Cheshire.
Dante would have been in Heaven (ironically enough).
The cheese was served with slices of pear and apple and a few candied walnuts.
I noticed the marquis ate his as well; I had been wondering what he ate and if he ate at all.
He noticed my observation and gave me a dry look.
“We eat similar foods to you. I have said, have I not, that Hell is not that much different from London?”
I blushed at being caught and looked away, hearing his soft chuckle as my face heated.
Eventually, the butler and a few footmen wheeled in a trolley with several enormous cakes on top.
They brought the trolley to rest in front of the Queen, then lifted the largest cake and set it directly in front of Her Royal Highness.
She nodded, and they began to slice it, distributing it to the guests down the table.
It would be some time before they reached our end—there had to be at least forty people seated ahead of us—so I slid my chair out a bit and took a longer look at the other guests.
I wasn’t perfect at identifying species yet, but I could tell that seated near the Queen were a few more vampires as well as dhampirs like Prince Albert.
There was a dragon shifter—easy to tell because of the green and blue scales that remained on his skin when in his human shape—and a few werewolves, whose predatory gazes and tendency toward hirsuteness always gave them away.
Surprisingly, there was a human seated very close to the Queen as well. I squinted to make out his features, but even so, I didn’t know who he was. I assumed he was someone so important or so wealthy that he had to be included, despite being a lowly human.
The cake finally reached us. I took a bite and washed it down with water this time. It was surprisingly delicious, and I wondered if the kitchen staff was mostly focused on sweet things and if the Queen herself had a sweet tooth.
Judging by her gleeful expression when viewing the cake, I had to assume so. Did that mean she sought out blood donors who had recently eaten sweets to make her dining experience better?
I put my fork down hastily, leaving the rest of the slice untouched. Better not to tempt fate—or a thirsty sweets-loving vampire—with the allure of my sugar-rich blood.
The Queen rose, which meant everyone else at the table did as well. She nodded toward us and spoke a few words to her butler, who made his way down to our end of the table.
“Her Majesty is waiting in the Green Salon,” he announced.
We followed the butler down an enormous hall and then another one, until we were in front of two doors that were made of solid wood, without any of the ornamentation I’d come to expect of the palace.
The butler took hold of both handles and swung the doors open to reveal a dark, somewhat forbidding room.
The Queen and Prince Albert stood waiting, a few attendants flanking them, and we entered.
The Devil first, then the marquis, and then I drew up at the end.
I went to stand beside Mr. Connors, whose tail was swishing wildly behind him.
I’d observed he wagged his tail when he was anxious as well as happy.
I had to imagine he was feeling much more the former than the latter.
The human I’d seen seated near the Queen was there as well, which piqued my interest even more. But nobody made introductions, likely because the Queen and the Devil already knew who each other was, and the rest of us were unimportant.
“I wished to speak to you,” the Queen said, “because there has been a threat made against our person.” Her eyes were dark, and her gaze was threatening. She shifted that gaze to the Devil. “I wish to know if it was you.”