19. Woof Woof, Motherfuckers
Chapter 19
Woof Woof, Motherfuckers
CINDER
I ’m an idiot.
An idiot who handed over control of my body to a prince who wants to play with it.
Seated at the banquet table in a grand stone hall, I can’t even see the end of the attendees on either end; it spans so far and wide.
Dinner in the Midnight realm is about as fun as a bag full of nearly dead, gasping tuna fish. A blood liqueur mix is poured into goblets while I am offered a glass of expensive champagne.
I almost think to ask for a glass of whiskey, but I have already done enough to rock the boat. They’d likely look at me as though I’ve defecated in the middle of the floor. The fact I have to perform that particular function is just more evidence I’m a lowly animal compared to them.
Good thing I snatched that pumpkin bread and scarfed it down when I could because as predicted, there is no food being served here. Not human food in any case. Most vampires think it’s disgusting when humans eat. Something about the way we chew offends them.
I know there are vast reserves in the kitchens for the familiars, but that stuff tends to be canned and past its expiration date. It’s why I made sure to stop for that latte and cake. There is no decent eating on this side of the realm.
Sitting at the center of the table with my prince doesn’t stop the icy chill of everyone’s disdainful gaze dripping down my skin. I’m sandwiched between Kaison and the Queen.
The Queen's smile is an absent mask of polite indifference, while the King's grin is a sharp-edged warning from her other side, daring anyone to question his joy over our impending marriage.
My stomach churns, a toxic mix of suspicion and anger swirling within me. If King Charming is responsible for my father's death, his brazen display of my father's work is a twisted mockery. Maybe it’s like a serial killer showcasing the trophies of his conquests? Instead of nailing my father’s body to the wall, the King uses his artwork to make the point.
Kaison dips over to me. “Whatever you are thinking, it is giving your already low-key expression a murderous edge.” I’m sure he is making the whisper look romantic, like a stolen moment between us.
“So help me, fae lords, if you tell me to smile, I will remove your testicles with a blunt, rusty spoon,” I whisper.
A beat.
“Fair enough,” he says, leaning back and looking as unperturbed as before.
“Forming a union with a…human. How very forward-thinking, my King,” one of the fanged dukes says from across the table. He’s sucking up to King Charming so hard I want to hand him a straw.
“Per our agreement,” the King answers, “my son picked his own match. Since the royal blood thrums through his veins, I cannot deny that his choice must be inspiration.”
Despite defending his son and me to this duke, the King looks rather inspired to rip my head right off my body and use it as a volleyball he can spike across the room.
Eyes turn toward Kaison.
“Ah yes,” the prince confesses, finishing up a sip of champagne, having sent his cup of blood away as soon as it was brought out to him. Did he do it for my comfort? I can’t imagine why.
“I was inspired by Cinder’s beauty and couldn’t help but recall our times together as young children, bonded by our fathers’ friendship.”
I see my opening and dive in.
“Speaking of my father,” I say, “I wish he were here to witness this union.”
I try to match their elevated way of speaking, though I still get some looks as though the vampires can’t believe there is a talking dog at the table.
Woof woof motherfuckers.
The expression of sorrow that crosses the King’s face appears genuine as I scan it for any signs of feigned performance. “I do miss your father. We had such a. . . unique understanding.”
An understanding .
Not a friendship. Not really.
My father was a lowly familiar and understood his place and provided a unique service of bringing willing human cattle into Midnight.
Resentment snakes through me before wrapping around my heart and squeezing with vicious intensity.
The urge to stand and punch this prick in the face is overwhelming. My hands clench into fists on my thighs.
A hand covers mine under the table. Kaison.
With long, deft fingers, he unravels my seized-up digits before bringing our entwined hands up above. Resting his elbow on the table, he continues to play with my fingers in a lazy, affectionate manner.
I try to ignore the steady boom boom boom of my heart that seems too focused on his attention.
But I’m not the only one. Several eyes fasten to where our fingers are laced. A quiet, muffled indignation ripples out like a stone was dropped in a pond.
Kaison relaxes in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. “Yes, your father’s death was rather sudden, wasn’t it, my punishing petal?”
I’m tempted to kick his shins again at the nickname, but then I realize what he’s doing. He’s riling up and distracting everyone in the vicinity with our blatant PDA so the fangers drop their guard.
“We tend to forget humans lead such fragile lives by comparison,” King Charming says, raising his brows in pity.
I don’t miss the way his eyes narrow at our joined hands.
“Not as fragile as you think.” Judging by the sharp look King Valdor gives me, I haven’t hidden the venom in my words well enough. In for a penny. “In fact, my father was supremely healthy. His death was such a shock, I almost wonder. . .”
I stall out. I hadn’t figured out how to phrase this. It wouldn’t help to outright accuse the King of murder in the middle of an important banquet.
As the King’s gaze intensifies, scrutinizing me, warning prickles wash over my skin.
The awareness that I’m utterly vulnerable here has never left me, but I’m not used to operating like this. It’s been a long time since I worked so hard to blend in amongst the fairies and it takes a great amount of control and perceptiveness on my part.
“Wonder what?” The King’s voice reminds me of the rattling of a snake about to attack.
“My dear, I think you need a top off,” the Queen mutters next to me before waving over a servant to refill my glass.
The King and I don’t break eye contact even as the thralled familiar leans over between us to pour more sparkling bubbles into my glass. My blood runs hot despite the chill of the hall.
Their eyes are so dead, so empty. I wonder if they can even take a shit without Valdor Charming’s say so.
“Wonder if perhaps there was foul play involved in your father’s demise?” The King finishes for me.
The table quiets.
My lips flatten, suddenly glued together as my heartbeat moves to my throat.
The only thing keeping me from fighting or fleeing is Kaison’s distracting play with my hand.
The tension presses in around me like a thick fog, making it difficult to breathe.
“I have sometimes wondered that myself,” the King muses idly, taking a sip of blood, breaking the tension. “But then no one would dare hurt such a favored familiar of the King’s,” he says a little louder.
No one except you .
The Queen recoils between us ever so slightly at his announcement. As if she knows the full weight of his power.
“Do you smell something burning?” the duke asks the prince.
Kaison shrugs, looking around briefly as if looking for the source of the smoky scent.
It is true. To attack any of the castle’s familiars would be a treasonous offense, to which King Charming brings a swift punishing hand—fang?—down upon them.
I want to ask about what Kaison told me. About my father’s final days sequestered. About what he and the King fought about. About why the King uses my father’s art as the background for the social season.
Kaison’s hand squeezes mine, hard. A silent signal.
Don’t do it. You’ve already pushed the envelope enough tonight.
The message is received but not exactly welcome. Ever since Kaison shared that my father was likely murdered, it has been eating into the side of my brain like a hoard of flesh-hungry fire ants.
The King and Queen turn their attention away from me to converse with the guests on the other side of them. Kaison drops my hand and the scathing glances move on.
The stiff propriety of secrets, lies, and stuffy ass decorum in this place makes me want to jump and scream, shatter glasses, shake people by the lapels, and do something truly crazy to break the suffocating pattern that has existed for hundreds of years.
Just as I’m about to break and do something crazy, a buzz activates between my legs.