CHAPTER 7 #2
The king snorts and descends the dais. “I’m no fool, Queen Veya. And I didn’t expect you to travel to Goreon with anyone less than your best.”
I try not to sigh. Nerian is right—a vampire who’s survived this long as a ruler is no fool.
The royal Goreon guards shift to attention, lining the entirety of the hall, their red eyes soulless but alert, like once-vibrant cranberries now crushed beneath an unforgiving boot.
Second and I step to one side as the king passes, Del descending after him, and I hold the breath and nerves in my chest, still in disbelief that I’m a few feet from Nerian.
Del’s eyes skirt to mine, piercing and captivating.
“I can’t believe you came,” he whispers, and my gaze narrows on him as Nerian marches ahead, Charlotte accompanying the king and feigning interest over his impressive throne room while fielding his complaints about how long human labor takes to build such things.
“Who was I to ignore an invitation from the King of Goreon?” I say to Del, trying to keep the salt out of my tone.
With the manners of a perfect gentleman, he gestures for me to walk beside him, and I do.
“Of course, no one denies King Nerian,” he says. I glance up at Del, his thick lips turned upward in a playful smile.
“Ah! And that’s my favorite painting!” Nerian calls, pointing high above at the mural staining the ceiling near the entrance.
Unsurprisingly, it’s a depiction of war.
“It’s lovely,” Charlotte replies, following Nerian into the antechamber.
I refocus on Del, working to keep my stride long enough under the weight of my layered, black silk gown. “I won’t be quick to accept anything beyond his invitation, I assure you.”
His beautiful eyes flare. “Careful, Queen Veya. People around here might think you have a sharp mind and your successes haven’t been all luck.”
Is that the rumor? That I’ve been lucky?
I hum at him and face forward, picking up the front of my dress to relieve some of the friction slowing me down.
Del shortens his stride in response, and I try to ignore the warmth in my chest from the small gesture.
We accompany the king to the dining room, surrounded by guards, and they spill through open gilded doors. But I can’t imagine Nerian is really that threatened by us. Which means it’s intimidation he’s after.
General Balor cuts me off, stalking into the dining room first.
I glare at his back, and Del’s fists clench beside me as we filter in behind Balor.
Interesting. Del and I already have something in common.
Two marble fireplaces twice my height roar on opposing sides of the flickering dining room, and candelabras line the walls, the bleed of light dancing about.
It’s romantic, designed and set for an intimate gathering.
A draft brushes against my skin, and I wonder where the hidden doorways in this room might be.
There’s never just one exit in a space frequented by royals.
Gold and onyx servingware dot the cream-covered table, and a line of fire burning in oil threads the center. Several place settings decorate the two sides of the table, but there’s only one setting at the head. The other end is empty.
I pause as I watch King Nerian settle into his head seat.
A queen does not sit at the side of the table.
My gown gleams in the firelight, and I let my expression darken and my eyes flare red.
Del walks past me and pulls out the chair opposite the king.
My gaze runs up Del’s finely tailored suit, hugging his muscular form in all the right places. Yet the intensity of his appearance is nothing compared to the penetrating look locked on my face, and his lips purse as he waits for me to take the seat he’s boldly offering.
I step confidently toward him, and King Nerian glances up as I lower myself into the plush chair, his red eyes narrowing and jaw ticking from the other end of the table.
I meet his gaze as we stare each other down across the licking flame between us, our companions hesitant at the fringes of the dining room.
Del leans over me, his cologne whispering like a hushed secret in the air, stealing my attention. He transfers the three empty tasting goblets from the place setting on my left, his strong hands arranging them before me.
“An oversight,” Del says, blazing plum eyes finding mine again as my chin tips up to look at him.
“Was it?” the king barks, and I wonder why Nerian even has a second—he seems to barely tolerate Del.
I swivel my attention to the king. “Surely one of the demands I’ll be making,” I say with a pleasant smile uncomfortably adhered to my face.
Del clears his throat and sits to my right as the king tries to grin at me, but it comes out as nothing kinder than a sneer. And I almost laugh at how horribly he’s failing.
Second stomps around the table, fingers three glasses from another place setting, and sets them up on my left, replacing the ones Del moved. He plants himself on my other side, crosses his arms over his broad chest, and leans back with a huff.
Charlotte sighs dramatically, sitting herself next to Del, and Emmanuel pulls the chair next to Second across from her.
Silence breaks with the pop of Charlotte’s fangs. “Perhaps some champagne to toast to our queen. And yourself, of course, King Nerian,” she says, playful grin and pink cheeks aimed shamelessly at our host.
“I can see through you, girl,” King Nerian accuses, taking off his crown and tossing it on the chair beside him like he can’t be bothered with the weight of it.
She doesn’t even flinch. “And I hoped you would. It’s no fun when the game isn’t fairly stacked.”
He assesses Charlotte for a brief moment before grinning at her, eyes gleaming. “I do love a good game of court.”
“I’m the best,” she promises with a wink. “Now about that champagne.”
Charlotte will always get what she wants.
King Nerian raises a finger, and the butler procures a bottle.
Charlotte scoots her champagne glass to the side as the king snatches the bottle, pops the cork with a flick of his thumb, and stands to pour her drink himself.
Charlotte won this round.
Nerian clears his throat, cheeks pinking slightly and perhaps very aware of what Charlotte just accomplished. The butler swipes the champagne from the king, pouring out the other glasses for the table while Nerian takes his seat.
The Goreon king extends his glass in the air, his eyes shifting to mine.
“To negotiations,” he says, the words dripping from his mouth like a poison, mysterious and deadly.
No one expects a happily ever after between the King of Goreon and the Queen of the Night Kingdom.
A truce, a peaceful surrender to save the lives in my territory, a marriage for appearances to save my reputation in the wake of submitting to a threat—perhaps.
But I would never consider these as options.
Yet I’ll do my best to convince Nerian I would, to buy us time, even if he is just playing with me. Because we need to be here long enough to remove the head from the male across from me and claim his throne.
We hold our glasses, waiting for Nerian to take the first sip.
My people are trained well. In all things. Court, weaponry, words, and not drinking the fucking wine in enemy territory before the host. Poison won’t kill us, but being weakened by toxin would be a death sentence here.
Everyone is still as stone as we wait, glasses held in suspense, bubbles racing to the top in silence.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Del says and tips the champagne into his mouth in a single gulp.
I pretend to sip to hide my amusement, staring at Del’s thick throat and full lips. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m looking forward to a tipsy Del to soften the sharp edge off the evening.
Del’s eyes flick to mine, catching my stare.
Shit.
I dart my gaze to the king as he drinks half his glass.
Second, as usual, ignores his liquor.
We need a topic of conversation before the awkwardness of this evening becomes blistering.
“Your letter mentioned the desire to explore the isles of the Sereia Sea as our first joint endeavor,” I begin.
Probably because the Night Kingdom has ships.
Nerian raises his hand, and the butler comes to his side, receiving a whispered order.
“The first course will be ready shortly,” Nerian informs. “And there’s no talk of business tonight. I’d like to get to know you, Veya.”
He leaves off my title like it never belonged, and my gaze narrows at the blatant disrespect.
Setting my glass down with intention, I look Nerian in the eye. “If ‘Queen’ is too cumbersome, I also accept ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Your Highness’ as alternatives.”
He sighs, tracing a finger along the tablecloth in a swirling pattern I can’t decipher. “Since we’re to spend time together and surely address sensitive subjects, I propose informal names to be appropriate.”
“If the standards are equal, I have no objection, Nerian.”
He slaps the table, his mood shifting to jovial in an instant and giving me whiplash. “Excellent!”
I already have concerns about this male’s sanity.
Second shifts in his seat. Apparently, I’m not alone in that.
“Do you enjoy male or female blood more, Veya?” Nerian asks bluntly.
A personal question, but I don’t miss a moment before responding. “I’ve indulged in an array of men, but I can honestly say, I haven’t sampled anything worth savoring.”
Del clears his throat and suppresses a smirk through a sip of his refilled champagne.
The king snorts. “So, female then.”
“I enjoy both equally,” Emmanuel offers.
“In every sense,” Charlotte laughs.
“Look who’s talking,” Emmanuel fires back.
Charlotte shrugs her petite shoulders and bats her lashes before placing her lips around her glass again.
“Straight from the vein?” Nerian asks me, sucking the life from the room.
“Everyone must eat, but there’s still a choice in how we consume, Nerian,” I say sharply.
He laughs. “Thankfully, we’ve solved that problem. There’s no shortage here. Drink up—I’ve procured some of our best for the evening from the cellar.”
Gods, stake me now.
“We don’t drink from the vein, Nerian,” I say to clarify any possible miscommunication.
The candlelight dances and shadows taunt the secrets of Goreon in the extended silence that follows.
Nerian’s features darken, and I’m nervous my welcome in his court will be over before it’s begun, and then his words drool out of his mouth: “Just a taste, my queen. I promise I only offer the best.”
The butler door opens behind the king, and he turns his head, listening.
“Ah, our first course. It is my honor to serve you, Veya.”
The king stands, Del rising in custom, and Nerian disappears through the door beside the fireplace.
Del lets out a low whistle, taking his seat again. “Such a tense evening for the supposed betrothed,” he says, silken tone confident and commanding as he traces his finger around the rim of his glass, his thick lip curling to reveal perfectly white teeth.
“They are no such thing,” Second growls across from him.
The males stare each other down.
“Gentlemen, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I whisper, nerves spiking as I wonder what Nerian has planned.
I thought I could get away with sipping from goblets during our stay here, not an outright moment like this testing me and my boundaries.
Our attention is drawn to the Goreon king dragging a human girl through the butler door, her eyes frightened and naked body too lean, ribs bared like teeth against her skin, angry and jagged.
My insides kick, and I force my expression to stay neutral, hiding behind my champagne.
Before I can decide how to handle the situation, Nerian sinks his teeth into her perfect skin, drinking deeply.
From the vein.
My glass shatters in my hand at the sound of her scream, anger flooding.
He’s killed her, whether it’s death or vampire. I watch her human life float away like a soundless cloud no one will ever notice.
Nerian uproots his fangs, blood dripping down his chin through a feral smile, and drags the girl toward us by her neck.
“Appetizer, anyone?” he snarls and tosses the naked, whimpering girl on my lap.