“It is because of Isolde that I have agreed to this truce. I do not wish for her to live in a future rife with violence.”
“And yet she will face a future far more uncertain.”
I took that as my cue to enter. It was either that or see Commander Killian pinned to the wall by my father’s sword, and as much as he annoyed me, spilling blood when vampires were on our doorstep did not seem like the best idea.
My father’s expression smoothed into a mask of calm when he saw me, a sad smile curling his thinning lips. He stood near the fire, a heavy fur-lined cloak making his slight frame look larger. My father had never been a particularly imposing man, but he had a presence, an expression that commanded attention and a voice that communicated dominance. His hair was dark but turning gray. Most of it was concentrated in his beard, which came to a point at his chin.
“Isolde,” my father said. “My gem.”
“Father,” I greeted, approaching him, taking his outstretched hand. He pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“You look beautiful, as always.”
“Thank you, Father.” I smiled, despite what we were walking into. I took comfort in the fact that this surrender still meant we would be together. In the end, that was all that mattered.
“Commander Killian was just telling me you went to the border today and left without him.”
If Killian was going to betray me, the least he could do was tell the whole truth, which included how I’d gotten away from him.
How is your gut feeling? I wanted to ask but kept silent. I didn’t want this lecture to get any longer.
“Commander Killian caught up,” I said, glaring at him.
“Issi,” my father said, a note of warning in his voice. “You know the danger that lies upon our doorstep.”
“I fail to see what Commander Killian could do if we were set upon by a vampire. It takes an army to defeat one.”
My father sighed. He knew I had a point.
“There are other monsters, Princess,” Killian argued, his voice tight.
I shifted my gaze and met his stare, which dipped to my breasts. I wanted to roll my eyes but refrained.
“Monsters I was taught to kill. Again, I fail to see why I need your escort.”
“Because I have ordered it.” My father’s voice was like a whip, cutting through the air and drawing my attention. “It is not up for discussion, Isolde. Clear?”
“Crystal,” I replied tightly, my skin flushed with frustration.
My father sighed again, but it sounded more like relief. He was probably glad I hadn’t argued. It was only for his benefit. I knew how taxing this surrender had been for him. I knew his concern for me stemmed from the invasion of the Blood King. I wasn’t going to add to that. I would, on the other hand, ensure that Killian heard—and felt—my rage.
There was a knock at the door, and Miron, the herald, entered. His uniform was a dark-blue tabard with gold fringe. Usually, it complemented his burnished skin, but today, he looked sallow, and as he spoke, I thought I knew why—he’d just seen the Blood King in the flesh.
He bowed.
“Your Majesty.” His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat. “The Blood King has arrived.”
A strange tension filled the small room. Somehow, this felt different. The Blood King wasn’t just beyond our borders; he was within them. He would rule us from this day forward.
My father looked long at me and then turned, grasping his cloak as he went so it whirled around with him. Commander Killian held out his arm. I’d have rather shoved a knife through it, but I accepted it instead.
“Why are you wearing that?” he asked, dipping his head so that his breath coated my cheek as he spoke.
I should have gone with the knife, I thought.
I did not look at him as I replied. “It is not your place to comment on my wardrobe, Commander.”
His hand tightened on mine.
“You are showing too much skin. Are you trying to tempt the vampire king?”
“Know your place,” I said, my voice just as icy as my father’s.
“That is not how I meant—I only mean to protect you.”
“From what? Hungry gazes?” I asked. We had just come through the doors of the antechamber and into the great hall when I turned to him, challenging. “Yours is just as threatening, Commander.”
I crossed the precipice upon which my father’s throne sat and moved to his left, my gaze sweeping the great hall. It was a grand room, richly decorated with gilded mirrors and elaborate candelabras. A canopy of blue silk curtained us, and throughout the room, gold larks—our house emblem—adorned banners of the same blue that hung from the ceiling.
The room was silent and still, though it was crowded with people—guards and lords and ladies who had come from their estates to watch the surrender. My father had spent weeks in this very room, hearing their concerns, mediating their arguments for and against surrender. By the end of it, I began to loathe many of them whose fears amounted to losing their lands, wealth, and status under the Blood King, as if that mattered when the decision wasn’t between losing status and retaining it. It was between life and death.
“His majesty King Henri de Lara welcomes King Adrian Aleksandr Vasiliev of Revekka.”
This time, Miron’s voice was steady and strong. Holding my breath, I fixed my eyes on the doors at the other end of the hallway. The crowd, who had stood on either side of a carpeted runner, drew farther back as the guards pulled them open to reveal the Blood King.
I swallowed a gasp as a heady flush unraveled within my body, and I wanted to crawl out of my skin as my eyes connected with a familiar, gorgeous face. The vampire who had found me in the clearing, the one who had licked blood from my skin and sent me into a spiral of desire, was Adrian, the Blood King.
He had changed since our encounter, wearing bloodred instead of black. Gold rings gleamed upon his middle finger and pinkie, and upon his head sat a spiked black crown. His status was evident in the way he carried himself—regal and confident—and yet he walked like a predator, his black boots clicking as he took lethal step after lethal step toward my father.
I should have known it was him, I thought, staring at him now, but it had not occurred to me to expect the king of vampires to have gone in search of a strzyga. Were they not monsters born of their kind?
As he approached, his gaze slid from my father to Killian and then to me. Our eyes met, and I let out a slow, quivering breath as he assessed the length of my body. Something about him opened a chasm in my stomach, and I was again overwhelmed by the same keen hunger as before. I wanted to be devoured by this creature.