Page 32 of Wicked Thirst
Moira glanced around, looking to see if anyone was listening. “I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
She caught my eye. “All is not what it seems, Piper.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MOIRA
200 years ago
“Ireally don’t see the point in me being here.” I wasn’t a great beauty, nor was I a great mind or had any particular talent that would make me stand out among the throng of eligible Blood Born vampire ladies. The life they offered was not a life I wished for nor wanted. A life of royal duty was not among the desires I had for myself. My powers only allowed for a small bit of healing, nothing as impressive as the others I was surrounded by, and that meant I was of no consequence in these matters. The King desired to find his Queen, and I was far from queenly.
“Moira,” Eloura scolded me in a chastising tone, “you are as lovely as ever. The King would be lucky to consider you as one of his choices.”
“Yes, but what if I don’t want to be among his choices?” I glanced around at the ladies all gathered in a smaller room of the castle. The walls were lined with books and a fire was lit in the oversized fireplace. Heat seeped from it, and I stepped closer, wanting to warm the rest of my body. There were two high-backed chairs and a smaller matching leather couch. The furnishings were dark and lush and fitting of the study.
Eloura chuckled and it was as robust as her personality. It rumbled in her chest, and she threw her head back, letting it free with not a care in the world. She was an old family friend. We’d grown up together and spent most of our days within the same circles of society. She was young, vivacious, and oftentimes outspoken on her opinions about anything and everything. She wore a light-pink dress that complimented her dark skin. It gave a look of innocence that was entirely misleading when it came to her personality. It was tight across her body and flowed freely from her hips to the floor with delicate cap sleeves. An accompanying pink bow wound into the dark curls on top of her head.
I was not so keen to be put together like the rest of the flock. My dress was plain, a darker brown that my mother insisted complimented my eyes. It was too tight around my body, pulling me in too much and pushing me up to make it look like I had more sizable breasts, which I most certainly did not have.
I pulled at my bodice and Eloura smacked my hand. “Don’t fuss. It’s unbecoming of a lady. No matches will want someone who isn’t comfortable within themselves.”
“I care not to be among the choices for the King.” I folded my hands in front of me so I didn’t continue to fuss. But everything was uncomfortable to me. My hair was flowing freely down my back and seemed to be everywhere, the dress was too constricting, and even the shoes on my feet were too tight. All to be paraded about like some prized piece of cattle for a man I wished nothing to do with.
“Everyone wants to be among his choices, Moira.” She rolled her eyes as if the notion of me not wanting to be here was absurd. “Becoming Queen of the Vampires would be a great honor.”
I shrugged. “But what if I desire a simpler sort of life?”
“You were raised in the highest level of the Blood Borns. This is how it is.” She shrugged as though it were that simple.
I had to have been surrounded by at least two dozen women. They all fretted about with their outfits and hair. Their voices were practically abuzz with excitement. They all had their fanciest dresses in place, with perfect white gloves, fans, and all manner of accessories. It was a fashion show of all the most expensive dresses England had to offer. I took comfort in the knowledge that my dress was not the most beautiful to be had. It would draw less attention.
Eloura moved in close. “Besides, do you not think the King to be handsome?”
“I dare say he’s very handsome indeed.” King Titus was everything a vampire ought to be, yet he’d remained single for years. He’d taken plenty of lovers but had yet to commit to a single one. “Why does he choose to marry now? It’s been years.”
“I suppose even endless amounts of lovers would grow tiresome for the immortal.” She snickered and lowered her voice. “But I’ve never heard a single complaint. He’s been known to be very . . . generous.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Elouraaaa, we should not speak of such things.”
“And why not? They will all talk of our talents. They’ll say one of us plays the piano well, and the other paints, one can speak all the languages of the world, one will be the most beautiful . . .” She chuckled. “We might as well speak of their talents as well.”
I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying to hide my laughter. “Very well. But even with the King’s great bed sport, I find myself . . . uninterested.”
Music started drifting through the doors from the other room and the excitement surrounding me was palpable. The women all twittered and moved closer to the doors. They pressed together and I found myself hanging back from the lot of them. Even Eloura was driven forward by her own curiosity. I spied a small crevasse between the giant mantel and bookshelf. I lingered back, and when the doors opened with a creek and they all started moving forward, I ducked into the little space and hid there. When their voices drifted away and the doors slid shut, I was just about ready to pry myself from the small space when my dress caught on something. I tried to reach back and yank it free, but it was stuck.
The door swung open again and I froze. My heart hammered in my chest, and I huddled back into the corner. If they found me now, this would just be embarrassing. I thought I was very smart for lingering back with the idea of hiding in the library for a few hours and then blending in among the decorations until the night was through. Now I was trapped and praying I didn’t get caught lingering about the castle.
“I don’t want to do this,” a deep voice rumbled in protest. My brow furrowed in confusion. The voice was so familiar. Was it the King? I found myself trying to make my breaths shallower.
“No one is asking you to take a vow of celibacy or proclaim your undying love.” This voice was smoother, more pleasant than the other. There was almost a playful tone to it. “But the family needs an heir, Brother.”
“Then you bloody well do it.” It was definitely the King’s voice.
“No one wants an heir from the spare, Brother.” He chuckled.
I’d always heard that Graymont, Titus’ younger brother, had the lighthearted humor of the two of them. From my vantage point, I could see why. He seemed to be completely at ease while Titus seemed agitated and uncomfortable.
