Page 40 of The Vampire Castle in the Sky

A gust of magic swept us inside the dreamy scope of the ballroom, where all the chandeliers were blazing, garlands of crystals breaking the light into a thousand uncanny patterns as some shimmered low above the marble floor while others twinkled high overhead. Everything was glimmering and undulating, light-dazzled mirrors expanding the ballroom into an infinity of brightness.

A sparkling dust was cascading from the glass ceiling as well, fine like snow, leaving golden streaks along the floor and clinging onto the hems of the elaborate gowns and trousers that dressed the Ravenors.

The only spot undisturbed by the whirling dust was the long table at the back of the hall, glowing soft and pale like the inside of a seashell. Our repast was splayed upon ivory silk, served onmoonstone plates and gilded cups, and illuminated by a series of white candles floating at irregular heights above it. There were grapes and figs and pomegranates. Bottles of wine and bottles of blood. And, of course, the roast I’d prepared earlier, accompanied by a colorful array of caramelized vegetables. Yet the air smelled sweet, like honey and incense and starlight.

“We’re sorry to keep you waiting,” I said as soon as I found my voice, still in awe at the Castle’s outstanding transformation.

“Don’t worry, dear,” cooed Collette, shining like the first winter snowflake in her flowing white gown and crystalline coronet. “The Castle has been more than entertaining so far.”

Before I could ask what sort ofentertainmentthe Castle had divined for them, Espen slipped in front of me, a stern expression on his face. “I would like to apologize to you,” he said, too solemnly to decipher the level of his sincerity. “I was a little taken aback earlier, and I think I made a terrible first impression on you.”

“Well,” I chuckled, somewhat relieved. “Terrible first impressions make for the greatest friendships.”

“And the greatest enemies,” interjected Camilla, twisting her red lips into a fraudulent smile. Her black gown gave her moon-kissed skin and unbound silver hair an eerie, ghostly glow. It was almost a shock to gaze directly into her pale eyes, her bloodless face. She was the only person in the room that looked out of place, as if her sense of superiority had given her the edge of an illusion.

“Do not listen to my sister,” sighed Espen resignedly. “She just delights in stirring chaos.”

“Only thing that excites her rotten heart,” Roan muttered under his breath, his pearl-threaded braids catching the light into a brilliant halo.

“That’s alright,” I crooned, meeting Camilla’s shrewd gaze in something like a challenge. “I quite thrive in chaos.”

Hector, not bothering with pleasantries at all, ushered me to the high-backed chair at the head of the table before allowing the rest to assume their own seats. He took the one on my right while Camilla, after hissing something I didn’t catch in Roan’s ear, claimed the one on my left.

Covertly, in the commotion of gowns swishing and chairs being pulled, I whispered to Hector, “Shouldn’t you be sitting at the head?”

“The Lady of the Castle sits at the head. It’s tradition,” he explained, giving me a secret, tender smile that made the swarm of butterflies that had indefinitely settled in my stomach go positively feral.

After the Castle filled our glasses with the blueberry wine I’d prepared, Espen stood once more, as commanding as a god in his bright silk garments. “Hector,” he began, “please allow me to steal your toast and say on behalf of everyone around this table that we are deeply, sincerely proud of the man you’ve become. I suppose one of the reasons I was so upset earlier is because I’ve always hoped to make you a part of my family. But you have to know that I respect you all the more for deciding to carve your own path. This is the Aventine way, after all, and there is no one more worthy of this honor than you.” He raised his glass, the wine glinting purple-red amid the floating candles. “To Hector, our star-chosen sovereign.” He cast his dark gaze upon me, tipping the edge of the glass ever so slightly. “And Thea, the new Lady of the Castle.”

In truth, I doubted he meant any of this, but I raised my glass along with the rest and drank to his exceptionally diplomatic toast.

“Gods, what is this?” sighed Alexandria after taking a sip.

Hector squeezed my hand over the table. “Thea made it. It’s a Thalorian recipe.”

Thaloria was mainly famous for two things: infinite magic and sweet blueberry wine. However, I’d made this one ten times stronger and therefore undrinkable to me, for vampires had very dull tastebuds when it came to human food and beverages and could hardly tell the difference between spices and herbs. Whenever Esperida was in a particularly self-deprecating mood, she would joke that there was no creature easier to poison than the vampire. Of course the only thing that could poison a vampire was juniper, but even that they had trouble distinguishing over the scent of blood, which often overpowered their sense of smell entirely.

“Wait, youmadeall of this?” whistled Lance.

“Just the roast. The Castle doesn’t provide food that once had a soul,” I ventured, only for Camilla to interrupt me with a disdainful snort.

“We know,” she said sharply. “We’ve been a part of the Castle’s history long before you existed.”

Petty. She was being tiresomely petty, and I refused to stoop to her level.

I offered her a cold, blatantly disingenuous smile and continued, “Yes, how lovely. Well, about the wine, I found a basket of seasonal offerings in the kitchen. I don’t know who brought it in, but I thought it would be nice if I made something with it. The blueberries looked particularly scrumptious.”

“That would be my mother’s doing,” explained Arawn, shooting me a playful little wink. “She sent the basket with me as an apology for not joining us.”

“Thank you for taking the time to prepare all of this, Thea,” Dahlia contributed with a small, shy smile, which made me feel like a complete wanker for being so resentful toward her earlier.

She sat there in her white tulle dress and fine jewelry with the grace of a princess and the face of a woman who’d rather beanywhere else in the world but here. I would recognize that look in anyone—the look of a woman trapped by familial obligation.

“No need to thank me,” I said as warmly as I could without revealing too much of my thoughts.

“You should make the wine for the ceremony too,” Arawn suggested, already digging into the roast.

“I’d be honored to.”

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