Page 59 of The Sanguine Selection
Open your eyes.
Close them.
Pucker your lips.
Look up.
Look down.
Blott.
Suck in your cheeks.
It’s dizzying. I’ve never worn makeup before or had someone else brush my hair. Even my fingernails and toenails are painted with a subtle pink. By the time they’re done, I feel like a piece of canvas that has been painted on by an artist. Ryla guides me up from the stool and over to where a dress is splayed across the bed.
It’s beautiful. All golden and shimmery. “Is…Is this for me?”
I look to Ryla, who nods. “Kings had it custom made. I’ll help you put it on.”
And good thing. With my back towards Navar, I drop my towel and allow Ryla to slip it over my head, then tug it down my body. It hugs every dip and curve, feeling like a second skin. Ryla turns me away from the mirror as she finishes up, clipping golden bands into my hair, She adds little crisscrossing chains to my upper arms, and another set wraps down my legs. Rings are added to my fingers, too. And once she looks me up and down with a final nod of approval, she walks me to the side of the bed, where the full-length mirror runs down the entire length of the wall, and places me in front of it.
But I no longer recognize the woman staring back at me.
28
Marek
I standat the entrance to the grand ballroom in Lord Navar’s castle, unmoved by its opulence. To someone from the Inner Ring, the sheer splendor of the ball would be awe-inspiring. Glistening crystal chandeliers hang from the ornate ceiling, casting a soft, warm glow over the room, while countless candles twinkle in their holders, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere.
The marble columns, adorned with intricate carvings of ancient battles and legendary tales, reach up to support the high ceiling. The walls are draped in rich, dark velvet, framing enormous mirrors that seem to multiply the already impressive expanse, reflecting only its human occupants.
As I gaze across the room, I watch the couples dance from within the polished marble floor, gleaming brighter than jewels in the sun. Around me, enchanting music from a live orchestra fills the air, its sweet melodies wrapping around the guests as they move and socialize, unaware of my brother’s and my true purpose for tonight’s festivities.
Across the ballroom, a colossal, golden clock stands, its arms unmoving, a symbol of the immortal life my ancestors created for everyone attending tonight’s event. If not for them—if not for Mikhail and me—they would benothing. They owe their allegiance to the lineage that gave them renewed hope, for without us, they would already be dead.
Soon enough, though, many will be, and those that survive what my twin and I have planned will be reminded of their place in this world. They are fools to think they could ever outwit or overpower us. They think us weak while they wait in the shadows, ready to pounce. What they don’t realize is that Mikhail and Iarethe shadows, and we will consume them.
Tonight’s festivities are but a farce meant to draw out the rebels, who will grow emboldened by their own sense of superiority and drunk on the blood we’ve provided. And my brother and I have eyes and ears everywhere this evening, ready to exploit our people’s thirst for all that glitters.
The grand ballroom reflects elegance and decadence, the two intertwined seamlessly, but underneath the beauty, cruelty shares the same dance floor. Nothing can distract me from our mission and the role I must play to set Mikhail’s and my plans in motion, but my mind flits back to thoughts I shouldn’t be having. Cursing myself, I mentally search for my twin, but his attention is preoccupied, and when I turn, I see why.
The Blood Slave.
Fuck, she’s a vision, and I'm momentarily spellbound by the woman’s breathtaking transformation. She stands there, bathed in glowing candlelight, and for a moment, it's as though time has reversed, and I see Larissa. Her golden curls cascade down her back, each strand gleaming brighter than the sun. It creates an ethereal halo around her, and I wonder if I’m looking upon an angel from my past.
But no. Larissa was all meek subservience. The woman before my eyes doesn’t cower or bow her head. Instead, her chin is tipped up, as if she’s better than everyone in this room, and my cock pulses in delight at the knowledge of punishing her for such a display of assertion. No matter how many times Mikhail and I kick her down, the Blood Slave keeps getting back up—her humility will know no bounds.
My twin continues to stare. The custom-made dress we had designed for her accentuates her beauty in a way that makes it impossible to look away. The gown itself is a work of art, fashioned from the finest silk and lace, clinging to the Blood Slave like a second skin, but it's nothing compared to the woman sheathed within it. The deep golden fabric hints at the secrets hidden beneath—secrets only for Mikhail and me—and I realize everyone’s hungry gaze is upon our slave.
Resentment courses through me when my heart quickens at the thought. The jealousy she incites within me reminds me of the danger of emotions. Feelings are treacherous and are what killed Larissa. They stole the woman I loved and nearly destroyed the kingdom my brother and I fought so hard to build. I must be cold. I must be cruel. And above all, I must not feel.
But as the Blood Slave glides through the ballroom with ease, her every step oozing sensuality, I find myself struggling to control the storm of emotions raging within me. Across the room, Mikhail remains shut off, as stoic as ever. He’s never battled like I do, his heart etched in stone, and guilt swamps me for bringing him down. It’s my fault he opened himself to love Larissa, and my fault our throne is now questioned, but I will redeem myself.
Here.
Tonight.
I will find the rebel leader and make him pay, take all my pain and wrath out on them. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips at my plan as I watch our pretty, little pet walk over to Mikhail. At least she knows her place, unlike the rest of the ingrates who grace the dance floor. My brother and I have made it clear that the Blood Slave is ours alone, and yet, they look, their lingering, hungry stares touching every part of what’smine.
