Page 41 of The Crimson Princess
Make no mistake,he says,if they gain that much power, they’ll claim your kingdom and come for mine, but I am not an easy adversary to conquer. Neither is your father, if he opens his eyes.
And if he doesn’t?
Then, princess, we lose our kingdoms and that’s not an option for either of us.
I will never let that happen,I counter, wishing I could say the same of my father.
Nor I,Toren counters.Rest, princess.I’m one blink away if you need me.
I feel the moment he breaks the connection between us I barely understand. It simply exists, but rather than contemplate the strange bond, and connection I feel for the vampire king, his words have reminded me of Bellar’s ability to blink. More so, the moment both me and the frostburns believed he planned to grab me. My gaze sweeps the courtyard and the still of night, when I detect a slight shift in the shadows. I shut the window, sealing myself inside the shelter of the magic that guards the castle.
I’m safe here. We are all safe within the kingdom’s boundaries that the great King Killian protects. But for how long?
Chapter nineteen
Iwakeabruptlythenextmorning, my lashes lifting to a blast of bright light piercing my vision. I’m hot all over with my return from dreamland where Toren has seduced me all over again. Images of him naked, me naked, of him biting my neck and drinking from me has me panting out a breath. Why would I eventhinkabout such things, let alone engage in a full-blown fantasy dream?
No sooner do I have the thought than a memory of him kissing me, blood on my tongue, and the scent and taste of amber floods my senses. A hunger for Toren’s blood overtakes me, penetrating in its depths, clawing at me. My heart leaps with panic that I’m somehow calling Toren, who will know exactly what awakened this in me, and I throw away the bedding and sit up, my fingers curling around the blanket, my pulse erratic. What is happening to me?
Toren,I think.
Heis happening to me. I never felt such things, never hungered for such things before last night with him. What magic and mayhem has he cast on me? He might not want me to acknowledge the stories of his many conquests, but with every hum of gossip there is some truth. Am I being a fool with Toren?
And what if he can feel my hunger now? What if the sleeping version of me, reached out to him in the dream? Does he know what was in my head? The last thing I want to know right now is the answer to that question. As my mother used to say: accept what you cannot change and do something about what can be changed.
With this in mind, I shake myself, quite literally. It’s a mere two days until the Challenge and that means two days until the portal opens and with it comes the risk of the mysterious sorceress trying to gain control of the Third World. In morning light, the fact that my father is nervous enough about this potential to allow King Toren to stay, feels rather ominous especially after he’s shut him out in all other ways. It’s illogical.
What is really going on?
A conversation with my father needs to happen, with frankness and level heads at the helm. As in now, this morning, before it’s too late to change whatever is in play with the druids. Fifteen minutes later, I’m just stepping out of the shower when the roar of pounding on my door vibrates through the wall. In other words, my father demands my presence and he’s sent someone to urgently retrieve me, or else they’ll feel his wrath.
I decide I really miss being worlds away from that man right about now, but I’m also terrified of what he would do without me or my mother here to tame his dramatic tendencies. Another round of pounding ensues and I decide now is the time to try out my new magic. If I can undress myself and Toren in a fit of passion, maybe I can dress myself under the duress of my father’s demands. I lex myself dressed and ready for my day. To my delight and pleasure, a moment later, I’m in a version of the leathers and boots I wore last night, with my brown hair fully dried and pinned neatly at my nape.
I’m ready for battle, not the throne room, and that’s exactly what I wanted.
Hurrying to the door, I pull it open to find a young house maiden dressed in a royal uniform of deep green, her sleeves long, her simple skirt mid-length. Her hands wrenching with nervous energy. Her distress all but hums in the air and I wish I knew her name, but I settle for capturing her hands. “It’s okay. You’re doing your job and doing it well. I assume the king sent you?”
“Yes.” She nods in earnest. “Yes.”
“Thank you for delivering the message. What’s your name?”
“Evie.”
I squeeze one of her hands and release her. “Nice to meet you, Evie. Where does my father wish for me to meet him?”
“The garden.”
“Who’s visiting?” I ask, as the gardens indicate a guest and if that’s Bellar, the only gift I have for the prince is indigestion.
“Idris. That’s all I know.”
Better than Bellar, I think. I might not care for Idris, but he’s not druid, and that’s a plus. I motion Evie onward. “I’ll follow you down.”
She nods and rushes down the stairs, while I follow at a far more even pace than her hurried one. I’m certain her apprehension reads as a success story to my father. He who rules by an iron fist and intimidation. He and my mother were as different as the sun and the moon in how they wore their crowns. My mother often preached to me over how to treat others. When those who serve you, fear you, there is no loyalty to be found, she’d warned.
And that’s when knives find the way into your back.
Has my father created a hostile environment and should that worry me?
