Page 13 of The Crimson Princess
“Always,” he assures my father, a casual reply lacking the respect others would offer him.
My father studies him with eyes as cold as the Antarctic and as hard as our most enduring stone. “Be sure you do.” With that, he offers me his hand and guides me around the table and toward the path.
The moment he’s out of sight, I turn to my father. “What’s happening worthy of interruption?”
“You’ll know when I know.”
It’s an evasive answer, but I don’t push for more, sensing he’s in his own head, calculating his actions. I’m officially baffled by how any visitor could possibly place my father on the defensive, but that’s exactly what I believe to be happening. I’ve spent almost no one-on-one time with my father, and certainly not as an adult, but this does not feel expected or normal. There’s a hum of adrenaline and magic inside me, a reaction to the unknown that my mother taught me to embrace but control.
My chin tilts upward, and I’m ready for whatever follows.
Our destination is the throne room, and once we’re seated, the towering gold doors of the entryway part, and Andreas, a member of the royal guard who attends the court, steps forward. “May I announce, your majesty, the royal king of the empire of Bloodstone, Toren Ashcroft.”
My spine stiffens in shock. I’ve never actually met a vampire, let alone “the” vampire, the king of them all, and with good reason. The vampires are not only our enemies, they refuse to recognize the council or my father’s rule. We are in what could be called a cold war with them, all of us taught never to trust anyone with fangs, not that they walk around with them on display.
Andreas steps aside, and I can feel the vampire king’s magic before he ever shows himself, brutal magic, so forceful my skin burns with the depth of power, of his power. And when he appears in the entryway, towering in height, his shoulders broad, his body lithe and muscular, he is everything I’d expect out of a well-honed warrior. As would be expected, he’s dressed in his formal king’suniform of black and with blood red trim, the colors of his homeland. His collar high and stiff, as is the identifier of a king’s attire, the garments luxurious and no doubt woven with magic.
He saunters toward us, all loose-legged swagger, and I swear my magic hums with his presence, my belly fluttering with every step he draws nearer. He holds me spellbound, and I silently declare him the most gorgeous male I have ever encountered. I also now understand why there are murmurs of his many seductions, though I do wonder if magic is at the core of his appeal. I cannot say at this point for certain, but the way his presence dominates the very air I breathe does not feel natural, but neither does it feel uncomfortable.
An eternal moment later, he halts in front of us, the king who appears a mere thirty-five when his age rivals my father’s. He’s beautifully masculine, but not in the traditional way one defines aristocratic beauty. His jaw is straight but not sharp. His nose a bit imperfect. His raven hair thick, and long enough to be wild, and somehow, everything about him is absolute control.
“King Killian,” he greets, his attention focused wholly on my father.
“Toren,” my father replies, unwilling to greet the vampire by his rightful title of King.
There’s a twitch of Toren’s mouth, as if he’s amused by what he sees as nothing but my father’s stubbornness. “I wish to offer my condolences.”
“Do you, now?” There’s a challenge tinged with disdain in his tone.
“With deep remorse,” King Toren assures him. “Your queen was special. She left us too soon.” And then, quite abruptly, his attention swings to me. “I’m sorry for your loss, princess.”
In that blink of time, I’m staring into eyes as blue as the Mediterranean, lost at sea and drowning in the vampire’s presence. He’s everything I expect a vampire king to be, everything my mother warned me Toren would be if ever I met him. He possesses the kind of seduction and beauty that you can only call deadly.
Chapter eight
“Princess,”lingersonToren’slips, velvet on his tongue, with the slightest of accent to his speech I cannot place. I’m more than a little enveloped in his presence, and I discreetly shake myself and force a formal reply. “Thank you, King Toren,” I reply, as first names are always appropriate in Ravengale.
His brows lift at my formal acknowledgement that we both know my father won’t approve of, but I’ve chosen out of the respect I believe he deserves. He is a part of our history, the vampire king who chose diplomacy over war with our people while his now-departed father wanted war, and from what I’ve heard, his twin brother, Ruhn, was right there by his father’s side, demanding war and domination.
It’s been in our best interest that Toren, born one minute the senior to Ruhn, and therefore the rightful king, is in control of his world.
My father grunts next to me, his disapproval obvious, though he saves his wrath for later, focusing on the vampire king. “I’d offer you a drink, Toren, but I’m afraid we don’t stock blood.”
Toren’s ancient stare lingers on me, his amusement at my father’s jibe cutting through the shared moment. He dips his chin at me in a barely perceivable acknowledgement before he seems to tear his gaze from mine and return his attention to my father. “A pity on the blood,” Toren replies, “but I do enjoy the famous Ravengale whiskey. I do believe it would serve us both to sit and chat.”
My father strums his fingers on the arm of his throne, his energy pure agitation. “And why is that?”
“As poorly timed as it is,” Toren explains, “we have a serious matter to discuss, I believe to be urgent. And I’m certain you know I wouldn’t use that description lightly, nor would I intrude on your Tribute with the matters of the throne unless I felt it unavoidable.”
My father stares at King Toren, seemingly weighing his statement, before waving a hand toward Andreas. “Have the staff prepare my study.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Andreas replies, quickly backing away and disappearing out of our view, and my father redirects his attention back to Toren. “Happy?”
Toren appears unimpressed. “We’ll have privacy?”
“Complete,” my father assures him, standing. I follow, unsure of my role in this meeting.
As if reading my mind, Toren glances at me and then my father. “Will the future queen be joining us? I do believe this problem may extend to her rule.”
