Page 15 of The Crimson Princess
There’s a stone desk in the center of the room and seating areas on either side, where I expect my father to step behind, to claim a role of authority. He surprises me and motions toward the three leather chairs positioned around a smaller table and sitting in front of a crackling fire that is rather grandiose considering the warmness of the season. My father, of course, still pulls rank, claiming the center seat, while he dictates me to his left and Toren is to his right. One of the staff, who I do not know, fills our glasses with whiskey, though I wave off my pour.
“You don’t drink, princess?” Toren asks.
He’s directly across from me, those piercing eyes as sharp as perfect diamonds and fixed on me as if my answer truly matters when we both know it does not. But I make it matter. I make it about the control a future queen should always possess. “I prefer to retain my faculties.”
“Vampires don’t have that concern,” my father informs me dryly. “They can’t get drunk.”
“We can get drunk,” Toren corrects, “but not on alcohol.”
I swallow with a fair amount of difficulty, certain I know where this is headed and unwilling to shy away from what might well be seen as a reason to fear Toren. “Blood?” I ask.
He tilts his chin in confirmation. “It’s no longer a requirement for survival, but it’s a delicacy we enjoy.”
I’m oddly without a negative response to this statement, when I suspect I should find it savage. Instead, I’m spellbound by Toren as he sips his whiskey. I find myself imagining thick, red blood on his tongue,my bloodon his tongue, and why is that as terrifying as it is erotic? And yet, I don’t look away, watching him as he lifts his glass toward my father. “Excellent as always.”
“Why are you here?” My father’s tone is impatient.
Toren appears unfazed by his abruptness, saying simply, “My brother has started a rebel faction intent on garnering mass power.”
“And you want us to help you?”
“He’s not coming for me,” Toren replies, enjoying another sip of his whiskey before adding, “not yet. Our intelligence tells us he plans to start with smaller communities, and as he consumes them and becomes more powerful, he’ll come for you, and then ultimately, me. It’s in our best interest to ensure he self-destructs by losing those smaller battles.”
I perch on the edge of my chair, anxious about his news, concerned about the extreme activity at the San Francisco portal. “Will the humans become a target?”
“I would not consider anyone off limits,” Toren advises, “though my intelligence team believes he’s targeting something much grander.”
“Such as?” my father asks, fully engaged at this point. “Certainly not Ravengale. We’re well armed.” He doesn’t sound certain.
“No place is off limits,” Toren assures him, but any comfort this offers is wiped away as he says, “even the Third World.”
My father scowls at what I know instantly he believes as a ridiculous concept. “That’s impossible,” he scoffs. “It’s protected with the magic of the Book of Life.”
I go cold inside, remembering my mother’s lessons and warning my father of such. “Magic isn’t impervious to attack.”
“No, no, it is not,” Toren agrees, casting me a look of approval that says I have, indeed, learned well, but why are we not in agreement with my father on this obvious reality? Because, certainly, we are not.
He’s already pushing back. “The Third World inhabitants would kill your brother,” he argues. “Incinerate him.”
“Unless he has magic that will control them,” Toren counters. “And my intelligence says that’s exactly what he plans. I don’t know how, but reinforce your shields now, before it’s too late. I wouldn’t underestimate my brother. Once he sets his mind on something, he’ll seek out anyone who can make his goal a reality.”
My father considers him a moment. “That would require a powerful practitioner of magic, a druid sorceress, and most of them are mere legend.”
“We both know Macklemore summoned Crya, the sorceress of chaos, from her Third World death. Some say he actually freed her.”
My father’s pushback is instant. “Do you not think the druids would be using a sorceress, if she existed, to control us?” He’s combative, as if Toren has insulted him in some way when I do not believe that’s his intent.
“The druid king may not know she’s alive,” he states. “Or maybe, he’s hiding her until he’s ready to attack. Or worse he simply can't control her and my brother has found a way.”
My heart starts to race with the suggestion that could end us. “What are you trying to tell us?” I ask. “What do you know that we don’t?”
“Consider this a real threat," Toren replies. “We all need to take this seriously.”
My father’s lips press together, long seconds ticking by like thick blood seeping along the walls of our city, before he thankfully concedes. “I’ll reinforce the barrier and look into this talk. You’re welcome to stay in Ravengale for the night. I’ll have a royal cottage prepared for you, should you wish to accept our hospitality.”
“When you open the portal for next week for Challenge Day, there is a risk that my brother and the sorceress exploit the opportunity it offers to merge worlds. I’d like to stay until it’s complete.”
Again, my father scoffs. “You think you alone could make a difference?”
