Page 60 of House of Crimson Hearts
I’m faced with two choices, neither of which I particularly like: Tell her how I know her name and why she has no memory of that night. Or lie and hope that she never finds out.
Like I say, neither of these feels particularly appealing. I cover my face and groan. At that moment, Wendell walks in, carrying a tray of breakfast.
“This is one of the finer breakfast delicacies from the cellar. A vintage blood with essence of jealousy. I know how you like to start the day drinking something a little spiteful,” he says, not quite meeting my gaze. It makes a piece of me shrivel inside. Wendell cares for me, I know this. But no matter how hard he tries, he is still wary of me, he probably always will be. It’s inbuilt in them—the humans, I mean.
“Oh, you’re too good to me.” I take the goblet and cradle it. He does raise his eyes briefly to glance up at me but pulls them away just as quick.
“You warmed it too?” I say and clasp my hand to his in gratitude.
“But of course.” He smiles and nods and then says, “You have an hour before the private carriage will be ready to take to you Castle St Clair.”
“What does Mother want now? I thought we’d be sent the trial information and get on with it,” I say, frowning.
“I believe she’s referring to it as the partnering ceremony. It appears Cordelia is pushing quite hard with the timeline on this. She wants to begin the trials immediately.”
“Ugh.” I lean back against my pillow and take another sip of the delicious blood, B negative, I think. Not my favourite but certainly not the worst tasting, and the vintage quality makes the iron particularly rich. I close my eyes, savouring it.
“I’ll draw you a bath while you enjoy your breakfast.”
He leaves and fusses in the bathroom while I sip on breakfast.
* * *
Several hours later, I am in a long queue of carriages trailing up the winding mountain path. I stick my head out of the carriage window and all I see for miles are carriage upon carriage of vampire nobles and hunters alike.
It truly is a strange sight to witness, for the second time in a week, so many hunters and vampires in close proximity without any bloodshed or fighting.
I shut the window and ponder. What is Mother up to? She’s spent ten centuries fighting hunters and suddenly she wants to partner with them? I don’t think any of us believe her bullshit about retiring. But I also don’t agree with how she rules; she has her own best interests at heart rather than the city’s.
Her fear and furious hand, I understand. So rarely do people obey unless you give them a reason to toe the line. But this partnership I find curious because the only reason she would do this is if she is getting something out of it. But what?
I intend to find out.
Finally, we reach the castle courtyard. One of Mother’s staff opens the door.
“Miss,” she says, realising who I am and paling. She steps out of the way, giving me a wide berth. Xavier steps out of a carriage on the other side of the courtyard. I make my way to him.
“Favourite,” he says and bends to kiss my cheek. He’s wearing a luxurious, long black gentleman’s coat, his chin-length locks wavy and coiffed to perfection. He looks dashing as usual.
“Fetching attire, darling,” I say and kiss his other cheek. “Shame about the personality attached to it.”
He gives me a dirty look. “You look different. Did the little hunter pity fuck you? I saw the way you were looking at each other in the club.”
“One, how dare you. Two, no.”
He huffs out a laugh. “My, my, Octavia, we are defensive this fine evening. Methinks the lady doth protest a little too much.”
“Remind me why you’re my favourite again?”
“Because of that summer of blood and whiskey and the fact we fucked our way around three cities and never got caught?”
I open my mouth to contradict him and decide he’s probably right. While we’ve had hundreds of years together, that summer really was the one that bonded us.
“So much carnage.” I sigh.
“So much blood,” he whispers.
He offers me his arm and walks me across the courtyard and up the porch steps to the front door. Mother’s door is an ornate, imposing arch. It’s dark wood, lined with dapple hammered wrought iron framing and studs. It’s ajar, but the gargoyle door knocker jerks forward closing it.
