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Blood Wyne gestured for us to rise. Roman let go of my hand and—motioning for me to stay where I was—lightly ran up the stairs to place a kiss on his mother’s outstretched hand.
“Your Majesty…thank you for seeing me.”
And then, the marble of her face cracked—just a little—and she smiled at her son. “Roman, we are alone with the girl. Don’t stand on ceremony.”
Startled by her forthrightness, I jerked my head up to stare at her. She gave me a wolflike smile. “What? You do not expect ancient queens to be understanding of the modern world? Your Fae Queens seem to be. Do not underestimate me, girl.”
“Never,” I said automatically, before remembering I should probably wait for her direction to speak.
But Blood Wyne just chuckled and sat back on the throne. “Rise, Menolly. So…you are my son’s chosen consort. Turn and let me look at you.”
Feeling like a prize cow, I turned in my simple white robe, wondering what she must think of me. I wasn’t cut out for the court, and I wasn’t about to wear billowing ball gowns or jeweled tiaras unless it was an official function for which Roman needed me to dress.
“Interesting. I like the fire in her eyes, my son.” She spoke to Roman as if I weren’t even in the room, but I wasn’t feeling much like contradicting her. She turned back to me and held my gaze. I felt like a stake was piercing my soul and I couldn’t move. I had a feeling she could hold any vampire hostage with her gaze, which meant her power was very real and very great.
After a moment, she let me go. “The eyes speak volumes, to mouth banalities. But cliché or not, it is a truth that we can read much by reading another’s gaze. And I can read the truth in your soul, Menolly. You do not love my son, but you are fond of him.”
I stammered. “I…I love him as much as I can, Your Majesty.”
Blood Wyne shrugged. “Love is overrated. My son seeks it, but love leads only to tragedy and loss. Fondness, loyalty are much better emotions to nurture. And I see that you have loyalty—but to whom? To whom do you bind yourself, Menolly?”
I swallowed, not wanting to tell her about my family. Vampires could make terrible use of emotions and bonds to control others. But one look at Roman and I knew she already knew the answers. He was her son. He owed her loyalty and he probably told her everything.
“My sisters hold my oath, first and foremost. My family and friends. My oath to the elves and to my home city-state. My beloved. I will never betray them. And…I have a loyalty to your son, yes. As long as it does not interfere with my other allegiances.” Sometimes, it was better to just have the facts out in the open.
Blood Wyne nodded, somberly. “I do not take oaths lightly, my young vampire. And neither do you, I see. I admire that. I would rather you placed my son first, of course, but breaking one oath to forge another is tantamount to being warlock, and I will not tolerate broken vows in the Crimson Veil. Best now you understand this.”
“I do, and I agree.” Relieved that she wasn’t going to attempt to supersede my loyalties with her own, I began to relax, just a little.
“My son told me he was performing the ritual of re-siring with you, and why. Did he also tell you that at this point, I must accept you into our line in order for it to fully take? And that if I don’t, you will be killed?”
I gasped, turning to Roman. “You didn’t—”
His face a blank mask, he stared solemnly at me. “I did not know.”
I wanted to rail at him, to send him flying down the steps in a fury, but this was not the best place to go postal. His mother could pick me off like a fly. Glaring at him, I turned back to Blood Wyne.
“He did not tell me about the latter part. He guaranteed little pain.”
“Little pain does not mean the same thing as not being hurt. But do not fret. He did not know, either, because I chose not to tell him.”
As she stood again, she seemed to grow taller, towering over me. I felt fear for the first time in her presence. I went down on my knees, as did Roman. “You have no clue what it means to be in the presence of the Crimson Veil.”
Her voice echoed through the room, rebounding off the walls. As I peeked through my fingers, she aged, not in body, but in spirit, and her power reverberated through me. She was no figurehead, but truly a queen.
“Do you even know what the Crimson Veil is, my girl?” She leaned down and reached for my hand, and—unable to resist—I gave it to her. As she drew me up, I shook my head, stupefied into silence.
“Then come with me, and learn.”
The throne room vanished and I found myself standing beside Blood Wyne in a crimson haze, a flurry of smoke and fog rippling like some bloody aurora borealis. The bloodlust raced through my body. I let out a moan, trying to stifle my instincts, trying to push the predator within back into the closet.
“Welcome to the Crimson Veil. It is the place all vampires come to, in the end. It was created when Kesana turned the world into her playground by accepting the demons into her soul.”
The winds shrieked around me, calling me to feed, to hunt, to tear through the world and rip it to shreds.
“What is this place?”
“This is the core of the bloodlust, the source of our power, the only memory we have left of Kesana. This is the primal power of the vampire. Some say this is what remains of Kesana’s soul.”
