Page 297 of Sorrow & Strangers

I lean down and drag my new fangs along her throat, making her groan. She reaches back, sliding her fingers into my hair.

“Do you like me looking this way?” she purrs, gripping my hair tightly.

“Why would I crave an imitation over the real thing?”

She smiles at my response and spins to face me. “We should go.”

I nod, keeping my eyes on her as the portal to Drãculea opens behind me. The decrepit architecture looms, the constant overcast sky making the streets even more insidious. I take her hand and lead her through. The streets are alarmingly empty as we make our way toward the center of the capital. I wave my hand, and two cloaks drape over us, the hoods magicked so that we can see through them even when they are pulled low over our faces.

We pause next to a flickering gas lamppost. I step behind her, shielding her body as she pulls down one of the many bounty posters for Alice pasted throughout the city.

“This one has a deadline for proof of kill,” I whisper. “It’s the day before her coronation.” Summer reads the notice before crumpling it. “You mentioned they hate her. Why?”

“She refused to comply with their twisted ideals,” she says, taking my hand and tugging me down the street.

She stood out and refused to be hammered down. No wonder she and Summer were so bonded to each other. Both are living with swords hanging over their heads, wielded by men who thought to control them, destroy them. Yet their response is to face their would-be executioners with power and defiance. There is power in looking those who wish to decimate you in the eyes. A great and deadly power.

Summer darts along the street, holding my hand tightly. She is focused on a news store that is just putting out the day’s papers. She pulls me to stop to read them, and my brows furrow at the words printed in various languages.

“Princess . . .” I warn. This is more than Alice not conforming to their ideals. Someone is actively shaping the public’s perception of her. The population is being manipulated by a small percentage. It would be easy in this realm, with little outside information and conflicting ideas. There is no one to challenge them except for Alice, so they target her to keep her credibility nonexistent.

Summer glares at the printer, who is making more flyers for distribution, her hands hovering over the sai strapped to her thighs. Wordlessly, I open the shop door for her, gesturing her in.

I reach up and rip the bell from above the door before it alerts anyone, following Summer into the back room. She corners the printer against the wall, her sai at his throat before the vampire even registers our presence.

“What in the name of Drac!” the shopkeeper demands.

“Dracula won’t help you here,” Summer purrs, pressing the blades in deeper. “We saw your flyers.”

“I’m a news printer,” he hisses, and shrinks back against the wall, trying to get away from the sharp edge of her blades.

“News?” Summer snarls, pulling out the bounty poster and shoving it in his face.

“That’s today’s news,” he insists.

“Truly unbiased journalism,” I say, leaning against the wall, watching her with pleasure.

“Who’s paying the bounty?” Summer asks, digging her blades in deeper.

He scrambles to his toes, looking at me as if expecting me to provide some sort of reason or pull her back. As if I am not enjoying seeing Summer embrace this side of herself.

“The proviso!” he shouts, panicking when he realizes I am not going to stop her. “They asked us to print it in every issue with the normal stuff.”

“The proviso should not be convening. This is a period of mourning. Isn’t that what your blood scroll demands?”

“She’s not fit to be queen,” he squeaks. The printing press makes a groaning sound as it finishes another batch of flyers.

“That’s a dangerous view to have,” Summer says, kicking the press without moving her blades, breaking the fragile machine.

It is. Speaking ill of Alice in front of Summer is to court death, and the entire realm of Drãculea is on her list as a result. She is barely realized, and there will be no survivors if she unleashes.

“How long has the proviso ordered you to print these things about your princess?” I ask, seeing that the papers in the printing press contain even more lies about Alice.

“Never my princess,” the vampire snarls, and Summer presses harder, letting his blood spill.

“How long?” I snap.

His eyes flick wildly between Summer and me. “Since she tampered with the Blood Rite and made herself heir.”