Page 183 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

I’m not sure how much ‘fun’ I would have standing collared at Nathaniel’s side, my leash in his hand while he speaks with courtiers beneath his father’s watch. Still, an unreasonable prick of envy catches me as I imagine Eliza trying on ball gowns and masquerade masks, excited for an evening away from the Academy. And the intelligence I might glean being at Wintermaw Keep—

No. This is better.

I place a piece of toast upon my plate and stare at it.

Echoing through the hall from above, I hear familiar laughter. I look up and see Nathaniel laughing at something Professor Danton is saying.

It is not a real laugh. Professor Danton must have said something Nathaniel finds amusing for all the wrong reasons.

I stare freely, for far longer than I should, but Nathaniel does not look down. Not even for a second.

I tear my toast into small pieces, so distracted that I don’t realise Susie is absent until she hurries into the pit and lowers herself into the empty seat beside me. Her strawberry-blonde hair is still damp, the end of her plait leaving a dark patch across the back of her blazer.

She smells strongly of soap and fresh water, but neither has quite managed to wash Arken from her skin.

Arken.

“You look better,” Susie says to me with slightly forced cheer, her cheeks pink. “How are you feeling?”

I shrug. “Excellent.”

Her mouth softens. “It will get better, you know.”

“Will it?”

“Yes. I promise.”

I don’t know who she’s trying to convince, but as Susie gives me a small, patient smile and helps herself to porridge, I find myself believing her a little anyway.

A few minutes later, Arken enters the dining hall, silver hair damp and spectacles fogged as he joins the staff table.

That night, Nathaniel comes to my room.

The knock is so quiet that I almost mistake it for the guard shifting outside. Then the door opens, and Nathaniel steps inside without waiting for an invitation. He has removed the long coat. Beneath it, he’s wearing black from throat to shoes, every silver fastening precisely in place.

I lower the book I have been trying to read. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking your wing.” He closes the door behind him. His presence seems to press the room inward until it feels even smaller than before.

“The healer says I am recovering,” I say.

“The healer cannot examine a wing she does not know exists.”

He approaches the bed. A small green vial rests between his fingers.

I eye it. “Another restorative draught?”

“Professor Parna was quite apologetic when I asked for one. It seems three of his finest examples have mysteriously disappeared from the Potions storeroom.”

“How mysterious,” I murmur with a small smile.

His expression remains unchanged, and that almost makes me feel worse.

Nathaniel sets the vial upon my bedside table and reaches for the collar.

I stiffen. “What are you doing?”

“Removing it.”