Page 29 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“Does the King know she was in the cottage?”

The question is neatly aimed. She may lack subtlety, but not impact, and I am beginning to tire of being kept so precisely on my toes. As diverting as this little back-and-forth has been…

“Enough. My turn to ask you a question,” I say crisply. “Tell me, purely for my own curiosity—are you capable of holding your tongue? Any length of time would do.”

Her eyes flash, more with confusion than anger, and she shuts her mouth.

Good. Confused and off balance is where I need her for now. Yet the absence of a retort leaves the air simmering with tension, the exchange oddly unfinished.

I look away, out at the trees, which have finally begun to thin. My posture remains relaxed, my demeanour bored, and I’m careful to keep my guard up.

As we leave the forest for the country lanes, I expect her to try something. This would be the moment—before the Capital, before the gates, before the Academy’s reach closes around her. It’s partly why I ended our conversation. To ensure I’m not distracted.

But she does nothing.

Somehow, that is worse. It leaves all that braced anticipation with nowhere to go, coiling tighter through my muscles.

I am almost relieved when we reach the Capital. Dirt roads give way to cobblestone, though the carriage makes little distinction, and the southern gates rise ahead, iron-bound and flanked by red torchlight. The city spreads beyond in layered tiers, climbing inward towards its centre, and above it all the Academy’s austere spires pierce the dark sky.

“Have you ever seen the Capital before?” I ask.

“Of course,” she snaps after a moment of hesitation.

“Have you ever been inside the walls?”

A longer pause, like she doesn’t want to admit she is entering unfamiliar territory. “No.”

“That’s the Academy,” I say, nodding towards the spires cutting above the sea of slate city roofs. “A small castle located in the heart of the Capital. Certainly smaller than Wintermaw Keep—you won’t see the royal castle from here. It lies beyond the city, to the north.”

“I know that,” she mutters, but she looks, her head tilting towards the window as the gates loom closer.

One of the City Watchmen waves us through the gatehouse. As the carriage rolls beneath the arch, Kira sniffs, testing the air.

“That guard,” she whispers. I follow her gaze to the opposite side of the gatehouse, where a second watchman stands rigid in the red torchlight.

Even in the red glow, it is obvious its skin is grey as its uniform, eyes clouded, pupils gone, nothing left but a blank white stare. The sight of one of those things never fails to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.

Like its comrades, it appears to be watching us, though it’s almost impossible to tell with those pupil-less eyes, except for the way its head tracks the carriage as we pass.

“A made vampire—one of my father’s creations,” I confirm in a low voice. “An undead thing, raised from a vampire’s corpse.”

“I know what it is,” she says.

I study the side of her face. “You’ve seen one before?”

“Once.”

“Ah.” I let out a quiet breath once the gates—and my father’s monster—are behind us. “And how did that go?”

“There is one less made vampire in the world.” There is a note of satisfaction in her voice. She looks back through the window, her attention fixed and dangerous, as if she’s already wondering whether she could go back and make it two.

That look needs tempering.

“Then you know they are fast,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Strong as a born vampire, with the same hunger. But they do not tire. They do not decay. Whatever you did to put one down, I’d wager it was not easy.”

“It wasn’t. It took three of us to kill it. We lost one.”

“What a shame.”