Page 55 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“This is mine,” she says, with a little wave inside. “Though I mostly use it for studying now.”

My jaw almost drops.

The tiny space is teeming with books. Towers of them crowd the desk, the floor, the bare shelf. More are stacked in careful piles against the walls. Even her bed is covered, the narrow mattress almost entirely lost beneath open volumes and loose papers.

For the first time since arriving, a real laugh escapes me.

“Where in the world do you sleep?” I ask, staring at the bare sliver of space left on the bed. Trying to imagine curling up there.

“Upstairs,” she says, a pink tinge rising on her pale, freckle-dusted cheeks.

I stop.

Oh. Of course.

“With the headmaster,” she adds, straightening a tower of books.

The thought makes something in me twist. I want to say something. To ask if she’s alright, or promise to help her in a way I have no power to promise.

“It’s a nice collection,” I murmur.

“Thank you.”

She smiles, then seems to search for something else to say. “Oh! Kira, I noticed earlier that you don’t even have a pillow. I’ll make sure you get proper bedding and some decent bedclothes. Nathaniel should have let me sort everything for you last night. He can truly be awful sometimes.”

“The two of you don’t seem to like each other,” I observe. Susie seems keen to steer the conversation away from the headmaster, and I am more than happy to seize on this new subject of hating the prince.

She snorts. “No. He’s definitely not my favourite vampire.”

The words rub strangely against me. Favourite vampire? As if anyone could be fond of one.

I glance at the gold collar at her throat before I can stop myself. The obvious question presses against my teeth.

“So, is Arken your favourite?” I ask.

Her eyelashes flutter. “Of course,” she says quietly, before stepping out of her room. “Come on. Let me show you upstairs.”

We follow the yellow torches up. By the time we finally ascend the last stretch of stairs and emerge through the iron door, I nearly breathe like I’ve surfaced from deep water.

The foyer looks different by day.

Last night, it was all red torchlight and shadows. A place of doom and hopelessness.

This morning, early sunlight streams through tall arched windows, catching in crystal chandeliers and scattering pale fragments of light across the marble floor. The vaulted ceiling rises high overhead, carved with curling filigree. Painted panels depict wolves darting between vines, mostly in the silver shades common to this region, with a scattering of brown, russet and black-furred bodies caught mid-leap. Tall, graceful vampires with pale faces move around them in flowing robes. At first, the scene almost looks harmonious. The painting, beautiful.

Then I notice the wolves’ faces. Or rather, the lack of them. A strange, creeping unease works beneath my skin. Every head has been faded, as if scratched away, leaving only blurred smudges where their eyes and muzzles should be.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Susie asks.

I tear my eyes away and notice her gesturing towards the grand staircase sweeping upwards on the far side of the hall, splitting into two at the landing, each branch of stairs disappearing into upper floors I have not yet seen.

Giving a tiny nod, I say, “Who built this?”

Pride warms her face. “Wolves did. It was commissioned by King Bakker’s father. But the architects were vampires. That was the fashion back when wolves ruled these lands. This castle was built in a bid to improve wolf-vampire relations, with the castle serving as an embassy for visiting vampire diplomats.”

“I thought it was used for intelligence,” I ask as we cross the foyer and go through an archway. That’s what Nathaniel had said.

She nods. “That too.”