Page 38

“Pleasant tidings, for once,” Lucan murmured.

“Yes, sir. However, the other remains.”

The other. The honey-haired vampire who stood much too close to Anileta and whose scent reeked of vampiric blood.

“His name, Senna.”

“I will get it.”

Their conversation ended as Senna helped Lucan dress. From a tall, mahogany wardrobe, he pulled out several pairs of pants, all black with embroidered patterns down the sides. Though he rarely wore anything but red, tonight his hand drifted toward a pair with white stitching. Elegant filigree—almost elven in nature—ran the length of the pant leg. Here and there, a droplet of blood in bright red threads hung from the curving lines.

The time slipped by, and soon enough, Lucan was dressed. The ruffles of his white tunic rose high over his throat, surrounded by a deep crimson jacket.

Princely, Aurelion would call him.

A puppet was what he felt like.

Night had already begun to claim the sun when Lucan emerged from his chambers. He walked slowly through the long corridors of the Blooded Court, wishing to stall sitting in the throne he never wanted. Less than a month had passed since his return from the Evermist; less than a month since he had felt her silver in his flesh and felt something again.

He had to find her again.

If he didn’t, he would surely suffocate in this godsdamned place.

“Another one?”

The words reached him from an adjoining corridor.

“That’s what I heard.”

Another voice replied, “Aye, brutal, this one. Personal, almost.”

“Hush.”

“No, truly. Found her in the servants’ wing. They say he—”

The conversation died the instant Lucan’s shadow stretched across the archway. Inside a small washroom, three servants froze. One nearly dropped the folded linens cradled in her arms.

Lucan didn’t break his stride. By the time he’d passed, their hearts already hammered in their chests, breath stolen with fear.

Another one.

Curious.

So a useless maid lost her life, and the first monster they pointed toward was him. They weren’t entirely wrong—Lucan had a proclivity for unleashing his darkest urges on lesser vampires rather than his court—but that had not happened since Anileta first spread her legs for him.

A servant…murdered.

He should’ve cared more—about the murder, and that they assumed it belonged to his hand. Lucan’s face twitched, a humorless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There had been a time when such assumptions would have offended him. Now, they merely amused him.

And perhaps a killer on the loose could make court life more interesting, at least for a few days.

Soon, Lucan rounded the last turn before reaching the throne room. A large inner courtyard yawned out before him. Two tall, seated figures towered above the tiled floor: Gairan, with her long tresses spilling over her simple throne, bare chest marked with a flaming sun; and opposite her, Lucan’s blood-father, head held high, wearing the crown given to him by a goddess.

In all his years as the Blooded Prince, Lucan had never once looked up at their stony faces.

A steward bowed as Lucan approached the grand staircase.

“Your Highness.”