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“All in due time, my lord. Come, let us convene.”
Lucan walked to the head of the table. Elarian padded behind him dutifully, ensuring her every movement looked as if she lived to warm Lucan’s bed. Her fingers grazed his shoulder as they turned to face the council. He looked back at her; fluttering her long lashes, she sighed. Feigning contentment with his collar around her neck almost came too easily. Lucan turned slightly, his hand resting against the chain.
“Before you bore me with the same inane questions, let me answer them now.” He tugged on the chain, forcing Elarian to step closer to the table. “As we all know, our master requested the countess return to her ancestral home in the north. Unfortunately, duty required her to miss the masquerade last night, but in her stead, Anileta procured for me a most beautiful gift from the Bloodlord’s Court.”
Hushed whispers filled the council chambers. Another lady slipped in through the open door, quickly finding her seat before Lucan continued.
“Eliyn still has to learn her manners.” Lucan slid his arm around her waist, drawing her close until she felt his uneven breaths. “But I daresay she is Aurelion’s most perfectly bred dhampir yet.”
Elarian flinched at his words. Dhampir. Something dark and angry churned in her stomach.
The word settled over the chamber like a corpse dropped into still water.
Dhampir.
One councilor’s brows lifted almost imperceptibly. Another lowered his gaze at once, as though merely hearing Aurelion’s name invited misfortune. Even the woman in crimson stopped regarding Elarian with contempt and instead studied her with the careful distance reserved for venomous things.
Not fear of her, she sensed, but fear of the blood she supposedly carried.
Lord Raviron was the first to recover. “A generous gift,” he said carefully. Every syllable sounded weighed before leaving his mouth.
Lucan’s thumb lazily traced the chain at Elarian’s throat.
“Indeed.”
The lady dressed in crimson, whose gaze never left Elarian’s face, stood. “I was unaware the Bloodlord intended...”
She let the sentence die as Lucan smiled at her with blazing eyes.
“There are many things our master does without announcing them.” Lucan tugged once upon the chain. “Now, if you are done gawking, what is this business you insist I hear so early in the morning?”
Elarian understood the command without needing to see Lucan’s crimson gaze.
Kneel.
Every instinct screamed against it. Reshva had beaten one lesson into every Blade until bruises bloomed beneath their armor: never kneel. Her training rebelled at the thought of prostrating herself before the enemy. She had already sacrificed everything she promised she would not; how could he take this, too?
Yet surrounded by vampires, silverless, chained, and desperately needing them all to believe the lie...
Elarian lowered herself onto her knees beside the prince’s chair.
The flicker of heat deep in her core returned. Elarian closed her eyes and thought of Lucan’s hands wrapped around her throat. Fury mixed with primal need, blood thrumming in her veins, the heat building until a sweat formed a sheen over her heaving breasts.
I hate this.
I hate you.
I hate that I want this.
Unable to do anything but sit there in silence, Elarian bit her lip until the taste of iron flooded her senses.
Goddess, don’t let him see.
twenty-six
A Hidden Blade
The council chamber remained deathly quiet.
