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“He feeds off mortal blood, if that is what you’re asking. We all do,” comes Zander’s chilly voice behind me.
I let out a yelp as I spin around, pressing my back against the door.
Zander approaches from the vast darkness like a wraith in the night, his footfalls making no sound. He stops inches from me. “It is safe to assume you haven’t been lying about your memory loss.”
My body is rigid with terror. “What are you?”
His lips twist in a toothy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, no hint of fangs to be seen. “I’m like you.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t do that.” Do I? My tongue smooths over my incisors, searching for evidence to say otherwise.
His gaze tracks the move, as if he knows what I’m checking for. “I was shocked when I realized you did not remember the profound difference between your people and mine. That Malachi would deprive you of that knowledge was … interesting. I can’t figure out why he would.”
Because I’d be horrified?
His eyes drop to my disheveled robe. “That night in the tower, I was so close …” His fingertips push the collar open to expose where the daaknar left its mark. “What would have happened to me?”
I flinch at the feel of his index finger tracing the scar closest to my collarbone. What would have happened had he bitten me, he means. I remember the moment—he tore at the seam of my dress and lingered over my skin. He wasn’t deciding whether to fuck the woman who broke his heart and betrayed his kingdom; he was deciding whether to sink his teeth into her.
And if he had, he might have died as the daaknar did.
“You can’t feed off me,” I say out loud as I process this.
“I certainly wouldn’t try.” He collects my chin. His eyes are no longer sleepy. They’re full of heat and anger and something else entirely. “Now you know why your kind finds ours so repulsive. Perhaps you’ll remember that the next time you look at me the way you did in the throne room.”
I struggle to push down the paralyzing fear gripping my body. Is that what this demonstration is about? “And what way was that?”
His eyes search my face as if there might be a truth hiding within my features. “As if there could ever be something real between us. There cannot.” He releases his grip of me and strolls away, disappearing into the shadows, back the way he came, to his room and his willing victim.
And I stay pressed against the door for many long moments after he is gone, my limbs shaky, my thoughts scattered.
Elisaf, Annika, the soldiers, the nobility …
All these Islorian immortals feed off humans. And Ybarisans, apparently, though they can’t feed off me.
And I’ve agreed to play smitten queen-to-be to their bloodsucking king. I clutch my hands against my chest, feeling the pound of my heartbeat. I need to find the nymphaeum and get out of this hellish place as fast as possible.
I cradle the stone mug within my palms, savoring the hints of orange and licorice in the herbal tea Corrin delivered. Below me, the lone swordsman twirls around the empty sparring court beneath the touch of dawn’s light. He swings his blade with smooth, practiced strokes as if from memory, a choreographed dance that he has run through a thousand times.
I didn’t realize it was Boaz at first, and when I did, I couldn’t believe it. The gruff, ill-tempered man moves like an armed ballerina. It’s impossible not to admire his talent, even if I don’t care for him.
Even if I now know what he is.
In theory, anyway.
Last night, under the glow of a lantern, I scoured my room for a secret passage, an escape. But my desperate search failed, leaving me little choice but to curl up in my stately bed and dwell on a hundred new questions and fears about this world I find myself trapped in. The hours faded, and while I can’t say what time I drifted off from exhaustion, it couldn’t have been long before Corrin marched into my room with a tray of breakfast. She took one look at my face, nodded solemnly, and stepped out. She knows I am finally privy to the true nature of the immortals of Islor.
What must it be like to be her, serving people who might order your vein as easily as a pot of tea? Do the immortal Islorians drink or eat as we do? How often do they sink their fangs into necks? I’ve been so isolated up until now, I haven’t had the opportunity to notice anything off about them. That must have been Zander’s goal all along.
Do these creatures exist in my world? They must. How else would vampire fables exist? Except they’re not like the nightmarish tales of my world. They don’t hide in the shadow of night and sleep in coffins and attack unsuspecting humans, stealing their mortality. They stroll down sunny paths and sleep in beds and toss gold coins to the poor.
A slight scuff against stone is the only warning I have that I’m no longer alone on my terrace. A fresh wave of tension slides along my spine as Zander leans against the railing beside me, his hands casually folded.
I pull my robe tighter around my chest. If Corrin returns while he’s here, she’s going to scold me for being indecent. I don’t see why decorum matters. I’m surrounded by people who drink blood.
“He is something to behold, is he not?” Zander says softly, as if afraid his voice will carry and disturb the captain. “He practices like this every morning. Always has, for as long as I can remember.”
I can’t help but stare. It’s as if last night’s horror never happened. Zander’s handsome face is serene, his shoulders relaxed. Is his oddly light and cheerful mood because he feels sated by that woman’s blood? Or is it about what they did after he left me alone in my room, terrified? I’d be an idiot to believe he didn’t get his pleasure from her. Zander may be a king, but he’s a male who brought a willing female to his bed, and I saw how she responded to him.
