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Grabbing her by the waist, I caught her in my arms before anyone could notice something was wrong. “What’s wrong?” I whispered, hoping chatter and music masked our words.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re stumbling.” I held her tighter, bringing my lips to her ear. “Immortals don’t stumble unless something’s really wrong.”
“I-I’m okay,” she stuttered.
“You’re not,” I whispered back. “My king,” I called to Sargon as he paced away with the King of Asland. “I require a moment with Oli—Seraphina,” I corrected myself. “There’s an urgent matter. We will find you shortly.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t want to lose his temper in front of his guest. “What could be more important than accompanying our guest to see his daughter?”
Olivia squeezed my hand, removing it from her waist. I inhaled deeply, breathing in her vanilla perfume mixed with her own scent.
“Don’t,” she pleaded, and spoke to her father. “Nothing is more important.”
I arched a brow as they walked away. “I know you’re angry…”
“This has nothing to do with you,” she said under her breath, and followed the kings through the party.
Her mind was elsewhere, her eyes unfocused as she took slow steps, almost knocking into a woman. I noticed the disheveled hair curling out from her braid, and plucked out a twig from the strands. She glanced at me, glassy-eyed. I took her hand in mine, but she didn’t squeeze back.
I searched her expression, knowing it all too well. After my family died, I’d worn it myself. The emptiness in her face wrenched my heart, and I squeezed her fingers harder. She halted, holding her breath under the flickering flame of an iron torch.
“Stay with me,” I whispered. “I’m here, love. I’m here,” I assured. Gently, I slid my hand up to her back, guiding her as Sargon walked with the mortal king. “Tell me if you want to get out of here, and I’ll fly us out now.” I knew Sargon could hear every word on their wordless walk, but I didn’t give a fuck. “Tell me what you need.”
Hollowed words fell from her parted lips. “Stop, please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. After several, painstaking minutes, we reached the doors of Penelope’s bedroom.
Kalon creaked open the door, bowing as Ibrahim and Sargon walked inside. Olivia and I followed. I noticed Penelope had been moved into a nicer room in time for the king’s visit.
We sat together on the sofas in front of the fireplace. The fire crackled and hissed as it withered to embers between charcoaled logs.
Ibrahim adjusted the gold band around his head and placed his hands in his lap. Penelope played with a lock of hair that had escaped her bun, clearing her throat every now and then.
The King of Asland stared down at Penelope, his dark brown eyes narrowing. “Oh, daughter.” He sat in stunned silence as he examined the creature resembling his daughter. Yet, she was different now. Every blemish and scar gone. It was always a shock to see the mortality gone from a person you loved. He tilted his head, as if unsure if it was even her. “What have you done?”
She closed her eyes, hiding the glaze of darkness which accompanied every vampire. It was hard for people to place, like knowing something was off, but not being able to identify what it was. Watching her become undone by her father would have been far more satisfying, if it wasn’t for the heartache I felt sitting next to Olivia, barely present, stole any other feeling from me. She was all I could think about.
Penelope stumbled the words out clumsily. “I didn’t… it… so I was killed.” She glanced at Kalon, who gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Well, I died,” she continued, “purposely. I wanted to become a vampire.”
Kalon nodded, out of the king’s view.
Ibrahim hung his head. “You are a disappointment to us all. Your mother is beside herself, and your siblings are humiliated.” He slammed his fist down on the sofa’s arm. Unclenching his fist, he seemed to regain some composure. “Regardless, I will not have you disgrace this family.” He looked from her to Sargon. “How do you plan to remedy this?”
Kalon leaned forward as Sargon opened his mouth, interrupting before he could speak. “Your Majesty,” he said tentatively, “the last thing we wish is to embarrass Asland. We have great respect for you and your kingdom. This was an unfortunate incident, and we will do everything to make this right.”
The king gritted his teeth. “I do not want flattery, I want action. How am I supposed to explain my daughter becoming a vampire? There are already whispers in my castle!” His face flushed red.
I eyed Sargon’s crown, an object Ibrahim couldn’t stop staring at in the moments of silence. He valued Sargon’s status, even if he hated our kind. I shifted forward, deciding to speak up.
“What if she were to become a royal?” The room silenced, but I continued. “We’re required to become immortal before attaining any title in court.” I ignored Sargon’s glare and looked into Ibrahim’s eyes. Curiosity threaded through his expression as he tilted his head, his fingers uncurling from his palms.
“Continue.” He waved his hand in a circular movement.
“You could pose it as a political decision. This can be explained and put rumors to rest. You can say you decided Penelope would go through the Shadow Kissed Ritual and become the immortal Princess of Sanmorte.”
“My people know I would never converse with your kind.”
Kalon’s lips curled. I could see the restrained power behind his eyes, his fangs elongating, desiring to tear into Ibrahim. “With all due respect,” he spat behind clenched teeth, “we were held in high regard for centuries.”
