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And for those who did not enjoy a hearty meal, there were dozens of different options for blood. Aged and new, virgin or promiscuous, slave or noble, and anything more eclectic or refined enough to meet anyone's tastes.
As he stared upon the feast prepared, he wondered what Ianora would choose—sweetened dove breast? Blood of an ancient warrior queen?
Or, perhaps, she would take from his reserves of poets' blood, from a bard captured from Earth and taken to his kingdom long ago.
Castor seated Iffandril near the head table next to King Emeric, where two other royal seating arrangements were still empty. King Vinir would not be able to make it until tomorrow, and Dominick Amberhide, who, rumor said, experienced a different variation of the curse that didn't affect his appearance. Instead, he was barred from leaving his palace at all, as were all those who were inside at the time of the curse.
"Thank you all for coming," Castor said absently as he wandered away from the beginning of the party. For a time, he indulged himself in the delicacies of the night, blood and roasted flesh, and the finest berries.
But his guests, despite lavishing him with attention and praise, could not hold his attention. All he could think about was Ianora, of being with her, of how to convince her to be his if it was possible.
The book, and the music box, still gave him hope. Just enough to crawl for brief moments out of his cloak of rage to see the possibility of a different future.
One where Ianora was more than a prize, a trophy captured after years of pursuit.
One where she was his bride, truly his, and their love was enough to mend wounds, both new and old.
Could such a thing be possible?
Castor had drifted off into his thoughts for a while, but at last, he'd decided that enough was enough. He needed to act, not get caught up in his thoughts any longer. Ianora was waiting for him.
He pushed up from his seat, clearing his throat when all the guests seated at the table ceased conversation to look at him. "Please, do enjoy yourselves for the rest of the night, but I have spent enough time today away from my bride-to-be. I will take my place amongst you when the festivities continue tomorrow."
A chorus of amused chuckles followed him, but he paid them no heed. He left quickly through a side entrance that would take him to Ianora's chambers quicker. She was the only thing that mattered to him now, and if all had gone according to plan, her resistance would end tonight.
Chapter 7 - Ianora
Ianora followed the ghost until the tunnel, once again, widened, this time into a large, underground chamber with a high ceiling. Shadows danced across the tall, flat walls, spawned by the four torches burning on either side of the entrance Ianora had come through.
There were no adornments in the chamber, but the ground was smooth and polished as if this space had been intentionally crafted. In the center of the wide space sat the only thing of note: a large, black piece of furniture. She couldn't tell what it was from a distance, but when she walked closer, she found that it was a coffin.
Ianora ran her fingers along the glossy surface, her skin tingling from the magic humming within. She had seen many luxury coffins in her time, and this one rivaled those made for kings and queens. The craftsmanship, the magic, it was so strange to find a coffin so valuable hidden here, in the dregs of this ancient castle.
The ghost floated closer to Ianora and sat on the edge of the coffin, her legs dangling off the side. "It's something, isn't it?"
"I've never seen anything like it. What is this doing here?" Ianora murmured, her fingers trailing along to the head of the coffin, where there was a glass slit to see the velvet interior. She lifted her eyes to look at the ghost. "Do you know?"
The ghost nodded. "My father had it made for me."
"For you? Why?"
"My father ran a successful coffin design company in Italy three hundred years ago. We made the best coffins for royalty, nobles, anyone with enough coin to pay for the finest resting place for their earthly bodies."
Although Ianora herself had not gone to Earth, the other world connected to Elysium, her brothers had often spoken of the land with fondness. It had once been the place they disappeared to for weeks on end, feasting to their hearts' content with no consequences until it was time for their return. Often with a bounty of slaves. Such practices had since been outlawed, but the princes still found other reasons to visit the land. Ianora, however, had never been interested in hiding the fact that she was a vampire, or acting any less like the princess she had been born to be.
"But how did you end up here?" Ianora asked.
"King Castor's men kidnapped us and turned us into vampires, declaring that we would only make our coffins for the rich and famous. The most important vampires in Pheazar. And perhaps, elsewhere too. We didn't have much of a choice, but in the end, it worked out for us. We became rich, too. Our family was well-respected in Pheazar."
Ianora noted thewasin that statement and kept her mouth shut.
"In the end, my father became so sick with power that he decided I was to be a gift to King Castor, just as you are now," she explained. "My name was Lady Mitron. I was not a real princess like you ... but I fancied myself one. Especially once my father made me believe I had a chance to become a queen, to rule by a king's side and have the privilege of bearing him children."
The ghost, Lady Mitron, wore a smile as if she was caught in a reverie. Meanwhile, Ianora's mouth went dry. She never knew that Castor had ever planned to marry anyone else. From what he said, he had never been interested in anyone but her. Had he lied to her? Did that even matter when she didn't want to be his anymore?
Of course, Ianora had one unsatisfactory possibility. His situation could have been similar to hers, even back then. He could have been forced into an arrangement he didn't like. But Castor was a king. He was afforded the luxury of choice where young women such as Ianora were not.
Without hearing the rest of the story, it was easy to assume that lack of choice was why Mitron was dead, and Castor was not.
