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I feed, acting without thinking or understanding. My father drops down to one knee with a grimace as I bite down hard and drink, draining the strength out of him. It's not enough to kill him, but enough to weaken him. His eyes are wide and red... the same color as the blood that drips from my lips when I finally pull away.
No one moves. No one speaks. As far as I can tell, no one even breathes as a stunned silence fills the hall.
I look down at the king kneeling before me, and I drop his hand.
"Enough," I whisper, and though I meant for it to sound like a command, the word comes out like a plea. "We are not enemies. No more fighting. No one dies. Please."
I hold his gaze, hoping he can understand.
'Forgive me, father.'
Slowly, the Night King rises to his feet without a word, his expression as unreadable as ever. I turn back to Nico and Mark, who are both watching me with horror and disbelief.
I feel their eyes burning on my skin, lingering on the crimson droplet on my lips.
The Rovers were the first ones who made me feel like I wasn't a freak. I was so afraid they'd look at the broken pieces of me and hate what they saw. I understand at last that I'm not a mutt or a mongrel.
I'm a monster.
But if that's what it takes to push them away and keep Tristan safe from me, then so be it.
"I'm sorry it turned out this way. But you two need to leave. Right now. I will not ask again," I tell Nico and Mark.
And this time, they listen.
Chapter Fourteen
It's cold in the nightwalker's territory, but I sit by the open window letting the chilled breeze nip my skin until it's rosy.
After the commotion at the masquerade ball, my father dismissed his court, and I retreated to my room. It's large and lavish, with rich tapestries and a large, luxurious bed. Once I was alone, I slipped out of the magnificent ballgown. It fit like a glove when I first tried it on, but after everything that happened, I found myself itching to get out of it. I undressed and let the cold of the night wrap around me, needing to feel something other than the heartache crushing my chest.
Once my heartbeat steadied, and I felt like I could breathe again, I wrapped myself in a warm, luxurious robe made of soft black velvet. Then I sat on the ledge by the window and wept.
I sat there with freezing tears streaming down my cheeks until there's a knock at the door. I wipe my face with the back of my sleeve and stand as my father steps into the room, followed by a woman with sleek black hair and angular eyes. Her features are small and sharp, her skin the same unearthly white as my father's, and matching blood-red eyes.
"This is Helena," my father says plainly, wasting no time with greetings or other formalities. "She is my trusted advisor and a skilled healer. I asked her to come and examine you. After the evening's... excitement... I want to make sure you are unharmed."
I push off from the little edge and rise to my feet, closing the window behind me before turning to face the woman who lingers patiently beside my father.
"What? Me? No, I'm fine," I say, shaking my head as the events of the masquerade replay in my mind. "I wasn't hurt. You- you were the one that..."
The one that bled.
I did not know vampires could feed from other vampires. Then again, I'm not like most. The nightwalkers of my father's court fed on the animals and the wilderness. Since the citadel is so isolated in the mountains, they raise livestock to supply them with the blood they need to sustain them. Perhaps when I bit my father, I only drained the blood he'd consumed and not his own.
I'm not sure how the mechanics of it all work, and frankly, I don't like thinking about it too much.
"I'm sorry," I say at last, my eyes stinging as tears threaten to spill from me once again. "Marco, I'm so sorry."
In the blink of an eye, the Night King is by my side, his thumb brushing over my cheek soothingly. He waves his other hand to dismiss the healer, and Helena nods without a word before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
Once we're alone, he says, "You called me father before. I should quite like it if you continued to do so."
His voice is quiet, and his violent eyes look uncharacteristically soft. The last of my resolve breaks under the tenderness of his touch as he brushes away my tears, and I wrap my arms around him, crying into his chest.
"Forgive me, father," I weep.
He stiffens momentarily, startled by my embrace, and then he tentatively wraps his arms around me and hugs me back.
