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With that, Neo kisses my cheek and vaults back to his throne to pound his fist against the blood-rubied armrest. At my fullest expense, the entire Court explodes into a rip-roaring laughter and applause, thrilled by the Prince disciplining his bride. A righteous fury rattles my ribcage. Contempt stings heat under my skin. My heart teeters on the edge of Noralice, the urge to run tempting me to avoid this humiliation, to drown myself in my sorrows within layers of dead roses in the Soul Plane.
As if sensing my urges through the trifecta bond, Thanatos shadows into my mind, so I feel his frost prickling and tickling my thoughts like a slow crawl along my brain stem to kiss his sickle mark.You do not need me, Elysia,he soothes me but does not bolster me.
I do that all on my fucking own.I know, Thanatos. I set my mouth into a hard line, then crane my neck, daring to sweep my gaze to myhusband,who grins to one side like the Prince cat that ate the canary Princess. Except this bird will escape the cage and sing again. She will rise from the ashes like the matriarchal Phoenix Queen’s daughter than she is.
Neoptolemus’s voice is cannon fire when he commands his Court, gesturing a hand to Lux, “Give my bride the honor she deserves.” Bride. Singular.
After Neo stands, raising himself so he’s higher than Lux, she approaches the balcony, the raised platform that ismyCourt throne. Adopting Halo armor, I force myself to study her as thousands of butterflies dance from her skin to the sight of all the Court vampires dropping to one knee before her.
Instead of merely showering her butterflies toward Neo, as I suspect, she scatters them all around the arena to bless her adoring audience with her golden creations. Oh, she’s good. Flaming pins and needles ignite my spine when Neoptolemus’ eyes drift down to ravage mine, kindling hatred deep to my core.
If it’s the last thing I do, I will get him back for this. And her.
* * *
Despite this debasedthrone with not so much as a chair to sit upon, I remain upright the entire time of Neo’s Court. Not on my knees, I sit cross-legged and try in vain to avoid the glimmering crimson pupils of the vampires in the arena chairs not a hundred feet from me. The closest ones dilate those pupils every minute or so—as if scenting my period blood. Every time I lift my chin to gaze at myhusband, Neo senses it, dips his jaw low in an obliging nod before he blows me a mocking kiss.
For the most part, I remain still and silent as Neo does Court. Thankfully, it’s nowhere near as busy as Tax Season. Only a few hundred arena seats vs. a thousand or more. Some trade deals, one arranged marriage, the signing of blood master property, multiple blood pawn inductions, the distribution of armed forces, and next…the requests of human cargo trains and homeless encampments nearest the Iron Walls.
“My lord Prince,” a border emissary, a glorified blood pawn who tends the Iron Walls, proclaims and approaches the outer circle’s raised platform flanked by the Father statues. “It is the dead of winter, and we have already lost a quarter more lives at the homeless encampment due to a new SIV plague infecting the human population.”
What? I tense. The Goddess’ prophecy beckons to my Haloed heart like an omen in my blood:You will carry healing to all the innocent who suffer from the Scourge.
Neoptolemus’ carnivorous eyes return, promising pillage and plunder when they sharpen upon the border emissary. Unlike last time, his silver tongue is merciless. “Aquarter? Do you enjoy tempting Destruction to spare your meaningless fractions of seconds while understanding the Dragon does not grant anyquarter?” He rouses his flames, shooting them throughout the very fabric of his swinging black stain of a cape to surround me like a burning, bastardized halo. As much a warning to me as it is to the emissary.
I knock against our bond, predicting he won’t answer. Nothing but a shades and flames barrier to block me from gaining access. A quarter is no small matter. That is nearly a thousand homeless souls in the permanent border encampment. How can Neo possibly not care about such a loss? The ashes collect in the pit of my stomach. It’s as if I can hear Thanatos’ voice:because he is Destruction.
“My Lord Prince…” the emissary bows his head, arms fanned out to each side in a desperate beseech, “the border patrol humbly petitions you to send but one blood bishop scientist to the border to determine the root cause of this mutated SIV strain, so we may continue to provide the masters the required reap as dictated by the Father’s laws.” As many lower Court denizens have, this emissary visibly shakes before the Prince—not that I blame him.
For some reason, I shift my gaze to Lux. A stream of gold currents ripples from her chest to pirouette in the air. One Neo masks in his shades, transforming them into a silent coruscating entertainment solely for his amusement. The notion of using my Halo to flirt with him like I used to deepens the ache in my chest. But I won’t be shamed by any of the Halo’s responses of my subconscious. Not even when it betrays my desire with liquid gold.
“I will clean up your mess that you are too ill-equipped to handle,” the Prince asserts without rising from his throne. “Did you bring any proof of this SIV mutation, or do you delight in wasting my valuable time?”
My gut tightens when the emissary nearly cowers as Neoptolemus leans forward to add a thread of a gap to his throne. On the verge of rising, of dealing justice. Instead, the Prince gestures an insta-command to one of his blood masters, who produces a document stamped with the seal of rose of the Court O’ Nines. From my lower position, I can’t make out what the document transcribes, but Neo merely glances before he rolls up the document and distributes it back to the blood master. History repeats itself because the master would never dare to tread his feeble wings above the Prince’s feet.
Neoptolemus barely regards the emissary when pronouncing, “Bring forth the blood slave to deliver proof.”
What?
Two pawns arrive with the blood slave. Molten rage and icy fear slam into me. Closer to her, I sense that Goddess’ words harking to my blood, a heavenly echo.
You will carry healing…
My very blood howls with unchecked longing and power as the pawns carry the weak girl to the center of the platform. They thrust her to the floor at the feet of the border emissary, at the feet of the Prince. Heart lurching for her, I can’t help but get to my knees. But Neo’s shades surround me like cruel serpents to drag me back, to paralyze me. My breaths turn ragged as I strain against him, against those shades growing colder.
“My Lord Prince…” the emissary gestures to the sickly girl, no older than me, with her veins like black filaments branching all over her ashen skin, marking her for an early grave. Tiny rivulets of blood weep from her eyes. Her skin dangles loose around her bones from weeks of sickness and starvation.
Death must haunt her soul. I sense his presence more than ever, the hint of frost beyond the layers of reality, those dark shades—mirrored twins to Neo’s.
I can ease her suffering,Thanatos coos to me, a silent promise of reaping her soul.
It would be a mercy. More when the emissary rips at her clothes to expose her cadaverous flesh, covered only by her dirty blonde hair. “We have brought one of the worst infected to proffer proof.”
Her shallow breath thunders in the arena. She grits her teeth, even going so far as to break a tooth. Oh, she is a twinkle of survivor soul light who still tries to stand. Somehow, I understand Neo will not drape his robe around her like he did with the abashed human girl from my first time here.
Instead, Neo rises from his throne, earning the riveting gaze of his full Court before he charges to the floor, causing it to shudder. The emissary drops to his knees in the wake of the Prince’s growl.
When the half-naked girl does not crumple before the domineering shadow of Neoptolemus, he must force her to her knees before him and scent her flesh, huffing from the stench of infection. From the depths of my pure-blooded heart, I cannot allow Death to take her.
