AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maximillian
As all three-hundred and twenty-two vampires gathered in the summit hall for the Sanguine Summit's opening ceremony, Maximillian knew he should pay attention to what his father was saying.
But from the moment Maximillian and the rest of the Psychoros delegation had walked in, the Crown Prince of Noxalis had fixed a predatory gaze on Kitana. And he hadn’t looked away from her since.
Kitana, for her part, was deep in conversation with Marisse, Stesha’s thrall. She was one of four blood slaves that his house had brought for the express purpose of feeding their delegation, and had been in Stesha’s service for over one hundred and seventy years. She was the perfect person to ease Kitana in and show her the ropes, and Maximillian was grateful for his brother’s assistance.
Even so, he noticed the tension in Kitana’s shoulders, and the occasional glances she sent the crown prince’s way. She was just as aware of his attention on her as he was, and didn’t seem any happier about it.
“Maximillian,” his father said, his cold voice jarring Max from his thoughts. “Is there a reason you are staring at Casimir Invictus so intently? Admiring his haircut, perhaps? Or his impeccable fashion sense? Or his unshakable loyalty to his father, something you sorely lack?”
The sarcasm in his father’s tone was sharp enough to sever flesh from bone, but Maximillian didn’t allow it to affect him. “That particular shade of crimson is rather fetching on him,” he said mildly. “Perhaps I should ask him for his tailor’s name before I leave the city.”
Callix Starclaw let out a low hiss that would have made most vampires soil their pants. “If I knew your mother’s death would have turned you into an insolent brat, I would have thought twice about killing her, if only to spare myself your insufferable attitude.”
Maximillian turned his head so fast, he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Thatis what would have made you think twice?” he snarled, and several vampires turned to watch the heated exchange.
Callix bared his fangs in response, his eyes glowing red as bloodlust surged to the forefront. Maximillian knew he should back down. Such a public spat between high lord and heir would make their house look weak, and invite challenges from the other Psychoros families who were looking for any excuse to depose their high lord and take the mantle for themselves.
But though Maximillian prided himself on keeping a cool head in even the most dire situations, there was nothing that riled him so much as the callous way his father refused to take responsibility for murdering his mother in cold blood.
That’s not true,a silken voice in his head whispered.There is one other.
Yes. Kitana Nightshade, the vixen vampire slayer who had consumed his thoughts for longer than she would ever know. Maximillian resisted the urge to glance over at her, knowing it would infuriate his father even more. Lazarus was correct—hewasobsessed with the little witch. She was a chaotic little spitfire with a passionate heart that ignited his own burning spirit, and even though he knew she was more than capable of standing on her own two feet, he was still gripped by the unshakable need to protect her.
The sight of Kitana standing over him in that too-short nightgown, one leg propped on the bench, her lacy skirt rucked up nearly to her hips while he’d cradled her dainty foot in his hands, had nearly undone him last night. He could see the desire in her eyes, smell the delicious need dripping from her core, and he had come so close to pushing her nightgown all the way up so he could kiss his way up her inner thigh and show her what pleasure could feel like under the skilled hands and tongue of an immortal.
But he couldn’t afford to give into that temptation. Not when it was imperative for them to stay focused on their mission. Sometimes he hated that he was so attuned to the emotions of others—it was usually a blessing, one that allowed him to intuit the motives and desires of others so he could leverage that knowledge to turn them into allies. Or, at the very least, get them to cooperate.
But when he sensed an acute need in someone he cared about, a need that he was unable to fulfill, it often tortured him to the point of distraction.
One of Callix’s advisors stepped up to whisper something in his ear, and Maximillian’s father reluctantly broke their staring contest. Relieved, Maximillian turned his attention to Kitana, only to find that Casimir wasstillwatching her.
The rage that filled him at the sight was ugly and vicious, but not unreasonable. It was worrisome that Kitana had caught the crown prince’s attention so early, before he’d even presented her to the court. She was here to kill his father, after all, and if Casimir caught even a whiff of that, he would crush her with his iron fist. He was the dutiful son, fiercely loyal to the crown, and wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest threat toward his father.
If Maximillian wanted to keep Kitana safe, he needed to find out the reasoning behind the prince’s fascination with her. And nip it in the bud before it grew into something more.
22
Kitana
“… a
nd that’s Soren Ironheart, the head of the second most powerful family in House Invictus,” Marisse told me, pointing toward a mountain of a vampire seated in the front row of House Invictus’s section, located on the far-left edge of the summit hall. The matronly thrall, with her silver-streaked blonde hair and kind, faintly-lined features, had been chattering in my ear with the enthusiasm of a gossipy teenager the moment we’d arrived in the summit hall, pointing out all the different vampire nobles and giving me a brief overview of each. “He serves as a general in the emperor’s army, mainly in charge of the recruit training program.”
“I see,” I said, only half-listening. I knew I should be paying closer attention—after all, these were the people responsible for enslaving the human race and forcing my people behind a magical barrier that cut them off from the rest of the world, and there was a good chance they would continue to be threats even after I killed the emperor. But my mind was fuzzy and distracted,and it had nothing to do with the fact that I’d only gotten five hours of sleep last night, and everything to do with the vampire watching me.
I’d spotted the crown prince the moment I’d walked into the Summit Hall, had figured out who he was by the iron crown he wore before Marisse had told me who he was. And yes, he was absolutely right—Iwashorrified. But I’d done everything in my power to lock down my expression and glance away as our eyes met, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
I wondered if anyone else in the hall noticed that the insufferable bastard had refused to take his eyes off me since. Maximillian didn’t seem to care—he was sitting a few feet away from me, in conversation with his father. He’d been cordial to me when I’d come downstairs to the common area for breakfast, introducing me to the other Psychoros delegates and explaining who I was. Gone was the male who had put a possessive hand on my lower back when he’d led me into the castle, who had slaughtered an important vampire from a rival house for daring to take me, who had gifted me with an exquisite set of blades last night, then knelt at my feet and looked into my face with the kind of ravenous hunger that would have had me burying a stake in his heart if he’d been any other vampire.
But he wasn’t any other vampire. He was Maximillian Starclaw, the enigmatic heir of House Psychoros who led a double-life, playing devoted servant of the empire in one breath, while plotting its downfall in the next.
My gaze shifted to the Sanguis Noctis delegation, where Lazarus sat next to his father, Highlord Lysander Bloodmare. They were nearly identical with their blood-red locks, glowing red eyes, and savagely carved faces, but the older vampire had a stoic air about him compared to the slightly chaotic nature of his son. Lysanderwas scanning the crowd, taking in the arriving attendees as they filled the seats of the amphitheater, but Lazarus’s gaze was fixed on Maximillian, their bloody depths glittering with the promise of retribution.
I was about to ask Marisse if there was any previous bad blood between Maximillian and Lazarus when a herald marched onto the stage and called for order. “All rise for his Imperial Highness, Vladimir Invictus, Emperor of Valentaera!”
A wave rippled through the hall as everyone got to their feet. My entire world narrowed on Vladimir as he glided into the room, dressed in his gold and crimson robes of state, his long, golden hair hanging loose around his shoulders. The citrine eyes he shared with his son had an almost reptilian look about them, the pupils narrow, and his oblong face with its narrow nose and thin, unsmiling lips leant him a severe look. He wore little adornment aside from the spiked iron crown tipped with black diamonds that rested atop his head and a dark red metal torque around his neck, and he carried a golden staff topped with an egg-sized ruby fashioned into a blood drop.
