Dinner With a Vampire (The Dark Heroine #1)(104)
Author: Abigail Gibbs

I have come to the conclusion that I will not live to see such a time. If I were to live longer, then logic would state that I would have been blessed with a seventh child, and as danger approaches in the form of visiting the Pierre Clan, I have taken the decision to write this letter. But you will see such a time, Kaspar. So do not grieve for me or for the past; for acquaintances lost and times changed, because these must be sacrificed in order to create a better future.

Fate moves in strange ways, but know that the end is only truly the end when all is well. You are a good son, Kaspar; a great man and you will be the greatest of Kings. Do not fear the future.

I love you, sweet child. In life and death,

Your mother,

H.M. Queen Carmen

I let the letter fall into my lap. She had known she was going to her death. The whole time, she knew. When she wrote that letter to Beryl, she knew she would never read her friend’s reply. She knew she would never find out how John was, and that she would never commission a painting of her whole family. How could she possibly have sat down and wrote that letter to Kaspar? How could she have said goodbye? It was unthinkable.

A fresh wave of respect for her courage washed over me and I studied the painting above the fireplace where the Queen sat, poised, her husband behind her. A small, dignified smile upturned the corners of her lips as she stared with an unsettling gaze towards what must have been the artist, now the bed. Her hands were clasped in her lap amongst the folds of her deep jade dress and around her neck was the locket I now possessed.

I pinched at the skin around my collar until my fingers found the chain. Gently, I pulled it from beneath my T-shirt and let it rest in the palm of my hand.

‘You knew you were going to die in Romania, didn’t you?’ I whispered into the stillness, letting my eyes slip from the real locket in my hands to the one immortalized in the painting. ‘That’s why you gave Kaspar the locket the week before you left for Romania. You knew he would give it to me; to the second Heroine.’

I picked up the other letter, addressed to Beryl, searching the paper for a particular line. I found it, near the bottom.

I do not want my son and heir to be placed in the path of danger …

‘And that’s why you wouldn’t let Kaspar go. You never intended for this letter to be sent. You wrote it so nobody would ever suspect that anything was wrong, didn’t you? So nobody would think that you knew you wouldn’t come back from Romania.’

My mind reeled at my epiphany and I turned my gaze back to the motionless figure of the Queen, as though expecting her to tell me I was right. But of course, she didn’t. She was just oil and canvas.

Another thought struck me as I clutched the locket to my breast: the letter had been opened and read, but how long ago? It looked well-read. How long has he known he was tied, and when was he planning to tell me? My feelings had not exactly been hidden from him these past few days. Was he just going to let me wait and find out, and suffer that way? A surge of anger shot through me. How long would he have let it go on?

Why are you complaining? You care for him and you’re tied. Isn’t that a good thing? my voice questioned.

You wouldn’t understand.

Being tied will just take some getting used to, that’s all, my voice reassured, as though it was that simple.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the balcony and startled, I jumped up. Seeing a shadow move behind the voiles I hastily stuffed both letters back beneath the pillow and glanced at the painting again.

‘One day you might just find something worth living an eternity for.’

I glanced down at the locket resting on the collar of my T-shirt. Whether I liked it or not, Kaspar was going to have to be worth it. I bounded forward, brushing the voiles aside, balancing on the lip of the doors, hands grasping the frame either side.

‘Who was the cloaked figure in the entrance hall before we left for London?’

There, leaned against the stone railings of the balcony was Kaspar; below him, yet more figures were strolling across the grounds, heads bowed away from the sunlight.

He sighed. ‘Valerian Crimson.’

I leaned against the edge of the wall, hands clasped behind my back. It made sense that it was Valerian Crimson who we had crossed paths with that day. I don’t think any other family of vampires could possess such demonic eyes when they lusted for blood. I had been stupid for assuming that the figure in the entrance hall had been the same figure of my dreams.

I let my head fall against the stone and soaked in the warmth of the sun which would be burning Kaspar’s exposed hands and face.

There is so much to say, but no way to say it.

‘The dreams will go once you become a vampire,’ Kaspar said quietly, not turning his attention away from the grounds. ‘You’ll never be in a deep enough sleep to have them.’

I couldn’t confess to being disappointed. I didn’t want to see any more of the darker side of Kaspar which the dreams brought to the forefront of my mind.

I joined him on the railings. Below us, figures, mainly men, ascended the steps to the great marble double doors I knew were below. They came in pairs and small groups, dressed in the colours and livery of their families. Occasionally, an expensive-looking car with tinted windows would wind up the driveway and butlers and valets would rush out to open the doors.

From here too I could see where Kaspar’s gaze was directed. To the west it was possible to see two of the beacons, flickering on the horizon like stars in a night sky. But these were far more sinister. A call to court. It wouldn’t take more than a few days for the entire council and court to be here, at Varnley.

I didn’t have days. I had hours.

Tell him you’re a Heroine, my voice urged. Tell him now.

‘You forgive me then?’ Kaspar asked with a small smile.

I shook my head slightly and came back to my senses. Propping my chin on my hands, I rested my elbows on the stone railing. ‘Not really.’

He hummed a note deep in his chest, sounding unsurprised. For the first time, I noticed he had changed into a formal shirt and trousers – the court was descending, after all.

Tell him, Girly!

No. I have to set everything else straight first.

Then on your own head be it.

‘That girl in the catacombs: Sarah. You didn’t kill her for food, you killed her for fun. That’s wrong, Kaspar.’

He looked down at me, eyes as emerald and piercing as the first time I had met him. ‘I know,’ he said.

‘Then why do it?’

‘I don’t know … I was pissed off.’ His fingers tightened around the stone before he raised it to his hair, combing it with his fingers, neglecting to offer a fuller explanation.