Dinner With a Vampire (The Dark Heroine #1)(106)
Author: Abigail Gibbs

The King motioned and I was dragged out as Kaspar silently watched; something cold like a knife was pressed to the skin just below my jaw. I let the feel of that touch wash through me, cherishing the rush; the heavy scented air, rich with cologne; the light, the dark.

As I passed the King I stared at his unfeeling face, unmoved and indifferent as tears trickled down my cheeks and doors flew open, pleading and shouting filling the hallway as I watched his empty eyes follow me.

‘But, Miss Lee, what makes you so adamant in your belief that I abhor you?’

I tried to free my wrists from the vampire’s grasp as he lugged me down the stairs, but other hands tightened around my waist and the knife pressed harder into my neck. Amongst the confusion I made out faces – Cain, Fabian, Alex, Kaspar, Jag, even Lyla – but the only sound louder than my own heartbeat was the ticking of a clock and the giggling of a small child … the only face I could pick out amongst the sea of cloaks and black eyes gathering in the entrance hall: Thyme.

She wound between the legs of the onlookers, her black dress frilled with white and trailing silver ribbons. She came to a stop at the base of the stairs, clinging to the bottom banister as she stared up at me. Her eyes were wide with wonderment and her mouth ajar, but her lips quickly widened into a toothy smile.

‘Don’t look the Princess in the eye, scum!’ a cold voice said at my ear, and the knife – which, as I glanced downwards looked more like a dagger – was pressed further into my neck.

I looked away hastily as noise flooded my ears once more. I could hear the frantic protests of Cain and Kaspar, pleading and desperate, amongst the reasoning of Jag and Sky as whoever held me tossed me down the steps outside and caught me once more by grabbing my hair. I screeched, only for the dagger to silence me as it rested against my windpipe.

As they spun me around to face the steps I watched as Lyla tugged at her father’s sleeve and Fabian halted on the steps, frozen in horror as the household poured out around him, engulfing his form. Mary turned away into the arms of Jag, whose mouth was moving wordlessly as Thyme broke through the throng of onlookers: the family and their friends; the servants; the council …

Outside, it was hardly brighter. The sun no longer showed, instead colouring the clouds orange as hot, licentious chants filled the autumn air, curses for my name rising with the smoke from the beacons.

Two hands rested on my shoulder, another two on my arms and pressed down, forcing me onto my knees. I dropped down but they did not ease the pressure, instead taking a wrist each and twisting them behind my back until I screeched and begged for them to stop. They didn’t.

Gritting my teeth I lifted my eyes and found Kaspar, who slowed and stared at me, a thousand unreadable emotions written in his face – but horror was uppermost, evident and distinguishable.

‘I said don’t look!’ the same cold voice said as a hand met my cheek. I winced, but kept quiet, as blood, alongside tears, trickled down my cheeks. I tasted it on my lips and grimaced.

As the hand lifted once again, Kaspar broke free from the crowd and surged forward, only to be grabbed by his older brothers and Ashton, who lugged him back, their voices vying to be the loudest as each shouted, grunting as they fought one another.

‘It’s a wondrous thing knowing you will die at the hands of a man so adamant to fight for you now, is it not, Lady Heroine?’ a voice hissed beside my ear. I shuddered. Twisting my neck I came face to face with Valerian Crimson, kneeling, one hand clawing my wrist, the other holding the knife to my neck. Restraining my right arm was the other vampire.

‘You knew,’ I spat, droplets of blood pooling between the gravel.

He chuckled. ‘Oh, I have known you were a Heroine all along. You see, my dear son Ilta was gifted with foresight, much like Eaglen. But instead of being a bumbling fool, he took action.’ He tightened his grip around my wrist as Kaspar continued to struggle. ‘You see, a human should not be bestowed with such a title as Heroine. You have no right to it. Unfortunately though, his plan was fooled by his own desire for you, and your pretty Prince saving you over there. But I think it’s rather apt that he will finish what Ilta started, don’t you?’

I scowled. ‘You’re sick,’ I muttered.

‘Now, now,’ he chided, with false politeness. ‘I was just about to compliment you on how well-guarded your mind is: for us not to find out about your father’s little secret all this time is a clever trick.’ His voice lowered and out of the corner of my eye I could see him smiling. ‘But you were betrayed. Somebody sent a note.’

He pointed to the King as he raised his hand, silence gradually falling. Clutched in-between his fingers I could see a tiny slip of paper.

Valerian laughed.

‘Open your mouth about being a Heroine and I’ll slit your throat. Do you understand, My Lady?’ As if to prove he would do it, he pressed the blade right up against my flesh and I flinched away, believing him.

Silence fell and I let my gaze rest on the gravel, not daring to meet Kaspar’s eyes because I knew what the King would say next.

He opened his mouth, his voice a harsh whisper. ‘She deceived us. It was her. Her father ordered my wife’s death. And she knew. She knew all along.’

FIFTY-SEVEN

Violet

Spots of blood were still appearing on the gravel.

I closed my eyes and let my head droop forwards. The pain was easing in my arms, forced behind my back, but only because they were going dead. The knife pressed under my chin seemed warmer and I could see a lonely droplet of sweat – my sweat – trailing down its length and pausing momentarily at its tip as a perfect teardrop, like rain on a leaf waiting to fall. But it could not hang so precariously off such an edge for long and after a second it fell, mixing into the tarn of blood.

I was too scared to look up. I didn’t want to see Kaspar’s face.

‘Do you deny it?’ the King barked against a refrain of murderous words whispered by the council and the servants; but not the family. They remained deadly silent.

The blade of the knife pressed against my neck and so with the sort of guilt impossible to hide on my face I raised my gaze, then my eyes, and shook my head.

‘No?’ the King croaked. ‘No? You lie to me and my Kingdom for so long and yet you do not deny it?’

I paid little attention to him. Instead, my gaze had become transfixed on one person: Kaspar. On his eyes. Black. But not just black. Glistening. The tears that were trickling down my cheeks were matched on his.