"My condolences, Lord Azael." Thorne's voice carried across the throne room.
Azael nodded, observing the young girl beside him, the chain in Thorne's hand attached to the cuffs on her wrists—blonde hair, green eyes, and a fierce defiance radiated from her aura.
"You shouldn't blame yourself," Evren said. "All things that live must die."
The kings of the nearly fallen kingdom he had saved had come to pay their respects to Trisha's death.
Thorne—midnight hair, quieter, darker of the twins.
Evren—white hair, extroverted, brighter of the twins.
Azael had been impressed by the way they ruled the kingdom when he first stumbled across it the first time. They had treated him well.
When he visited again, he found the kingdom in ruins from a war—Evren was almost dead, and Thorne, still fighting with his last strength against the enemy soldiers.
He had helped them and offered a second chance at life as vampires. Trisha had tended to them, nursing them back from the brink of death.
"We're here to offer our presence as support during this time of mourning," Thorne said, his crimson eyes flashing as he tugged on the chain he held the girl with.
"And your…companion?" Azael's curiosity broke through.
"She's Diana," Evren said, regarding the girl with detached appraisal. "A fallen queen of a kingdom that dared defy us. Nothing to worry about."
"Bringing her along?" Azael asked.
"Too stubborn, too clever to leave behind," Thorne said. "Without our strength, she would run circles around us."
Azael's gaze swept over Diana—defiant, striking. And on her neck, twin punctures…the unmistakable marks of two vampires. She was more than a trophy—more than a spoil.
"You have visitors, my lord," Evren said. "Humans?"
"Simply a few from the war," Azael said. "Welcome."
A minion appeared. "You should rest. A long journey can take its toll. My minion will show you to your rooms."
"Besides Trisha's death," Thorne added, eyes narrowing on Azael, "Have you fared well?"
Azael met his gaze. Was his restlessness that obvious? His thoughts had been swarmed by Elana—her body, between her slick, wet thighs.
"Yes I have, Thorne," he replied.
"I will not share a room with either of you," Diana spat.
"No drama here, Diana," Thorne gritted out. "You know the consequences if you defy us."
She instantly relaxed, lowering her gaze as the minion led them to their room.
Immediately, Eira's scent reached him, caressing his jaw as she materialized beside him.
"You didn't let me know to extend my condolences, my lord," she purred.
"Maintain your distance, Eira," Azael warned, growling.
She teleported in front of him, draped in a loose black fur robe. "My master is mourning," she said, tugging softly at the top of the robe. "I want to comfort you. My breasts will cradle your head…my skin will soak your worries away."
Azael wanted to take up the offer to satisfy his urge. But it was pointless, he had tasted Elana's addictive essence—the way she had pressed herself into him, screaming his name.
"You're only here because of my mercy," he said, sparing her a glance. "Stop pushing boundaries."
"But I only mean well, master," Eira said, slowly extending a pale thigh from the robe—such a stark contrast to warmer thighs with a tiny patch of ginger hair in between.
"No doubt you need to take your mind off things for now."
Azael teleported out of the throne room, materializing invisibly in the field where Elana and the soldiers sat.
His jaw tightened instantly at the sight of Zane beside her on the stone bench.
Cara and Ceasar were at the fountain, quietly arguing.
The field reminded him of Trisha—her cheerful self, loving the blooming flowers.
He had planned to tell Elana about Trisha's death when she was leaving with the soldiers. She would heal better that way.
Zane leaned too close. Elana was too polite to refuse him. And at least the new dresses he had gotten for her were modest enough.
Her head turned toward him—her sightless grey eyes staring directly toward where he stood invisible.
Just like the first time in the hallway, she sensed him. How was she able to do that?
Then she frowned and turned away, fists clenching. She was still angry at him.
He remembered her breathy 'I hate you,' after she came undone in his mouth.
He needed to get himself together. If Trisha were here, she would put some sense into him.
**
Syrus studied the language he had gotten from the ancient castle.
A binding spell was among the incantations, owned by a sorcerer with ancient magic, long forgotten.
The room he'd spied on in the castle seemed to be a place where the ancient could be cast unconscious, voluntarily or forcefully.
A place for resurrection. For death. Both were the same for the ancient vampire.
He needed more research.
An ancient like that did not require brute strength to be defeated.
Especially now that the retreat from the just concluded war was almost over.
**
Cara glared at Caesar.
"What do you mean you might not be ready to leave?"
Caesar exhaled. "The king might still be looking for us. He's definitely looking for you."
"I told you—I'm not going back."
Caesar didn't respond, and Cara's suspicion sharpened.
"It's because of that Eira girl, isn't it?"
Caesar scoffed. "If that's what you want to believe."
Her anger almost spilled over, but she held it in and walked away—toward Zane and Elana.
Zane was pushing his luck with Elana again. At this rate, he'd get himself killed before they even left.
"He agreed to let her come with us," Zane said, excitement leaking through as he held Elana's hand.
"Elana?" Cara asked softly. "Are you sure?"
Elana nodded. She didn't look very happy today, frustrated was the word, something Cara could relate to at the moment.
"Zane," Cara said. "Can I have a moment alone with Elana?"
He stood reluctantly.
"It's for the best if she comes with us. That man isn't safe."
Then he left.
Cara sat beside Elana.
"Is everything okay, flower?"
Elana's hand shook as she gripped her dress.
"Am I that undesirable?" she whispered. "Blind and unworthy of mutual love."
Cara reached for her hand, but Elana pulled back.
"I don't want anyone's help," she burst out. "I can walk. I can find my way alone."
Tears streamed silently down her cheeks.
Cara's heart ached. She couldn't imagine depending on others just to navigate the world—talk more of being a slave while doing it.
Yet Elana remained kind. Hopeful. Brave. Never bitter.
"He doesn't deserve you if he makes you feel this way," Cara said, her own heart aching for Caesar.
Her mistake, thinking she could have a normal, non-chaotic love with Caesar.
Different from all the king's drama with his advisers about her being too ordinary to be his queen.
"An incomplete human, that's what I am," Elana whispered, gently cleaning the tears that touched her cheeks. "No one sees past that."
Cara sighed. She would be a hypocrite to tell Elana that people always see beyond appearances—because the truth was, most people only cared about what they saw on the outside.
So she simply stayed—with her own hurt, and Elana's, knotted quietly between them.