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My nights are long and packed. I learn about vampire politics and powers from Raúl, as well as training with a short sword with Leif. The other hours are spent planning and preparing for the wedding, which Helena continues to say will be the wedding of the century.
I have taken to corresponding with my true family through letters, and it’s been wonderful getting to know them. Dreselda and I haven’t quite crossed into the threshold of calling each other mother and daughter. The formality, though, has gone from distant acquaintances to friends. I even invited them to the wedding, but they declined when they learned about the number of vampires who are attending. They said they could handle one. Hundreds were a stretch, even with the promise of protection from me, the queen of vampires. Though I wanted them there, I couldn’t blame them for that. They promised to think about it, though.
Helena also insisted we learn a dance together, and we picked the waltz. Raúl, already experienced with it, had no problem dancing. I, however, am mostly used to uncoordinated movements. It takes me more time to learn the footing.
We are to be married in the gardens, Raúl’s only request. I want it to be outside, too, a reminder to myself of how far I’ve come. Helena and Carmen ban me from seeing their progress decorating, though, promising me I will love it.
All the planning Raúl leaves to us, stating that he simply wants me to be happy. “Especially since this will be your only wedding,” he said with a growl, nuzzling my neck. I giggled happily in response.
Once Raúl found out we had missed my birthday, he promised to throw me a grand party whenever I wanted to celebrate. Honestly, I prefer the quiet nights with only him.
One night, I am walking outside, on the opposite side of the field, in a rare moment alone. It is interesting to me that I spent so much of my life alone wishing to be with people, and right now I crave this small minute with myself.
I sit down on a bench and stare up at the night sky, the silver dusting dancing around the stars. Though I have no magic, this extra magical sight still remains. I smile watching the breeze ruffle the leaves of the trees, when I feel the sharp, cold metal of a dagger against my throat.
Chapter Eighty
A curse slips from my lips as a voice behind me says, “Don’t move.”
It’s deep, a man’s, but one I’ve never heard before. My hand is already near my pocket, and I let it fall in that direction. Leif demanded that I always carry a knife on me, and for the first time I am grateful for it. “Who are you?” I say, injecting my voice with as much fear as I could manage.
“Quiet,” he says gruffly. “It’s none of your concern.”
Nava, I think to her. Get Raúl!
“If you are to kill me, I’d like to know who you are.” My hand inches closer to my dagger. Almost there.
He snickers with malice. “I am not killing you. I’m bringing you to our prophesied queen as a present.”
Raúl appears in front of me, anger flashing in his eye. He carries a sword and a stake. “Nelson,” he says, swearing. “Of course it’s you.”
Nelson’s hold on the weapon slackens. Quickly, I reach all the way into the pocket. I grasp my dagger, swinging it up to slice at the hand holding the sharp edge against my throat.
He drops his weapon, and I grab the opportunity and roll away.
“Nelson?” I say, facing him. He grips his bleeding wrist.
“Yes,” Raúl seethes. “He’s the one who led the attack that killed my father.”
Without hesitating, I throw my dagger at him, impressed when it hits his thigh. I was aiming for his stomach, but that is neither here nor there.
Raúl launches over the bench, sword out. Nelson stumbles backward, drawing his own sword as he rolls away.
The clash of steel against steel resonates through the air as I watch. The field becomes the stage for an intense duel between Raúl and Nelson. Their swords are a blur of swift movements. My heart races, torn between worry for Raúl’s safety and admiration for his skill.
Raúl moves with grace and precision, his every strike and parry executed with fluidity and expertise. The swords of both men move fast, faster than my eyes can track at times, causing sparks to fly into the air. I do see Raúl’s face, though. His eye gleams with determination, focused solely on his enemy. Nelson, a formidable adversary even with an injured wrist, matches Raúl’s ferocity. Both of their movements are inhumanely swift, deliberate.
As the duel progresses, I catch glimpses of exhaustion creeping onto Raúl’s face, but he refuses to yield. His movements become more calculated, his strikes strategic as he tries to outmaneuver Nelson.
“For your father, Raúl!” I cry out.
In a sudden surge of determination, Raúl launches himself forward, his blade dancing. He manages to disarm Nelson, sending the sword flying across the field. In one swift movement, Raúl slices his sword across Nelson’s neck, beheading him.
Raúl stands still, not moving, the hand gripping his sword slightly shaking. I rush forward, proud of him. “You did it,” I say. “Your father can rest in peace now.”
I reach out to him, my hand resting gently on his shoulder. He grasps it, his face solemn. “You’re right. He can.”
Tomorrow night we will be married, and I cannot wait. I find Raúl in his office, and he rushes to me, wrapping me up in his arms.
