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“Have the six regions been notified?” I ask Bo as I advance to take Quintessa from his arms.
“Yes, Lord Merikh.” Bo touches a skeletal hand to his chest as I raise her into a nuptial hold with her cheek upon my shoulder. “The regents and their clans are coming from far and wide. Not one seat in Court will be left vacant.”
“And the preparations for the Blood Crest?” I’m too aware of my little dove’s eyes flicking up and down upon me while her lids grow heavy. I’ll need to put her to sleep soon.
“As you ordered, my Lord. The blood-maids are ready to prepare her before Court.”
I shake my head. “No. I will prepare her myself.”
“What?” He blinks.
“Bo...” I scrub a hand down my face and glare at him. “Must I check your ears for ash again?” I don’t disguise my agitation, but my knowing smirk is one he understands.
Others hands upon my Quintessa’s naked body will be the last thing to happen in my Court. Not even other human women. I won’t risk her scent transferring to any others. While we have many fine pure blooded vessels, Quintessa’s, as a half-soul, is unique. Her bond with us gods also makes her more of a temptation.
“I will see to it the necessary instruments are brought to your chamber, my Lord,” Bo finishes.
“After I take her to my chamber, I will return to awaken the Founders and blood-mend them. Once I’ve finished, I will blood-mend you.”
Bo wags one bony finger and wrinkles his nose. “You most certainly will not. I am an ugly, crotchety, old geezer, Merikh. Go start with the children. Or I’ll stuff your coffin full of kittens!” He huffs, and I harden my jaw at his theatrics.
“Aww, you’re not ugly at all,” Quintessa chimes in, lifting her head and commanding Bo’s attention...and mine. “I think you look very dapper in your uniform.” She leans over, surprising my steward when she kisses Bo’s gaunt cheek despite his fragmented skin. She has no concern when the bottom of her lip brushes the ruined flesh exposing his teeth.
Bo freezes at her kiss, widens his eyes upon me, then darts his gaze to her. “Sweetheart...” he says as she leans back against my chest. “One word. Run.”
Smiling sweetly, my little dove shakes her head and weaves her arms around my neck, triggering my nostrils to flare and my veins to throb. “Never!” she giggles.
Bo turns to me again. “Have you had her head examined?”
I snort, roll my eyes, and coast a hand up her back to fist her hair. “Trust me. The last thing Quintessa leads with is her pretty head.”
I yank her back by her hair, smirking at how she arches her neck in want and sighs, “You say the sweetest things, Master Merikh.”
My eyes lower to her jugular, dumbfounded by my desire when feeding so recently used to sate me. I loosen my grip, only for her to swing her head back to my steward while she squeezes my neck tighter.
“Sometime, I’ll tell you all about how he loves to stalk me, Bartie.” Her voice lifts to that soprano lilt to show her excitement. “Yes, I’ll call you Bartie. Can I call him Bartie?” she asks me.
“Merikh, I must insist this time,” Bartholomew bemoans and kneads his brow, transferring bone dust to the loose skin. “Return this adorable creature to where you found her.”
I chuckle deep in my throat. “Before or after she crossed the Veil of Souls and waltzed right into Drago’s Court of Ash and became our slut-turned-queen.”
“Hey!” she protests through a yawn and nuzzles my shoulder again. “I’m still your slut.”
Fuck, this girl. Ice fills my veins when I consider all the horrors I will bring her in my Court. And how her first experiences here have not marred her view. Leave it to my little dove to find beauty in the darkest and most decrepit of places. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s already managed to charm my steward when he’s never warmed up to anyone beyond his fire friends.
“Bo, your jaw...” I alert my steward whose jaw has dropped so low, one side of it hangs loose.
Quintessa gives an airy laugh as Bo nudges his jaw back into place, but she yawns again and leans her head against my neck. I nod at my steward and depart, shifting into vampire speed so I may get her to my chambers quicker.
I pause in the outer chamber at the base of my tower, eyeing the familiar runes which will only allow me to access. As I have not entered my domain within a century, the runes glow to life with incandescence on account of the aqueous stones that know the presence of their maker.
Thick layers of cobwebs and dust clothe the lanterns and candelabras riddled along the walls and ceilings as I bear Quintessa deeper into my inner chamber. She takes in the smalllibrary full of grimoires detailing the histories of my people—much regarding Malachor. With any luck, she won’t discover the secret passage through one of those ancient tomes.
The more I carry her, the more my dark power awakens from the energy of this place. Something impossible before Quintessa. And I am the damn devil for what I must subject her to. But she won’t be content to remain here—not even if Bo keeps her company. I can’t risk her leaving my quarters before Court later tonight.
Once we emerge into my innermost chamber, Quintessa lifts her head, locking eyes with the coffin. Blood ember stones bathe the closed casket in an ethereal light, soft and crimson. Silver filigree trims the coffin with the design of my blood crest at its center. Quintessa fixates on the blood crest, on the familiar alchemical symbol adorning the swell of her dove breast.
I advance to the coffin, feeling how she stiffens inch by inch. Despite how she overcame much during her time with Mayce, deep-seated fears are not conquered overnight. For Quintessa, it’s dark, confined spaces.
