Page 56 of Nocturn

Itouched my throat, running my fingertips over the scabs.

“They are not as visible as your Sigil. In honesty, if he would have bitten you just a fraction lower, you probably would have . . .” Vera continued nattering on.

My hearing unfocused, and a fizzle invaded, turning her words into a low drone. Hester stepped within my line of sight. It took me a few extra moments to recognize what she held out before me.

I took the hand mirror from her and angled it to peer at myself. My lips were plumper, and I knew exactly why. Lord Draven had kissed me until I had forgotten my name. Dark lines adorned across my throat, the edges slightly raised. I had not looked at them since the moment they appeared.

At the side of my neck, slightly above the inked thorn, scabbing had left its mark along my brown skin. Another puncture wound painted the skin beside it, more healed than that one.

I squeezed my thighs as if they could see the mark between them.

Had Lord Draven bitten them in the same forbidden place?

I curled my fingers into my palm. The pinch of my nails wasn’t enough to calm the swell of irritation.

Handing the mirror back to Hester, I struggled for words. It seemed a small thing, but how they reacted told me otherwise.

“Why are none of you marked?”

Vera and Hester shared a glance.

“Were you not sent to visit Lady Drusilla after the feeding?” Hester asked.

“It is obvious she was not,” Ida scoffed, sprawling on the chaise lounge.

My face scrunched in confusion.

“We are always sent to visit Lady Drusilla after a . . . session with our king,” Hester explained. Why would them visiting her after him feeding matter? All of them had smooth skin, unblemished, seemingly unclaimed when I knew that wasn’t the case. Drusilla’s blueblood gift must be healing.

Each time they spoke of Lord Draven, there was a certain awe in their words. As if he were truly a deity and not another creation, just as we all were.

I could not judge their awe. He was as close to a deity as there was. Had my fate been different, I might have been just as fascinated by the powerful Warlord. Still, did they grasp what coming here cost them?

As feeders, they were as ruined as any of those women in the brothel.

“The chamber is ready,” Branwen announced. She was so quiet I had not seen her leave the parlor. “If you’ll follow me?”

Every time she spoke, her words had a lilting ending, as if unsure about everything that came out of her mouth.

“A chamber? I am to stay here?”

“Indefinitely.” Hester nodded. “Only to be let out when Lord Draven summons you.”

Branwen continued wringing the bottom of her dress. The slope of her face had a youthfulness to it. In fact, all of them seemed younger than my thirty annum rotations.

“Not as special as you thought?” Ida called as I left the parlor.

Responding to her irksome comments would not accomplish anything. I was a firm believer in not engaging in conflict, and even more so now. I had a far more significant adversary to contend with.

After all, being a redblood assigned to a blueblood household, there had been plenty of opportunity to practice not reacting to cruel commentary.

Branwen led me down a rounded entrance. Onward, the ceilings were not astronomically tall as everything had been to suit Lord Draven. Soft footsteps pattered behind me. I did not need to look over my shoulder because an arm slid into mine.

“Do not feel too ill about it, Amara. Ida was just as disillusioned as you,” Vera said, patting my arm. “She is behaving like a bitch because of her jealousy.”

The vulgar sentence coming from her stunned me. Women, much less ladies of society, did not speak like this . . . but it was oddly freeing to hear.

“There is no need to. I will not exist soon,” I offered wryly, lying. I did not know these women, and I refused to put my escape attempt in jeopardy.