Page 26 of Dhampira

Dhampirs don’t come along often. Your ability to tolerate the sun is a unique power, and the vampires value power above everything.

“She ran from you,” I said. “She was afraid.”

His expression turned patient. “She was young, and she discovered she was carrying my child. Like most immortals, vampires struggle to produce offspring. Lilawen knew I would never let her leave Nocta with my heir. You are precious to me.”

Mama’s warnings trembled inside me. For twenty-four years, I’d hidden from a nameless, faceless threat. Now he stood before me, and it was too late to run.

I took a deep breath. “My mother warned me not to cross the Feyline. She said you would use me because I’m a daywalker.”

Rasimir’s eyes widened. For a second, he seemed speechless. Then he gestured to the valley beyond the balcony. “I rule a land of twilight. What use do I have for a daywalker?”

I gripped the balcony railing as my past and present collided, everything I thought I knew threatening to shatter. Unless Rasimir was as fine of an actor as the thieves he spoke of, his confusion was genuine. He didn’t care about my ability to tolerate the sun. My so-called “gift” was meaningless in Nocta.

“Majesty.”

The soft voice made both of us turn. A slender young man stood in the doorway, his eyes downcast and his hands clasped in front of him. Longish light brown hair fell around his shoulders.

“Yes, Alon?” Rasimir said.

“The refreshments are ready, Majesty.”

“Excellent.” Rasimir offered me his arm again. “Shall we, my dear? I’m sure you’re famished after your journey.”

I could only nod, my gut twisting as he led me back into the elegant room. Lorcan waited near the sofa. Vander still stood by the door, his gaze on a pair of female servants in black gowns and white aprons. One looked as ordinary as any human from Ghedda, but the other boasted a pair of translucent wings that buffeted the air as she placed a tiered serving tray of dainty-looking cakes on a low table in front of Lorcan’s sofa.

Prince Lorcan snapped his fingers at Alon. “Fetch the wine. The princess is thirsty.”

Alon leaped to obey, and I stared at Lorcan with animosity pumping through my veins. The princess was thirsty, but I didn’t need a handler. He looked at me, satisfaction in his eyes as Alon appeared with a platter of crystal wineglasses filled with dark red liquid. The scent of blood hit my nose, and saliva flooded my mouth. The blood I’d taken from Mama was long gone, and I hadn’t taken enough of the werewolf’s blood to sate my thirst. I’d been careless, letting hunger creep up on me. The monster inside me stirred, eager for the liquid in the glasses. I knew that if I looked in a mirror, my cheeks would be flushed, my pupils dilated.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of your thirst,” Lorcan said, plucking two glasses from the platter. “In Nocta, we hold it sacred.” He extended one of the glasses to me, a taunting smile there and gone on his lips before I could fully absorb it.

Rasimir’s regard was a weight against the side of my face. The serving women finished their task and stepped back, but they watched me with the same level of blatant curiosity. Heat filled my cheeks as I accepted the wine.

“I’m not ashamed,” I said, my fangs sliding down. “I’m just not accustomed to drinking so freely.”

“Of course not,” Rasimir said. He took a wineglass and lifted it in my direction. “You’ve been away from your homeland for too long, my beloved daughter. But now you are returned to us.”

Lorcan raised his glass. “To Princess Corinthe of Nocta.”

“To Princess Corinthe of Nocta,” Rasimir echoed.

The blood was laced with wine, and it went down like silk. Pleasure tingled through my limbs, ferrying away little aches I hadn’t noticed until that moment. The soreness from two days in the saddle. Lingering discomfort from Cyprio’s collar. Even my mood lightened, and I smiled at Rasimir as he bade me sit.

His eyes were bright. “You look even more beautiful with your fangs, my daughter. Don’t hide them.”

For the next few minutes, I floated in quiet contentment as Rasimir and Lorcan discussed the weather and the state of the roads. I had nothing to add to either topic, which was fine by me. One of the servants handed me a plate with a selection of cakes. Alon flitted to my side and discreetly swapped my empty wineglass for a full one. The cakes were lighter than air and flavored with lemon—something almost impossible to get in Ghedda. Cyprio would have salivated at the sight of them.

Well, fuck him. Hopefully he and Fark were on the run from a horde of disappointed nobles.

“…would you like that, Corinthe?”

I jerked at the sound of my name. Rasimir watched me from the opposite sofa, one long leg crossed over the other. Lorcan sat in the adjacent chair. More time must have passed than I thought, because the light coming through the windows was a deep purple now. Alon stood before the balcony doors, his eyes unfocused as he apparently waited for a command.

“Um…” I leaned forward so I could place my empty wineglass on the table. “I apologize, Majesty—”

“Father,” Rasimir said. “I insist.”

Right. I swallowed. “Father. I’m sorry, but my thoughts ran away with me. I didn’t catch the question.”