Page 43 of Dhampira

Lorcan’s long hair swayed against his back as he moved toward the door. Just before he disappeared through it, his voice flowed in my head.

And try not to kiss other men in my absence.

9

Birdsong pierced my ears. Groaning, I groped for a pillow and mashed it over my head. Maybe if I ignored it long enough, it would go away.

The trilling continued. Jerking the pillow from my face, I glared at the balcony doors. The sky outside was black. What kind of birds sang in the middle of the night?

The noise stopped.

Sighing, I stared at the doors. It was no use trying to fall back asleep. I had to spend the day with Lorcan, who murdered Noctans and stole their magic. The witch from the dungeon floated in my mind, her blue eyes burning with vitriol.

Blood traitor.

The accusation didn’t make sense…unless she’d meant I’d betrayed my vampire heritage. But my father had imprisoned her in deplorable conditions. She’d called him a thief. Why would she care if I rebelled against him? If Lorcan told the truth, she’d tried to kill me.

The bedchamber doors swung open, and Delphine entered. She stopped at the foot of my bed, her long, silver hair held back by two jeweled combs. Her hands were empty. No breakfast tray.

“What time is it?” I asked, struggling upright. Maybe this was a new kind of torment. It wasn’t enough for Lorcan and Rasimir to starve me. Now, they’d force me from bed before dawn.

“Early,” Delphine said softly. She curled her fingers over the edge of the footboard, her blue gaze hesitant.

I waited for her to explain why she’d disappeared. My eyes were puffy from the tears I’d indulged after the guards delivered me to my empty bedchamber last night. Someone had removed the basin and pitcher while I was away, leaving only a single cup and a small carafe of room-temperature water. I’d paced for an hour, racking my brain for an escape plan while I tried to appease my rumbling stomach with small sips from the cup. Eventually sleep had offered the only escape, and I’d crawled between the sheets and soaked my pillow until exhaustion dragged me under.

Delphine swallowed. “I’m sorry for your fast. But Prince Lorcan believes it will help with your training.”

So she knew about the dungeon. Possibly she knew everything that transpired after the hunt.

“I missed you yesterday,” I said, hearing the resentment in my voice. “I worried.”

She hesitated. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

That was it? Bitterness and disappointment rose thick enough to choke me. Delphine had seemed like the sole bright spot in the Drakhold’s darkness. She’d seemed like a friend. But that was before. I couldn’t afford to trust her now. Like Vander, she’d offered kindness only to withdraw it. Vander’s kindness had concealed dark motives.

But you kissed him anyway, a little voice reminded me.

I clenched my jaw.

“I am sorry,” Delphine said, misinterpreting the gesture. Holding my gaze, she spoke in a measured tone. “From time to time, my duties might interfere with my service to you. But I don’t mind. It’s a privilege to serve King Rasimir.”

The flowers in the room bowed, blossoms drooping toward the marble tabletops.

I froze, trapped in Delphine’s sapphire gaze. She was trying to tell me something. But she couldn’t speak freely.

My heart sped up. She couldn’t speak freely. That was the unspoken part.

“Yes,” I said slowly, “it’s a privilege to serve the king.” The flowers, which had started to straighten, bent toward the tables again.

Delphine gave a slight nod, the quick dip of her chin almost imperceptible. But I’d seen it. The question was, had anyone else? And who listened? Because someone did—and they reported to my father.

All of Nocta serves the king.

All of Nocta. My head spun, every interaction I’d had with Vander flashing in my mind. In the Wendlewood, when the trees had bowed every time he invoked my father’s name. The werewolf attack. The journey on the road, when the female pixie had scolded her male companion. Do you want your head to end up on a pike? Vander’s shift in personality the second we entered the Drakhold.

He’d been relaxed on the journey from Ghedda. He’d been kind. Charming. But he was rigid around my father, all that charm snuffed out.

Except when he pulled me into a corner and made me punch him.