Page 77 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

It’s a vast rectangular hall. Carved ebony walls and veined marble floors with heavy curtains drawn tight over tall windows. Rows of dark wooden benches line both sides of the hall like a church. Between them stretches an aisle, and beyond, a broad expanse of empty floor all the way to the dais. There are nowhere near enough benches for the whole school, yet so much space around them that the hall could probably hold half the Capital’s population, standing.

I know immediately which students sit on benches, and who is expected to sit on the floor. At the far end, there is a raised dais. A podium stands at its centre, black-and-red banners draping the wall behind it. Beyond that sit two thrones: one vast enough for the king, the other narrower—Nathaniel’s, I presume.

My mouth goes dry. This is more than just an assembly hall. This is a throne room. The ceiling is so high the firelight cannot reach it. But something waits up there. Hidden in the blackness. The hair rises along the back of my neck as I slowly look up.

Whatever it is, it smells of death.

I glance around warily. Even by day, the hall is too vast for four bowls of flame to be enough lighting. If the whole school gathers here for ceremonies, there must be another source of light.

My throat feels tight as I command, “Lights on.”

Nothing happens at first, then the chandeliers wake. Whole rows of them blaze to life overhead, casting red light across the hall. My breath stops as I stare up at the ceiling. And the ceiling stares back.

Fur hangs above me. A sea of silver, black, and russet bodies suspended from the beams in careful rings, spiralling out from the centre of the hall. For one sick moment, my mind tries to make them into pelts. Hunting trophies. Dead animals. Anything easier than what they are. But I cannot ignore the faces. The muzzles. The pointed ears. The paws.

Wolf shifters, stuffed and mounted.

No…

The sight opens a pit inside me, and my heart drops straight into it. I gasp, my stomach twisting with nausea. I am certain I will be sick right there beneath them.

There are hundreds of them.

A thousand, maybe. Their limbs are stretched wide. Their heads hang down. They have glass eyes set into them, their stillness uncanny in the chandelier light. Others are so mangled they are barely recognisable as wolves at all.

Some are missing their heads entirely.

I cannot draw a breath. My chest is so tight my lungs seem to collapse in on themselves, useless and crushed. I stagger forward, neck aching as I crane my head back, my feet moving towards the middle of the hall as if pulled there by some terrible thread.

At the very centre, the wolves are arranged most densely.

So many of them.

Their bodies are interwoven with green and gold cloth, old banners and flags and torn lengths of silk, looping between stretched limbs like festival ribbons. The fabric catches the red light, gleaming in places, dull and tattered in others.

It is meant to look ceremonial. Grand. And I realise…that this display is meant to crush something in me, something I’d held onto all my life. To not only shock me, but to break me. To make me look up at the defeat of wolves and understand there is no coming back from this.

A plaque of polished brass reads:

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE TAKEOVER, AND HIS MAJESTY KING HENRIKK ARPAY’S DECISIVE VICTORY OVER BAKKER’S COURT, BY WHICH THESE LANDS WERE CLAIMED, ORDER RESTORED, AND VOLMASQUE ACADEMY ESTABLISHED.

I stare at the words. Order restored? There was nothing but peace before Henrikk, and his forces killed their own vampire monarchy.

We’re lucky to not be extinct. The chilling realisation hits me harder than it ever has before. Henrikk could have eradicated us, just like he did with the witches. Instead, he enslaved us.

A sound scrapes out of me. Like a sob, but smaller and uglier. The welcome ceremony was held here, only a few weeks ago. The whole school stood beneath this. Susie stood beneath this. Harvey. Clara. Not for the first time. And the first-years—

Becky.

My eyes sting. I can see it too clearly. Arken at the podium. The king upon his throne. Vampire students seated on the benches whilst wolf students kneel on the hard floor, all of them forced to sit beneath this grotesque scene.

Shame twists through me, sharp and sickening. I think of every cruel thought I had today. Every flash of disgust each time I looked at Becky and wondered how she could want this place. How she could blush over collars and Masters and futures shaped by vampire hands.

Only a few weeks ago, she was brought here and forced to kneel beneath her murdered ancestors. How long did the welcome ceremony last? Did the king speak? Did anyone cry? Perhaps whoever prepared her for this place, whoever taught her to smile and obey and hope to be chosen, was not weak or foolish or blind. Perhaps they were trying to give her the only armour they knew.

A way to survive it.

A way to bear it.