Page 82 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“I was unaware there was one.”

His mouth twitches, but his tone remains gentle and full of endless patience. “Give her a chance. It takes time to assimilate.”

Time. Ha. As if it were mine to give. But I won’t argue with Arken. He has seen the walls of my father’s dungeons at Wintermaw. He knows better than anyone what an enemy time can be. Slow enough to kill. Fast enough to race through your fingers like sand.

I swirl the blackcurrant cordial in my glass, the liquid dark as garnet, turning briefly ruby whenever the fire flickers brighter. Arken is studying me the way he does when he already knows the answer to whatever he’s about to ask.

I repress a groan. “Yes? What is it?”

“Only this: are you certain you wouldn’t rather train Kira yourself?”

I huff and slump deeper into the armchair. “I hardly think that’s necessary. You have the run of this place, Arken. With unprecedented autonomy now that my father trusts you again. Can you truly not produce one useful pet without me needing to hold your hand?”

“That tone doesn’t work on me, you know—acting like your father.”

I give another huff, turning the locket between my fingers. “Who says I’m acting?”

He does not answer, only gives me a small, sad smile, the kind he’s given me more times than I can count over the years.

We drink after that. Well. Try to. The cordial is doing absolutely nothing for me. His abstinence began sometime after Susie, and I have never asked him outright why, because I already know that if I did, I’d have to thank our goody little two-shoes for saving him from an early grave. I don’t know what Arken sees in her, but despite my reservations, he does seem happier since he collared her. Gives him something to fight for, I suppose.

If only it were that simple for me. Collaring Kira hardly made me happy. Quite the opposite. I thought I would have the stomach for it.

The fire cracks and pops, throwing restless light across the room while my thoughts turn.

“Did she see?” Arken asks suddenly. “The king? The princess?”

I know exactly what he means. I take my time answering, turning the locket over once more before I tuck it away.

“Yes,” I say. Then, quieter, “I think so.”

I remember how Kira looked at me when I found her. The way she shook when she called me a monster.

“Then she knows?” Arken presses.

“Yes.” The word comes out rough. “She knows. I killed the young princess. Her blood is on my hands.”

Arken stares at me for a long moment before he nods, apparently satisfied. “Good. Then we proceed.” He lifts his glass.

I lift mine too and let it clink against his, a hollow, thin sound in the quiet of his office.

“We proceed,” I echo.

The toast feels hollow. I do not drink. I sit there with the glass in my hand, imagining Kira’s mouth against my lips, and then imagining her lying in her bed below us.

Has she stopped crying? Or is she lying awake, listening for the vampires who will inevitably roam those corridors, seeking students to feed on? The thought sits badly in my mind. That danger, at least, I have shielded her from. But I cannot wipe her tears. She will have to comfort herself.

“I think I shall retire for the night,” Arken murmurs, pausing to grasp my shoulder as he stands. “You did the right thing, you know.”

I make a low sound that one could mistake for affirmation, if one were in the habit of wishful thinking—as Arken has been of late. It is only when he has gone through to his private quarters that I address the empty office.

“Then why do I regret it?”

No one answers. Not even the wardrobe by the desk stirs, though I spend the next hour staring at it, unable to shake the certainty that the real monster who haunts us might emerge from it at any moment.

It does not.

Chapter 15