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Lucan smiled uneasily as the older vampire approached, offering nothing more than the cordial warmth expected between two of Aurelion’s most trusted pawns.
“Lord Thane,” he said carefully.
“Your Highness.” Vaelor bowed with impeccable grace. “I confess, I was surprised to receive your invitation. I had begun to think you might be avoiding me after all that…business with Anileta.”
Anileta. Fuck, how does he know already?
“I have been rather occupied with Ravenholm.”
“So I hear.”
Vaelor’s gaze drifted lazily across the abandoned shrine, lingering upon the shattered dome overhead before settling upon the cracked, weathered altar in the center. Once, Lucan had prayed here each morning with his father, their voices singing praise of Gairan and her cleansing flame.
Now, only ghosts worshiped here.
“This is a curious place for a meeting, my prince,” Vaelor observed. “Has the Blooded Palace become so crowded that its prince must conduct business among forgotten gods?”
Lucan’s hand curled into a fist even as he forced himself to laugh.
“I find it encourages honesty, and avoids the endless eyes of the courtiers ravenous for gossip.”
“Does it now?” Vaelor shifted closer to where Elarian waited. Lucan tensed, preparing himself for her attack.
“I find they remind us that every kingdom eventually falls into ruin.” Lucan gulped as he said the words. Overheard by the wrong ears, whispers would soon spread that he sought to supplant the Bloodlord himself. If only they knew that I wish to burn this entire rotted kingdom to the ground.
For the briefest moment, something unreadable flickered through Vaelor’s expression before disappearing beneath another pleasant smile.
“A philosophy our master would appreciate. I understand why you are his chosen son, Lucan.”
Lucan clenched his jaw, biting back the words he wished to say. Instead, he returned Vaelor’s smile.
“I’ve spent centuries listening to his words, ruling the eastern holds in his name.” Lucan drew himself up to his full height as he spoke. Though he despised Aurelion and had spent centuries dreaming of his death, a part of him still thanked his ruthless enslaver for granting him a luxurious life. He might’ve lived in a prison, but surrounded by enough simpering fools and willing lovers, it had become his home. “I am the son the gods never saw fit to grant him, Vaelor. Do not forget that.”
The pale-haired vampire sneered at his words.
“And yet,” he said acidly, “you still do not act like him.”
Chills crawled down Lucan’s spine at his words.
“No,” he said carefully. “I am still my own man.”
Silence settled between them. Vaelor stared at Lucan with a knowing smile. Behind him, Elarian shifted.
She should have moved already.
Why was she still hiding?
“Curious things happen when a vampire clings to the gods that cast them aside.” Vaelor folded his arms over his chest. “I hope you are not one of them, Lucan.”
Lucan scarcely heard Vaelor Thane. His awareness remained split cleanly in two. One half attended the conversation before him, weighing every inflection, every pause, every carefully chosen word. The other counted heartbeats.
One.
Two.
Three.
Behind the broken column, Elarian should have moved already.
