Page 49
“Come—let us discuss this as allies, assassin. Lucan is unstable. Sentimental. Dangerous in all the wrong ways. He has become…difficult.”
Elarian had to admit she could not argue with that logic.
“Kill him for me.” The countess smiled. “I will give you the access you need. You get your kill, I take his crown, and we both forget this conversation ever happened.”
Bile and the remnants of her stolen meal threatened to spew forth with the vampire’s words. Despite the dangerous creature in front of her, Elarian threw her head back and laughed—a deep, bellowing laugh that shook her insides and made her head feel light.
“For…you?”
“Yes,” the countess replied, as if she truly thought her offer was a favor.
“I would sooner scrape the marrow from my bones than bargain with the likes of you,” Elarian sneered. She drew herself to her full height now, blade pressed firmly against her palm as she took a step forward. “At least he respects that.”
A deep sigh ruffled the high neckline of the countess’s dress.
“How very disappointing.”
She reached for a small, golden bell at her waist.
Elarian moved before her brain could process it. She pushed off the high back of a sofa in front of her, leaping forward with her dagger raised high, teeth bared—flying through the air like a maelstrom, silver and black, pale crimson flashing.
The blade found soft flesh, then sank deeper.
The countess crumpled to the ground beneath Elarian, folding back on herself like some deformed marionette. A soft chime rang out. The golden bell slipped from her fingers and struck the floor.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Elarian stared down at the silver buried in the vampire’s ribs, waiting.
The countess only stared at her, the fire in those crimson eyes fading fast. Her lips parted, blood staining the corners of her painted lips.
“He ruins everything he touches, doesn’t he?” A faint smile followed, then slipped from the vampire’s face as she fell limply against the floor.
Elarian remained crouched over the corpse for some time, panting as her blood burned. Sweat gathered at the nape of her neck. Flames licked her heart, then slowly receded as her fading starin flared.
The full moon was coming soon.
Lucan still breathed.
Maybe she should have taken that offer.
Rising, Elarian forced the thought away. Now was not the time for wallowing in her own self-pity. No time for weakness; not when a countess lay dead and the vampire prince awaited.
Moving quickly, Elarian searched the room.
She rifled through the papers in the boudoir first. They had been arranged in neat stacks, each letter carefully refolded and sealed. One pile held letters with a black wax seal of a raven holding a severed hand. Another ledger and lists of names. The one that interested Elarian the most was a creamy parchment sealed with a deep crimson wax bearing no seal. Her fingers tightened around the parchment. Slowly, carefully, she unfolded the letter.
Countess of Ravenholm,
You have served admirably in the south, but the master recalls you at last to your rightful place beside him. He seeks another bride; dear sister, do not disappoint him, and you shall rise above even myself within this court of blood and rot.
Attend the Blooded Prince one final time. Present him with the master’s dhampir courtesan as a parting gift and ensure he remembers the generosity of the hand that provides it.
Soon, the Blooded Court shall welcome its new queen.
Your sister, even in undeath,
Elspeth
