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And now…friend?
None of it fit together. Her head spun, dizzy from the bloodwine and fever coursing through her veins.
Lord Ataen rested one shoulder against the black marble pillar nearest the throne, stretching his arms wide until his jacket looked like it might tear. Elarian found herself staring at his flaming hair, a sight she had never seen before. Long, pointed ears like those of her kin poked through the silken strands. As a young woman, rumors spread through the Darkening of corrupted elves who worshiped the beings they found entombed in the earth, digging deep to build their twisted temples and cities away from the grace of the sun and moon. None had ever actually seen such creatures, and soon, they faded to mere myth.
Watching Lord Ataen, Elarian realized just how little of the world outside of the vampires she truly knew.
“You’ll forgive the court, Eliyn.”
Elarian regarded Lord Ataen coolly.
“I wasn’t aware they required my forgiveness.”
“Oh, they certainly don’t.” His eyes wandered briefly across the nobles dancing beyond them. “But they do require distraction. They’ve had precious little to gossip about since the countess vanished north before her own masquerade. The very same night you enchanted my beloved prince, it seems.”
Lucan’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against the arm of his throne. Elarian shifted her weight against his chest, somehow hoping to hide his reaction from Lord Ataen. His words helped her understand just how precarious her situation was. Locked blades and hurled insults in the Evermist had done precious little to prepare her for vampiric court politics. Cursing herself for underestimating how much the court would talk, she carefully arranged her reply.
“I have studied long to become His Highness’s intoxicant in this dreary world. I only take it as a sign I’ve done my job, my lord.” She smiled demurely, batting her lashes before returning her gaze to the goblet in her lap.
“Lucan.” Lucan’s fingers curled inward against her thigh. She had almost forgotten it still lay there, his touch impossibly soft compared to the cruelty he’d displayed in private. “I am Lucan to you. Nothing else, Eliyn.”
Lord Ataen chuckled softly. “Still refusing titles, Luc? And you moan that the court never changes.”
“If they require a title before speaking honestly, I have no use for the conversation.”
“You always did have a gift for offending everyone in the room.”
Elarian bit back her laughter, instead forcing herself to think of the sweat slowly dripping between her breasts.
“Everyone except you, Jace. Somehow, you took that as an invitation to my bed.”
“I don’t recall you ever complaining until the very end, Luc.”
A quiet laugh escaped Lucan before he could stop it.
“Lady Drevain,” Lord Ataen continued, changing the conversation. “You truly trust her to manage what Anileta could not?”
Elarian perked up at the mention of the countess. Regret would never haunt her, but she felt something akin to responsibility for the fallout of the arrogant woman’s death. If she hadn’t let her disgust ruin better judgment, Lucan would be dead, and this dangerous game of politics and blood would have never come to pass.
So why did she almost enjoy it?
Lucan snorted before replying, “I am certain she will find it hard to govern from an unmarked grave.”
“Ah.” Ataen nodded solemnly. “The game is afoot again, is it?”
Nodding, Lucan turned away and rested his lips against the long point of Elarian’s ear. Inhaling softly, he spoke low enough only for her to hear.
“Kill her well for me and prove you are my deadly plaything, Elarian.” His cool whispers wrapped around her like a noose until she could scarcely breathe. The thought of turning her silver against a vampire for Lucan twisted her stomach. Stars swam in her vision. More, she tried to whisper. Give me more, and I will gladly kill for you.
“One more thing, Luc.”
Lucan turned his attention away from tracing Elarian’s ear with his lips. The stifled sigh and slight tension in his chest thrilled her more than it should’ve. Only because he is letting his guard down. And certainly not because she wondered who truly resided beneath the many masks of Lucan Valmere.
“Our guest from his court.” Lord Ataen almost spat the word his. It took little time to deduce who that was. Elarian tucked the knowledge away, another wound to needle when she needed Lucan’s ire.
“What of him?” Lucan spoke with a weary detachment.
“He sees far more than you think, Lucan.” Lord Ataen paused, lowering his voice until Elarian struggled to hear him even as he sat beside her. “He isn’t watching the spectacle, Luc. He’s watching you. Every time your shadows move toward her, his eyes follow them. I don’t think he’s admiring the entertainment.”
