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The sheets are pure white silk. The covers are made of supremely rareslynkanfur.
Diamonds and jewels are woven into the fabric.
And in the center of it all lies the Emperor of Rahava.
Asleep.
I take a moment to study him.
He’s so very different to how I remember. His hair, once thick and dark, has become thin and grey. His skin is pale and papery, his cheeks sunken, his body frail.
Age and illness have transformed him.
This is what it’s like to bemortal.
I can no longer fathom it.
Eventually, he stirs. His eyes flutter open. He sees me, and for a moment, his eyes are clouded and confused; he doesn’t recognize me.
Then the haze clears, and his gaze becomes sharp once again.
That’sthe father I remember. The ruthless, cunning bastard.
“My son,” he whispers. There’s something else in his voice, too.
Adoration.
It’s the closest he’ll ever come to showing me love.
His hand, papery and frail, emerges from beneath the covers. “Come closer, son. Let me look at you.”
A torrent of emotion rushes through me. I conceal it carefully behind an expressionless mask.
I step forward. Bend over just a little so he can see me better.
A ghost of a smile flickers across his thin lips. “My boy. You’ve come to me at last.”
I feel anger, sharp and cold. “How long were you planning to wait? You could have sent word.”
“But what I sent you was far better, don’t you think?”
Finley…
I always hated it when father proved to be right.
“How did you know… that she would be so right for me?”
He chuckles softly, and for a moment, the weight of illness lifts from his shoulders. The old arrogance returns. “I have known about you ever since you were born, my beautiful boy. About yourtruepotential. And I know that there’s one thing in this world that’s as sweet as ambrosia for your kind.”
“My kind…”
“You know what you are by now. Or must I spell it out for you?”
“Go on, then,” I say softly, baring my fangs. “Spit it out.”
“You’re a direct descendant of the Goddess of Death. The old texts call your kindVampyr, but that’s a term that’s become maligned by myth and superstition. In truth, you’re a descendant of a tribe, just like the Khaturians and we Rahavans… and the Batavans across the sea. And theDryads.Being what they are, it stands to reason thatdryadsare completely irresistible tovampires.”
I stare at him in shock, half-tempted to wipe the smug expression off his mortal features. “Are you saying my transformation was predetermined? That this…stateof mine is inherited?”
