Page 16 of Kings of Blood and Ruin

I absentmindedly reach for my bag of toiletries, only realizing when my hand meets empty air that I didn’t pack it. Taking a deep breath, I look around, my gaze landing on the enormous transparent glass shower. They’ve stocked it to the brim with name-brand soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. All in my favorite scent.

How did they know?

Not wanting to linger on that uncomfortable thought, I strip off my clothes and leave them in a pile by the door. The marble seems to welcome me as I step into the shower stall. My fingers slide on the shiny, cool surface as I brace myself on the far side of the enclosure, letting the warm water run into my hair. It cascades over my scalp and shoulders, and I breathe deep, inhaling the steam, letting the hot vapors relax my coiled muscles.

I take my time, relishing in the scent of pomegranate and vanilla as I lather shampoo into my hair. It’s not the chemical stuff I usually have. No, that stuff is cheap. This shampoo is French and feels like heaven on my scalp. The body wash, another French product, slides against my skin like silk.

Soon, the water turns cold. Pouting, I leave the luxury of the shower, toweling off my hair before putting it into a damp bun. A few moments later, I unpack my suitcase, as per his majesty’s request, and dress in a pair of black leggings and a simple green blouse.

With a cautious hand, I try the door handle, expecting it to be locked, despite Drystan’s promise.

It isn’t.

The knob gives easily, and the door creaks open.

A knot of relief unfolds inside me. Part of me believed Drystan wouldn’t allow me to roam free. That it was just another way to put me at ease before ripping the rug out from beneath my feet.

Closing the door quietly, I head downstairs in search of the holy sustenance of bean water.

The house is emptier than last night. The corridors feel dark and hollow without the tumultuous voices of the Kings’ sleazy guests. There doesn’t appear to be any staff milling about in any of the rooms, but I do smell something delicious wafting through the air. I make my way through the dining room and through the double doors that lead to the kitchen. To my surprise, there are people striding around, all of them stopping their work to stare at me as I walk in.

“Oh.” I can feel my face burning. “Um…hello.” I bite my lower lip awkwardly, unsure of what to say. I’m Thalia. The Kings’ captive. Can you point me to the way out of this crazy place so I can escape?

Nope. Too dramatic, and these people are no doubt loyal to the three men.

“Welcome, Thalia.” An older woman with graying black hair smiles warmly at me as she approaches. She has a mild Turkish accent, and when I look into her eyes, I’m taken aback when I see the unnatural hue of immortality ringing the edges. This woman has to be in her midsixties to seventies. I’ve never heard of a vampire that old before. “I’m Miriam, the keeper of the house. Please—” She waves a hand toward a small nook table surrounded by stained-glass windows. There is already a place setting at one of the chairs, so I take a seat there, wincing slightly when my butt hits the firm wood. My backside is still sore from Drystan’s punishment last night.

Within moments, another one of the kitchen staff sets a plate of food in front of me laden with potatoes, eggs, fruit, and what appears to be sausage.

My gut churns.

“I’m sorry.” I turn to Miriam apologetically. “I’m a pescatarian. I don’t eat meat.”

The woman smiles down at me and nods. “Of course. The masters informed me of your dietary restrictions prior to your arrival.”

They what? Does that mean they set that meat in front of me last night, and—those rat bastards.

Fury burns inside me, white hot. Drystan humiliated me when he mocked me for not eating all of my food. I let it pass because I assumed he wasn’t aware that I don’t eat meat, but the vampire asshole knew all along.

“The sausage is plant based, miss,” she informs me kindly. “We’ve made sure to keep the fridges and pantry stocked with appropriate food for you. We’ve made sure to keep the masters’ food separate so nothing gets confused.”

Masters’ food?

“I wasn’t aware that vampires consume human food.”

Miriam nods. “Once in a while. Their bodies don’t require the same nutrients ours do, but they can consume it. Mostly raw meats and fish. Nuts. Things along those lines. Nothing with spices. It messes with their senses. But I was referring to their blood bags, miss.”

Oh.

My stomach churns at the thought of some poor human’s blood sitting next to the food everyone else consumes.

“Eat now, child,” she chastises me gently as she sets a steaming mug in front of me. My mouth waters at the heavenly scent, immediately recognizing the smell of Turkish coffee. Miriam serves it to me in a silver filigree holder that twists around the white porcelain cup that sits inside. Cups like these aren’t all that common anymore. Not without handles. Curious, I hold the cup up and peek at the bottom, which is slightly jagged and has a large O scratched into it.

Holy shit.

“Umm…how long have you had this?” I ask Miriam. It stuns me to see something so old and rare being used to serve my morning dose of caffeine.

The woman pauses in her chore, humming thoughtfully. “It was given to my parents by my grandparents in the early 1500s,” she tells me, and I gape at her. “It was before cafés in the Ottoman empire were dismantled for fear of inciting rebellions.” Miriam chuckles. “It was all very scandalous. I inherited it after my parents died in 1571, I believe.” She shakes her head wistfully. “It’s been so long I don’t remember exactly. Memory fades over time, even for someone like me.”

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