Page 49 of Princess Broken

Crouching in front of the fireplace, Flame piles some dried moss at the base of the firebox, then scatters a handful of some kind of black powder on top. He adds sticks of wood all around the pile, the wood taken from a closed locker next to the fireplace. He leaves the locker door open. If need be, I could use one of those sticks to form a stake and defend myself from these men.

But the mere fact that they have potential stakes in the place where they live and sleep—plus those wooden pool cues—makes me feel safer here for some reason. No one can get in. If anyone could, the men would not have lethal weapons lying about.

Flame stacks some roughly hewn blocks of peat around the mound of wood and kindling, and then, turning his gaze toward me, he grins broadly, remaining crouched. A lit match appears out of nowhere. Still looking at me, Flame flicks the match over his shoulder and into the fireplace.

High flames leap up, and I press back in my chair, but Flame doesn’t move an inch as the fire builds behind him, dangerously close as it highlights his blond hair, creating a glow and warming the color of the skin on the side of his face that’s closest to the fire.

“Where did the match come from?” I ask.

“Secret.” He stands, then drops into the chair next to mine.

Flame looks pleased with himself, proud, and so I don’t press him about the hidden matches. I’m more curious about the vampire himself, than how he starts fires.

I’m mesmerized as the blaze continues to build. The blocks of peat moss ignite, and I inhale their rich scent while I consider all my questions and where to begin.

“Did you become a princess before or after you were a vampire?” he beats me to asking questions. And I suppose that offering up a little information is only fair. Especially since the answer to his question is public knowledge in most of the vampire world.

Turning away from the fire, I find him studying me intently, the firelight highlighting the rugged planes of his face and painting his pale skin gold.

“I suppose the answer is both.”

“How’s that?”

“When I was human, I was, I still am Anastasia Romanov.” I wait for his reaction.

“And your human dad was a king or some shit?”

Wonder fills me and I study his face for signs of deception. “You really don’t know who I am.”

Lifting one of his big hands from the arm of the chair, he shrugs. “Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, I’m just…surprised.” And more than a little pleased. Most vampires come with preconceived notions about who I am, and I like that Flame knows so little. I almost don’t want to tell him.

“Your dad was a king?”

“A Czar.”

“And that makes you…”

“I was born a Grand Duchess.”

“And that’s like a princess?”

“In my home country, back then, yes.”

“And how did you end up a vampire?”

I look into the fire. “My family was executed. Assassinated.” In a scene not unlike the one Flame and I were part of not long ago. “Massacred.” I stare down at my lap.

“That’s rough.”

I nod. “They killed Father first. It was horrible. I’m not certain whether they planned to kill us all, or just him—or if there even was a plan. But they wanted to see us suffer. It was very disorganized. Many shots were fired, the room filled with acrid smoke. It was hard to see.” My hands shake as the scene from over a hundred years ago, vividly invades my memories again.

“Crawling, I found my little brother in the pile of bodies. He was still alive. Through the smoke and chaos, we managed to escape into the forest.” I’ve told this story before, but it still stings the backs of my eyes. If I were human, I’d be crying.

“My brother,” I continue, “he was a hemophiliac.”

“What’s that?” Flame asks, his voice full of compassion.

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