Page 7 of Princess Broken

“The purpose of this meeting is to negotiate a settlement to bring the Mariano syndicate under the authority of the Vampiric Council. Once we are seated, I will explain the council’s planned democratic reforms to reduce the power of the monarchy.”

Again, no movement or indication that I’ve been heard.

I sigh in frustration. “Can one of you at least acknowledge that you’ve heard and understood me?” I tap my foot against the shin of the large male vampire to my right.

“You are heard.” The guard’s deep voice reverberates through the vehicle, penetrating my body. “We understand our mission, Your Highness.”

“Good.” I lean back, but then frown, wondering if the phrasing, ‘our mission,’ was purposefully vague. But I’m being paranoid. Diederik handpicked this team; I can trust them to follow my lead.

I’ve faced tougher obstacles in the past, survived more than one attempt on my life. Even though I remained in or near the palace, I was a constant target during the twenty years my father was missing, threatened by those who wanted to wrench control away from the monarchy and claim it for their own. Compared to that, this negotiation should be easy. As long as the team follows my lead, there’s no reason this meeting won’t be a success.

As we continue to drive, I silently rehearse what I’m planning to say. While it’s perhaps too much to hope that all will be resolved today, I feel certain that we can make progress.

The limo exits the freeway and we travel on increasingly dark and bumpy city streets. Garbage litters the roadways and sidewalks, and many storefronts on the roadsides are boarded up. Small groups of humans linger in shadows, leaning against graffitied surfaces.

I’m shocked that we’ve traveled to this clearly impoverished neighborhood. The problems of the human world are even more significant than I’ve been told.

Our limo pulls in front of a restaurant with a sign reading Bella Vita, the only establishment on this particular block with its lights on this late at night.

“This is the syndicate’s headquarters?” I ask.

The bodyguard closest to me nods. The driver exits the car, and then comes around to open ours. I start to rise, but Timur puts his arm across my lap. I decide not to fight him, letting the nine goons and then Timur exit ahead of me.

From the sidewalk, Timur leans back to offer his arm for me to hold, and while it seems unnecessary, I appreciate his show of chivalry and will do just about anything to make him feel like he’s helping me right now. Timur has helped me in more ways than I could even begin to describe.

I’ve heard that sometimes friends become lovers. Am I wrong? Could that still happen for us? At this moment, I hope, more than anything, that my feelings for him could yet change.

I squeeze his arm, our eyes meet, and I offer a soft smile, one I hope conveys all the gratitude in my heart.

The team of guards forms two lines traversing the sidewalk. One of the females holds open the door to the restaurant. Timur walks behind me as I stride between the two lines of muscle, wanting to enter the room with strength.

Fluorescent lighting exaggerates the restaurant’s dinginess. Seven tables fill the space, all with cracked, plastic tablecloths, once checkered red and white but now yellowed and brown and clearly dirty. Only one table is occupied. Two scantily dressed human women sit there, both look very tired or drugged, perhaps both. But the women keep their eyes focussed on their table as I pass. This can’t be the right place.

A male vampire steps through a gap in a vinyl curtain at the back of the restaurant. “Come,” he says.

I shudder, but then feel Timur’s steady hand brush my back. Reassured, I continue forward, and while I’m glad the team of guards are honoring my wish to let me enter the meeting room first, I’m second-guessing that choice.

Timur holds back one side of the vinyl curtain, and the vampire who gestured toward us—a short male wearing a greasy apron—holds the other. I enter a grimy, industrial kitchen. Blood splatters litter the white tile floor, and I cringe. But soon realize it’s dried tomato sauce, even more disgusting.

At the back of the room, the chef, if he can be called a chef, opens a trap door in the grease-coated floor. “Through here.”

“Please,” Timur whispers in my ear. “Let me descend the stairs ahead of you.”

I nod. I need to show courage, but I’m no fool.

Timur goes about halfway down the stairs, painted black. Pausing, he looks around and then rises back up to offer his hand to me.

Placing my hand in Timur’s, I’m grateful that mine isn’t trembling to reveal the trepidation I feel in my gut. Something about this feels wrong. Very wrong. And it reminds me of another time I was lured into a basement under false pretences. Told my family’s portrait would be taken, when instead we were met with guns.

I descend the stairs with Timur, the guards following closely behind us, and at the bottom we enter another world.

The space is at least triple the size of the restaurant above, and it’s not only clean it’s ornately decorated. The floors are gleaming, and impressive paintings, from many eras, decorate the walls. One work appears to be a genuine Monet, hanging alongside several renaissance paintings.

A tall, female vampire stands behind a long marble desk stretching across the far end of the large room. Behind her hangs a well-lit, massive painting that could easily fit in at the Vatican. I’d estimate there are tens, perhaps hundreds of millions of dollars worth of art in this single room. A room that appears to be a lobby.

Walking ahead of the security team, I hear their footfalls behind me, and as we draw near, the elegantly dressed vampire knocks on the wall to the side of the painting.

The wall opens—a hidden door.

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