Page 65 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

To her crashing heart’s relief, they trundled to a halt at the foot of the front steps to the Nightingale Manor before her father could summon the venom for a reply. Not for the first time, Ariadne’s voice echoed out from her memories: You are one of the bravest people I know.

If this had been what she referred to, Emillie had to agree. What she had just said was akin to a threat. No, she had not claimed to want to kill her father herself, but if anyone else had heard those words…

Treason.

Sul opened the door before her father could utter his disdain, and Emillie scrambled from the close confines as fast as she could. Being Alek’s fiancée had its perks…including skipping past the long line required of the other guests in their carriages. Had she been forced to endure his presence any longer, she was not certain she would have made it to the ball unscathed.

“Miss Harlow,” Sul said and gestured up the steps, “I believe Lord Governor Nightingale is just inside greeting his guests.”

Emillie gave him a tight smile. “Many thanks.”

Then she picked up her skirts and ascended the steps without looking back at her father. If anyone saw, they might believe her to be merely in a hurry to see her fiancé. No one would even dain to think she ran from her father. The Princeps, after all, could do no wrong in the eyes of Society. He was untouchable. Unable to make mistakes so severe that his own daughter would not look at him.

The two large front doors to the manor stood open, letting in the cool summer night breeze and letting out the warm light of the house beyond. Inside, the broad midnight blue foyer rose up to a domed ceiling from which hung a golden chandelier with star-like fixtures. Dark wood floors in a herringbone pattern stretched out from the entrance and seemed to point toward the Lord Governor at the far end of the room near the sweeping staircase that led to the second floor.

At the sight of her, Alek cut his conversation with another lord short, grasped the Caersan’s forearm, and turned to her. His black brows slammed down low over his inky eyes as he approached, sensing her apprehension.

“Miss Harlow?” He took her extended hand and kissed her knuckles but did not release his hold after her quick curtsy. If anything, he held on a little tighter as he dropped his voice and asked, “Is everything alright?”

Emillie forced a smile onto her face. “Of course.”

By the way he cocked his head, then glared over her toward the entrance, she knew he did not believe her. She did not dare to look back to where her father stood—did not dare to move or even breathe as she was certain he made his approach from behind to greet their generous host and his future son-in-law.

“Lord Nightingale.”

Emillie’s skin crawled at how light and untroubled his tone was. Only then did Alek drop her hand to grasp her father’s arm. As he did so, however, he held out his free arm to her. A silent way to extend his support to her even as he was forced to make niceties with the most powerful vampire in Valenul. She accepted it and turned to face her father, the air around her turning thin.

“My Lord Princeps,” Alek said, his tone as oily as the grin that spread across his face. “I am honored by your presence in my home.”

She fixed her gaze on a place just over her father’s shoulder, praying to Keon he did not try to speak with her for the duration of the ball. She did not trust herself to remain calm and play their game in public. Though she would do her part in protecting Ariadne by saying what he wished of her, such courtesy did not extend to their interactions.

“I am pleased you were so willing to host,” her father said, his hawk-like gaze slipping to her, “even though you have already secured yourself a bride.”

Alek chuckled. “One must not be selfish and provide the opportunity for others to be so fortunate. Perhaps we will have more weddings as the Season comes to a close.”

“I certainly hope so.” Her father snapped his eyes back to Alek. “Enjoy your evening.”

“You as well,” Alek said and inclined his head in a departing acknowledgment.

It was not until her father moved away that Emillie finally inhaled a long, deep breath, and her shoulders dropped from her ears. How was she supposed to live with him for another fortnight before the freedom provided by her wedding? She could hardly make it through a carriage ride without getting into an argument.

Once her father left them, Alek steered Emillie away from the foyer, claiming he did not need to be greeting his guests and that it would suffice for him to do so throughout the night. She was thankful for his insistence, for she did not trust herself in the face of some of the vampires who would be present. If Lord Gard tried to speak with her, she had a feeling it would end very similarly to her conversation with her own father.

I hope he kills you.

Gods…had she really said those words? Her face heated at the thought. In truth, she did not want her father dead. Now that he was not cornering her in the carriage, she could think clearer. She understood what he wanted from her—from Ariadne—but that did not make it any better. In fact, it may have made it worse.

Claiming to want to chain her sister to the General was repulsive in so many ways, Emillie was appalled he had even suggested it. Whether he meant figuratively or literally, it did not matter. If by chain he had meant the very final act of marrying her to that loathsome man, she could not see her sister abiding by it. If he had meant the act of using physical chains to keep her from running away, then he had no sense of morals left. Not when he knew full well the suffering she had endured last year.

The ballroom opened up before them, a large cream-colored room with a high ceiling not unlike that of the foyer. It domed above them in a long rectangle with three chandeliers hanging along the length. Windows lined the long wall, and two sets of doors opened to a tiered lawn overlooking a pond. Lanterns lined the paths and silhouetted the figures of Caersans milling across the grass in pairs and groups.

“What happened?” Alek asked quietly as he led her to the dance floor for the first waltz of the night. He fixed her with a rare, serious look. “Tell me the truth.”

Emillie scoffed, sorting through her thoughts. “He spoke of her.”

To her unending relief, Alek appeared to understand what she meant without needing to say it. Speaking her sister’s name aloud right now would only invite too many ears to listen in on what they said as they moved through the steps of the dance. He kept his voice low and said, “She is still gone, then.”

She nodded. “And I hope it stays that way.”

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