Page 16 of The Ballad of the Vampire Prince

The ball of nerves coiling in my stomach tightens further.

Lord Wesley closes his eyes and runs a hand over his right temple in frustration. “I’ve set a curfew and doubled the watch during nighttime. We’ll catch the real killer soon.”

“If there is no further motion, then let us end the session early,” Lady Eilidh concludes, eager to return to her ailing father.

Duvall is the first to depart the chamber, glancing at me from the corners of his eyes before he goes. I inhale deeply to subdue the fear constricting my heart. The emissaries and Aldarelfs soon follow.

I catch Lord Wesley just before he leaves. “I need to speak to you about the killings.”

“You have no reason to feel unsafe, my queen. The fortress walls are guarded at all times,” the Lord says to assuage my fears.

“Please tell me if there is anything I can do to help,” I say sincerely and I mean it. I’ll do anything to help him arrest or capture the monster terrorizing his city.

I catch the flash of emotion in his copper eyes over my offer. “Leave the matter to me, my queen. It is my city, my land, my responsibility.”

I know his word is meant to ease my worry, but still guilt tugs in my chest.

Because I’m the one who brought a vampire into his home.

Chapter 2 Svenn

The world remains a cesspit from where I left it.

It is still rotten to the core even as I cross the veil into this realm. If I am a blissful, carefree soul like Han, I might enjoy this new place. If I am an idealistic bastard like Vlad, I may wish to reform it. I find myself most similar to Bas, seeking knowledge, except I lack his optimism or the will to contribute to a better world.

Why bother when I wish to have no part in it?

By the end of the first century, life had gone stale and devoid of warmth. I want an end, an eternal rest from my damnation. The gods cast their dice and played me for a fool when they tossed me into this world once again.

Two elven guards appraise me as I saunter towards the rooftop of the keep. Dread enters their faces, their hands dropping to the pommel of their swords instinctively.

They are wise to be afraid.

I ignore them the way I ignored the group of sentries who simply ran the other way earlier.

I lean against the stone balustrade lining the flat roof. The spot offers a perfect view of the garden courtyard below. Nothing in this brilliant new place manages to grasp my interest, exceptfor the person behind the wooden double door. My gaze is trained on the barricade, anticipating her arrival.

Every monster in me is clawing to the surface for a glimpse of the girl.

Rhianelle is a creature of sunlight, spring, and warmth. Something like us will only drag her to our hell and never return.One of them snarls at the others to behave.

They all calm down at the sudden admonishment. Their genuine adoration for her catches me off guard.

These beasts roaming in my head are the creatures that were sacrificed to make the Rhunhraefn. They reside within the Strigons as spirits. It took us years to control these dangerous beings and harness their power. Some never relinquish their abilities for us to use.

I recall a time when Lilith ordered Ruth to burn all the children in town. My brother failed to abide by her wish because one of the Aos Sí rebelled. The pixie spirit kept on screeching in his ears until he stopped. It nearly drove Ruth insane.

It surprises me the way all of them are attracted to the girl. The door creaks open and the hammering in my chest grows louder. The moment Rhianelle walks out, I drink in the sight of her like a starved beast. Her posture is regal, and her stride is hypnotic as she moves across the marbled courtyard. She looks so sweet. So goddamn edible. It stirs something deep and primal within me.

I should stay away from her. A wretched thing like me would only eclipse her light. Yet, I can’t.

I lied to her this morning.

The bond’s wicked pull has only gotten worse for me. This constant desire to be near her, to have her in my arms is unbearable. It’s absurd. I can sense myself giving in to the urge, little by little.

I keep watching her silently.

There’s something inexplicably sad in the way she carries herself to walk so prim and proper. She’s good at putting up a show. But maintaining this perfect version must be painful.

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