Page 147 of The Scarlet Veil

“Ask him how he intended to propose. You can tell a lot about a man by how he chooses to propose.” Drifting away from us, Guinevere lifts her pert nose in the air, and I realize Beau dropped my elbow in his haste to retrieve the ring. If possible, I grin even wider in realization. He planned to propose to Coco on herbirthday, and that—that must be why he’s been acting so churlish tonight. He wanted to make the evening special. He wanted to make it theirs. The whole thing is so ridiculously romantic that I might cry all over again, except I wouldn’t be pretending this time. Because—

The warmth in my chest cools in an icy blast of wind.

Because he didn’t get to do it. Despite his grand plans, he missed her birthday; because ofme, he missed his chance.

“Oh.” The word leaves me in a painful breath, and I clutch my elbows, shivering again in the cold. Though the rational part of my mind knows this isn’t my fault—I didn’t ask the Necromancer to target me—I still feel somehow responsible. “I’m so sorry, Beau.”

He waves a hand without looking at me. “Don’t be. Really, you—you probably saved me a great embarrassment. Coco has never been the sentimental type.”

“She would’ve said yes,” I say firmly. “Shewillsay yes.”

Though he shrugs, he says nothing else, and if the Necromancerissomewhere listening, I hope he feels like complete and utterrefusefor wreaking such havoc on our lives.

And... well... ending several others.

Guinevere heaves a dramatic sigh in the silence. “A paramour ofmineonce proposed in the putrid alley behind a tavern, right there in the middle of his sick.”

“That,” Mila says, “is disgusting.”

“Yes. Quite.” Guinevere cuts Beau an arch look from the corner of her eye. “I left him for his brother the next morning.”

Though Beau can no longer see or hear them, he seems to realize the conversation has carried on without him—andabouthim. Dragging a weary hand through his hair, he speaks in a low murmur. “Seriously, Célie, I think it’s time to go back inside. If the Necromancer was going to attack, he would’ve done it by now, and—”

The bells on his hat jingle again.

Brows furrowing, I glance between Mila and Guin, but neither of them floats anywhere near the tree. The air, too, has fallen unnaturally still and silent.Odd.“Did either of you—?” I start to ask, but Mila shakes her head.

“It must’ve been the wind,” she whispers, but the hair on my neck lifts regardless. Mila is a ghost. She has no reason to whisper, no reason to fear. No one can even hear her except for me and Guinevere, who frowns and peers below the balcony to investigate.

Her eyes fly wide. Whirling back to face me, she says, “Célie,run—”

But it’s too late. Long fingers appear on the balustrade, and before Beau and I can do anything but stumble backward—clutching each other—a pale figure slides over the parapet and onto the balcony with lethal grace. My mouth falls open, andshock jolts through my body like an injection of hemlock, rooting me to the spot. Because it isn’t the Necromancer who smiles at me now, her dove-gray gown flecked with bits of starlight.

It’s Priscille.

Chapter Forty-Eight

The King and His Court

“Bonjour, humaine,” she says, smoothing her gossamer bodice.

Before Beau and I can turn, canrun, Juliet seizes me from behind, while another, unfamiliar vampire wrenches Beau’s arms behind his back, drags his nose down the column of Beau’s neck. Though Beau thrashes against him, his strength is nothing to that of a vampire, and this one presses his teeth against Beau’s jugular until the king of Belterra stills, closing his eyes and holding his breath.

“Leave him alone—” Snarling, I strain toward them, but Juliet wraps a cold hand around my own throat.

“I wouldn’t worry about your friend,” she murmurs in my ear. “Not when your blood tastes sweetest.”

Instinctively, I launch myself back through the veil before she notices Mila or Guinevere. Judging from the cold, crystalline glint in Priscille’s eyes, these vampires are out for blood—myblood. Yannick’s words from the aviary flit through me like tiny knives:I will not be quick.If either Juliet or Priscille realize I can see the dead, can communicate with them, who knows what else they’ll do?

“You don’t have to hurt us.” Juliet’s hand nearly crushes my throat as I swallow, searching for any sign of Michal. He should be here by now. My knuckles clench white around her arm, but nomatter how violently I claw at her, my nails cannot pierce her skin. Abruptly, my lungs cannot draw breath. Because if Michalcouldreach me, he would, yet he isn’t here.He isn’t here.“There is still time to change your minds. You can leave, hide, never come back to this place, and pray Michal never finds you.”

Priscille bares her teeth in a smile—fangs sharp, overlong—and three more vampires climb up the balcony behind her. “How fortunate that even His Majesty could not stop the enchantment around Requiem from lifting tonight,” she says, mocking Michal’s words with a harsh laugh. Casting a wicked, sidelong look at the vampire beside her, who shares her wild black curls, her full figure, her snarl. A brother, perhaps, or a cousin. “He could not stop our kin from joining us either, and how patiently they’ve waited for this moment.”

I struggle uselessly against Juliet’s hold, unable to reach the silver knife in my boot. I didn’t prepare for this. Foolishly,stupidly, I didn’t prepare—because it was supposed to be the Necromancer who attacked tonight, not a faction of mutinous vampires. Though I try to thrust backward, to force the silver of my gown against her chest, she holds me away from her with viselike strength. “Please,” I whisper. “Michal may forgive your kin for coming to Requiem, but he won’t forgiveyouif harm comes to us. Please,please, just let us go.”

“Michal, she calls him,” snarls Juliet, tightening her hand until the edges of my vision blur. Until I choke and gasp for breath. “He allows the human to say his name—to bring her filthy companions to our isle, ourhome—and he honors them above all others. One even wears the coat of a huntsman.” When my shoulder manages to brush her arm, she snarls and tears the capelet in half, hurling the priceless garment aside. Diamonds scatter in every direction.“A king with divided loyalties is no king at all.”

The other vampires hiss their agreement.

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