Page 49 of The Pureblood Princess
With no lady’s maid to help her dress, she would’ve been unable to lace up a corset even if it had been provided, and she has no way to style her tangled hair. Thankfully, there’s no mirror in the room, so she can’t see her reflection to be horrified by it.
Moving to the door, Nadia raises a hand to knock, but it swings open before she has a chance.
Marek stands in the hall, silhouetted by the candles flickering in sconces along the wall behind him. He holds up a pair of slippers in one hand and a strip of silk in the other.
Nadia takes the slippers and eases them onto her feet, then looks hesitantly at the silk.
“Just a precaution,” Marek says, then gestures for her to turn around.
She does so, holding her breath so as not to become swept up in his scent as he draws near and ties the soft fabric over her eyes.
“There. Now we may go.”
She starts when his hand touches hers, but then he guides it to his arm, and she settles when he begins to walk. With her eyes covered, she can see nothing, and though she strains to hear something of her surroundings, her thirst and fatigue make it difficult to discern one sound from another.
“What should I expect of this dinner?” Nadia asks.
Marek has shown her more kindness than the other Kazamirs, and perhaps he’ll be more forthcoming with information.
However, he remains quiet, and the tension she can feel emanating from his body does not bode well.
“You’re to dine with my grandmother,” he says, and a jolt goes through Nadia’s body.
She’s to have dinner with Dorota Kazamir? Why?
Then it hits her, and she can’t believe she didn’t see it before.
“This has to do with the brotherhood.” Her words ring with conviction, and Marek neither agrees nor disagrees.
“Watch your step,” he says, and Nadia pauses to lift her gown before ascending a staircase, one arm still looped through Marek’s.
At the top, a door opens, and then they step into fresher air than she’s breathed since awakening in the tiny room that has become her prison. It’s not as musty here, but there’s still a heavy hint of dust, as if surfaces haven’t been cleaned in many months.
“Are you in on this?” she whispers, keeping her voice down now as they move through yet another doorway.
Again, Marek doesn’t respond, and a prick of irritation goes through Nadia at his lack of answers.
“You’re the one I’m supposed to marry, yet you have nothing to say for yourself.”
“Keep your voice down,” he snaps, sounding more irritable now than he was when she tried to attack him. “We’re almost there.”
She’s lost track of the number of doorways they’ve passed through and the lefts and rights they’ve taken. Her slippered feet brush over what feels like a tile floor, and then there’s the sound of two doors swishing open, and a new scent fills the air:blood.
And it’s not Marek’s.
Nadia’s throat burns in response, and she swallows hard against it.
“We’re here,” Marek says, slowly bringing them to a stop. His fingers work at the knot holding the fabric to her eyes, and then it falls away, revealing a dining room awash with warm golden light. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Before Nadia can say anything, Marek is gone from behind her, and two footmen promptly close the dining room doors behind him.
“Miss Magdalena, come. Join me.”
The voice sends a jolt down Nadia’s spine. Once her eyes finish adjusting to the light in the room, she sees the figure sitting at the head of the long table, and her stomach turns.
Dorota Kazamir sits in a high-backed chair, a dazed boy perched upon her lap. He couldn’t be any older than fourteen, and his skin is still smooth with youth. Bite marks mar his neck, but he seems not to even notice them. The venom in his system must surely be doing what it’s intended to.
“Take a seat, Miss Magdalena,” Sister Kazamir says, her voice harder this time. She gestures to the seat to her right, and Nadia moves slowly forward.
