Page 30 of The Pureblood Princess
“There it is,” Charlie whispers, shifting to pull back the curtain for everyone to see.
Riverhill rises up out of the twilight, bigger and grander than Nadia expected. It looms in the distance, draped in shadow.
The dirt shifts to cobblestone, and the horses’ hooves clack along, the sound softened by the carriage. Towering trees line the long path to the mansion, briefly obscuring Nadia’s view. She sits back in her seat, takes a deep breath, and counts slowly back from ten. It’s a trick her mother taught her when she debuted and was first introduced to the queen, and it has served her many times since.
As her counting draws to an end, she opens her eyes and takes a breath.
I can do this. I am Nadia Magdalena, only daughter of Kirill and Vera Magdalena. I will make them proud.
Torches line the courtyard, and the flickering flames cast shadows that twist and writhe in a crackling dance. Many other carriages have already arrived, and people linger in the expansive front garden and upon the stairs leading to the mansion’s double doors.
“You’re going to be fine,” Contessa whispers before leaning forward and giving Nadia’s hand a light squeeze.
The carriage rolls to a stop in front of the mansion, and two footmen approach promptly. They swing open the doors, and distant music trickles into the carriage on the crisp autumn air.
Charlie and Theodore climb out of the carriage first, then Contessa, and finally Nadia. She takes the footman’s offered hand and steps carefully down, the train of her crimson gownsettling around her feet as she tips her head back to take in the sight.
Nestled amidst lush gardens and towering trees, Riverhill rises up in the deepening night, its towering spires reaching toward the purple-black sky. Stained glass windows glow with candlelight from within, casting colors out into the dark, and gargoyles loom above, silently watching over all unfolding in the gardens and courtyard below.
“Miss Magdalena?”
Nadia tears her eyes away from the spires and finds Theodore reaching for her, his hand hovering there in midair, the rest of the Rosettis already heading for the front steps behind him. Her nerves try to rise up again, but she swallows them down, finding solace in Theodore’s gentle touch as she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“It’s beautiful,” she says to him as they approach the stairs.
“Not nearly so beautiful as you.”
She glances over to find him staring down at her, the torchlight reflected in his eyes. Against the dark plum sky, with his lustrous chocolate curls and chiseled jaw, he looks too flawless to even be real. Nadia almost reaches out to touch his clean-shaven cheek, just to assure herself he is indeed here beside her and not some figment of her imagination.
“You flatter me, Lord Rosetti,” she finally brings herself to say, averting her eyes from his smoldering gaze.
“Only so much as you deserve.” His comment is accompanied by a smile, and then he leads her up the stairs and past the people lingering outside.
They’re dressed elegantly, the men in formal evening wear and the women in exquisite gowns—with much more skin showing than would ever be deemed appropriate at a ball in Everborough.
Their eyes follow Nadia as she passes, and she swears she can feel their curious gazes as two more footmen open the towering double doors and officially welcome them to Riverhill.
They step through the doors, and Nadia draws a small breath. Back in Everborough, the chandeliers would be blazing bright, and servants would be flittering around with delectable treats and sparkling glasses of champagne. But this foyer is dark, lit by a scant number of candles, and their tantalizing dance sends goose bumps skittering over Nadia’s exposed arms. The air smells of roses and...
Is that blood?she asks Theodore, looking around for its source. But the foyer is quiet and vacuous—unsettlingly so.
Instead of answering, Theodore tightens his arm and pulls Nadia marginally closer.
The young Rosettis go quiet, their boisterous laughter and voices hushed by the intimidating space. Together, the ten of them walk toward the imposing doors at the far end of the foyer. Staircases frame it elegantly, curving up to the second floor, but no one can be seen or heard moving about. It’s as if the occupants have vanished without a trace, leaving their candles still burning.
As they approach the dark wood doors, they crack open, revealing a world beyond Nadia’s wildest dreams.
The footmen, dressed all in black, hold the doors open wide, then close them once everyone has stepped through.
Unlike the foyer, the ballroom is awash with life and movement and sound. Thousands of red and black roses adorn vases and tables and drip from the chandeliers, filling the room with their delicate aroma. Couples sweep across the gleaming dance floor, soft candlelight sending the women’s dresses glittering, and partygoers linger around the edges of the enormous space, holding glasses of deep red wine or—
Nadia gasps when one woman grabs her partner’s chin and forces his head back before sinking her fangs into his neck. The man winces, and then his expression melts into one of ecstasy, and he pulls the woman closer, his hands roaming her body freely as they stumble off the dance floor and into a darkened corner.
No one seems the least bit startled, and as Nadia looks around, she finds more of the same. Seeing the vampires openly feeding on one another and on uniformed servants who must be half bloods, it’s no surprise that the vestibule smelled of blood. It hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the scent of roses to create an aroma wholly unique and intoxicating.
“The children may come with me,” a maid says, prompting the Rosettis to turn and face her. She wears a mask over her eyes, and her hair is slicked back from her face in a low sleek chignon. Her neck is marred and bloody, and Nadia wonders how many times she’s been fed from this night.
“Off with you, then,” Lord Rosetti says to his four youngest children. “Don’t have too much fun without us.” He ruffles Luca’s hair as he hurries past, and then Lady Rosetti presses a kiss to her youngest son’s head.
