Page 87 of A Vow of Shadow and Blood
“Hi,” the voice comes from a girl with red hair who looks to be around my age. Her green eyes beam as she holds out her hand to me. “I’m Ember,” she says.
I finally stop staring and shake her hand. “Sorry. Adina.”
Her smile widens. “So, you’re the prince’s new pureblood. You must have done something right to gain that position. I know at least twenty girls who want it.”
They can have it, I want to tell her, but I opt for a more polite response.
“Oh, really?”
“Of course. It’s like one of the highest honors, not to mention the prince always chooses his personal pureblood to go to the human settlement. It’s like a thank you for your service type thing.”
She laughs at her own joke, but stops when she realizes that I don’t join her.
“Are you ok?” she asks, peering at me through thick lashes.
“I’m fine. I just…sorry…” I glance around the room again, taking in the joyful atmosphere. “I just didn’t expect it to be like this.”
“What were you expecting?”
I shrug. “Chains and cells.”
A loud laugh spills from her mouth until she sees the serious expression on my face.
“Oh, you’re being serious, aren’t you?” I nod. “Things are pretty good around here. The prince treats us well.”
I snort at that. “That’s surprising.”
She only smiles at my words.
“Come, let’s get something to eat.”
She wraps her arm through mine, pulling me in the direction of the counter. As soon as we get there, my nose flares with the mix of aromas in the air. My mouth starts to water, and my stomach grumbles loudly. This only seems to amuse Ember.
“What do you like?” she asks, gesturing toward all the food on the large wooden table.
I shrug. “Anything.”
Her brow crinkles in confusion. “You must have a favorite meat at least? Chicken, turkey, beef…?”
“I don’t know. At the bloodhouse, we just ate what we were given.”
Her face drops just a little.
“Oh.” She grabs two plates from the middle. “In that case, let’s try them all.”
She makes quick work of piling the two plates with a mixture of meat, vegetables, potatoes, bread, and gravy before shoving one into my hands. She guides me to an empty table and then plops down in the seat beside me.
She hums in pleasure as she shovels a helping of chicken into her mouth. “You’ve got to try it, it’s so good,” she says.
Slowly, I lift a forkful of chicken to my lips, savoring the exquisite flavor as it melts on my tongue.
“It’s good, right?” I smile in agreement. “So, what was it like…at the bloodhouse, I mean?”
The thought of that place dims my mood, and I find that after a few mouthfuls of food, I struggle to eat more. “Nothing like this.”
She seems to sense that I don’t want to speak about this and proceeds to change the subject.
“I noticed that you don—”
