Page 16 of The Hawk and the Nightingale

The next night, Marek didn’t hold court as he usually did. Instead, he sent his advisors away and took Amalie to bed.

“Why so attentive?” she asked, as they lounged together among the cushions. “What have I done to earn such affections?”

He kissed the soft spot behind her ear. “Am I too affectionate?”

“Never.”

“You’ve really settled into this life,” Marek continued. “You have become an asset to my court. In time, I might make you my true queen.”

“My lord,” Amalie said, bowing her head. “Truly, nothing would please me more.”

“Nothing at all?” Marek asked, as his hands roamed across her body.

“Well, that always pleases me.”

Marek laughed, a low rumble in his chest that affected Amalie more than she cared to admit. “Yes, you will be a good queen.”

“But, what of your mother?” she asked; all the surrounding clans knew that Marek’s mother, Lady Varushka, was the true leader of the family. “Would our lady approve of me, born a mere peasant, being granted such a noble title?”

“My mother will not question me. Don’t mention her again while we’re in bed. Makes my cock go soft.”

Marek rolled Amalie underneath him, and she murmured, “As you wish, my lord.”

“Husband,” he said between thrusts. “Call me husband.”

The next evening, Amalie smiled as she readied herself for court. If she became Marek’s queen she could influence him, perhaps enough to change his ways. He’d even allayed her concerns about Varushka holding Amalie’s low born status against her. If Amalie created a better life for both the vampire and human members of the clan, she and Iveta wouldn’t need to escape. Amalie could live as she’d always dreamed, and, in time, she could return Iveta to her family. Everyone could finally live the sort of life they wanted.

There was also the fact that Amalie was enjoying this newer, more loving version of Marek. When she’d given herself to him all those years ago, it had been a desperate attempt to leave her village. Now she wondered if Marek’s side was where she’d always belonged.

When Amalie entered the hall that evening, the usually boisterous crowd was tense, and focused on something happening near Marek’s throne. Amalie made her way through the press of bodies, and gasped.

Iveta was chained to the whipping post.

“What’s happening?” Amalie blurted out.

“Our lord has chosen another girl to change,” one of the soldiers replied. “I like this one. Good tits.”

Amalie glared at him, then she forced her way through the crown and found Marek. “Why are you doing this to Iveta?” she demanded.

“If you’re to be my primary wife, and my queen, you will need a servant who’s like us,” he replied. “I’m changing her so you may keep her with you always.”

“No, no, no,” Amalie said. “Iveta doesn’t want to be changed. Let her remain human, and I will find another servant.”

“I’ve made my choice, Amalie,” Marek said, then he stepped onto the platform. Before Amalie’s eyes he grabbed the back of Iveta’s dress and ripped it apart, leaving her naked body on display. As the crowd called out and jeered Marek bit her neck so violently blood gushed down her side, and soaked the ground beneath the platform. When Iveta was near death he slashed his wrist with his fangs and pressed it to her mouth, forcing her to drink.

Forcing her to become something she never wanted to be.

Varushka approached Amalie, and watched as Marek’s blood dragged Iveta’s spirit back to this side of the veil. “Next, he’ll take her to his chamber and fuck her back to life, just like he did to you,” Varushka said.

Amalie nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I remember.”

She patted Amalie’s hand. “I know Iveta is special to you. That’s why I ordered Marek to change her.”

“Y-You did?” Amalie faced Varushka. “But why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I am the queen, and I can have whomever I want changed,” Varushka snapped. “I know you have designs of becoming Marek’s primary wife. His consort, if you will.” Varushka touched the blood red garnet that rested in the hollow of her throat. “Make no mistake, little one, I rule the clan. No matter how pretty your voice is, or how many ways you let my son defile you, I will always be his queen. You are nothing.”

Amalie gasped, but held her tongue. She knew better than to argue with Varushka in the hall where dozens of soldiers stood ready to defend her. They would cut off Amalie’s head first, and ask questions later, if at all. No, she needed to be careful, and patient.

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