Page 3 of Princess of Thorns and Ruin

Chandeliers twinkle above my head, and a thick flower garland hangs from the buffet table. The glorious menu includes salmon mousse, oysters, and free-flowing champagne, but I’m not hungry.

“It’s so…loud,” I say.

Genevieve chuckles. “You asked for a big sample. Twenty families sent a candidate.”

I asked for a big sample because I have no idea who to choose. Choosing a first-blood is a huge decision, the most important one I’ve had to make since I’ve been alive. As a princess, I don’t get to make my own decisions often. I’ve been raised according to the standards of the night court and was brought to Hadria to await my Nightfall. I was a good student and perfected my knowledge of politics, geography, and etiquette. In Hadria, the villagers mostly veered out of my path. I’ve met a few locals, cut the ribbon when they inaugurated the new library, and appeared at a few banquets, but I’ve never really talked with normals. These humans live and breathe in a different world from us. They aren’t serving the realm—or the dark Gods.

They know of vampires because they were born on the island, but most of them went to school on the continent, and the supernatural world is as intangible to them as the twenty-first century is to me.

Their discrete, half-terrified glances create trails of goosebumps that creep along my arms. Under their scrutiny, I’m an object of fascination more than a person. Very few candidates meet my gaze.

“I thought they’d be like the humans in the village, not so…glamorous and fidgety.”

“They are nervous, princess. They have been awaiting this moment for years, hoping to be chosen. For some of them, it’s their last chance to serve our family. You are the last royal transitioning until your cousin Janelle comes of age, and the little bloodling is only ten.”

“Well, it’s awkward.” Since I can’t keep lurking on the outskirts of my own party, I gulp down the rest of my mimosa, hand the empty flute to Genevieve, and roll my shoulders back. “Here goes.”

Big, fashionable pockets flap on each side of my boat-neck cocktail dress as I walk. I sink my hands into them and stroll to the middle of the reception hall. The soft satin stops right above my knees and highlights what is sure to be my last tan.

A tall girl about my age stumbles at my approach, her blue eyes glued to my thick fishtail braid. “Wow. I mean—sorry. Wow. You’re even more beautiful than they’ve said.”

Heat spreads in my chest, and I find enough courage to free my hands from my pockets. “What’s your name?”

“Leta.”

Leta’s eyes are level with mine, but her athletic body thickens her silhouette. Her red dress exposes her belly button and leaves one side of her stomach and her waist bare. A round metal ring holds the fabric in place at her hip, before it falls all the way to the floor. It’s not my style, but it’s gorgeous.

A fresh, flowery scent seeps into my nose as I walk closer. “How old are you, Leta?” The name rolls off my tongue naturally, which I take as a good sign.

“Eighteen.”

“Young. That’s good.” She could serve me for many years, and her beauty will last for decades. “Why do you want to pledge your life to me?”

She blushes and opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

The man standing next to her extends his hand in a business-like fashion. “Darin Ellis, your highness.”

I shake it with a smirk. Shaking hands? What is this, a job interview? “Ellis. Right. You’re related to Gregor Ellis, my brother’s first-blood.”

The man beams. A thick beard covers the bottom half of his face. “He’s my great uncle, princess.”

Bottom lip tucked between my teeth, I appraise him. “You look old.”

He smiles, unfazed by the jab. “I’m 27.”

“That’s a bit old.”

“Hey, I’m not the oldest.” Darin nods to the other side of the room.

The oldest man in attendance—according to Darrin—has wild, dirty blond hair, the sides buzzed shorter than the top. His knees are slightly bent, and his broad shoulders hunch like he’s trying to downplay his height and avoid attention.

I offer a polite nod to Darin and Leta. “Excuse me, I need to confer with my advisor.”

Wide-eyed, they exchange a glance, and a hint of guilt colors my cheeks.

I hope they don’t think that I’ve made up my mind already.

I find Genevieve in the crowd. The old human woman is munching on a fine cheese platter a few feet to my left, and I glide over to her.

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