Page 27 of Princess of Thorns and Ruin

“I read about it in the first-blood diaries. The first-blood to the old king—that’s what we call the princess’ father—died a few years ago, but she was quite the storyteller.”

“Could I read it?” I ask.

She skims my arm. “Sure. I’ll bring it to you tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have work to do.”

Quentin kisses her hand before she leaves, and I wave goodbye awkwardly.

“Cheer up, Leo. This job comes with perks.”

Job? Perks? It’s like we’re chatting about health benefits and retirement funds instead of bloodshed and slavery. I serve him an icy glare.

“Come on, man. That gorgeous girl touched your arm five times during the tour.”

I arch a brow, pondering his statement. I guess she did, but I was too busy sulking to notice.

“Be smart. She’s the queen’s handmaiden. That kind of connection could come in handy.”

My gaze falls to the wound on my wrist, and all I can think about is the princess’ dark blue eyes. She’s made to attract, her beauty meant to lure innocent victims into her cold, deadly embrace. And her smell…pomegranates and sunshine, like the island I lost forever.

I lied to her. I haven’t been sleeping at all.

All I see when I close my eyes are her red lips pressed on my pulse point, her pink tongue licking the blood off the wound. Her content gasps ring in my ears whenever I try to rest…

Before I can process another thought, my fist shatters the big vase in the middle of the sitting room. Broken pieces of crystal scatter across the marble floor, tinkling like diamonds on ice.

Quentin frowns and puts his hands in front him. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

“Wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? We’re vampire slaves, and you’re talking about making connections like we just landed a corporate job.”

He puffs his chest. “They suck our blood, so what? We get to be part of their lives, of their story. We don’t have to pay bills or bother with human problems. We get to boss around a bunch of people and fuck pretty girls.”

“What about freedom? We’re stuck with them until we die.”

A grimace deforms the pretty boy’s face. “Who’s free, really? All normals are slaves to their jobs. Fine, we don’t get many vacation days, but we don’t have to cook or empty the dishwasher or do laundry. We’re personal assistants to immortal billionaires.”

“Whatever, mate.” I huff and bury my hands in my pockets. Quentin is smitten by the lifestyle, and it sickens me.

“Please, drop that martyr routine, already. You volunteered for this. You vowed you were doing it of your own free will.”

I inch closer to him. “I had no choice. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“You made a choice Leo. Nobody forced you back on the island. Nobody dragged your ass to the choosing ceremony. It might not have been an easy one, maybe fate forced your hand, but it was a choice. Stop being a baby and own it.”

A tall, short-haired woman appears at the top of the stairs and interrupts our argument. “I’m Sabina, First-Blood to the queen, and the one responsible for your court training. Come with me, please.”

Sabina’s bossy French accent scrapes my ears, but I jump at the opportunity to shut Quentin up and fall into step with her. The vampire groupie mumbles a gruff goodbye as the more somber newcomer guides me back to the princess’ apartments through the annex.

She holds her black clipboard close to her chest. “I heard you were twenty-nine.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

The bedroom door is closed, so the princess is sleeping.

Sabina points to the back of the walk-in closet. A small nook that was previously vacant now holds a massage table, and a black woman lies upon it, naked.

What the—

---