House of Kings(4)

“Thank you,” I say numbly.

She walks out the door, leaving me alone once again.





I SHOWER. THE FISHERMAN’S BLOOD runs down my naked body as the hot water cascades over me. It pools at my feet, runs down the drain. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the glass for a very long time.

I have to numb myself. That is the only way I will survive.

Eventually, I climb out of the shower. I dry my hair. I pin it up into an elegant knot at the back of my head. I put on Lillian’s newest creation.

I pause at the door to my bedroom for a long time before going out.

I felt alone before. My parents are dead. I have no friends outside of this House, except maybe Daphne. This town hates and distrusts me.

But it was nothing compared to the way I feel now.

Ian is gone. This time, I feel it is for good. We’re done. Finished. Our paths will never cross again. There’s no glimmer of hope. He left me in my most desperate, vulnerable hour.

Let him go.

I’ve told myself that so many times over the past few weeks.

Let go.

I raise my chin.

I put my hand on the door.

I take a deep breath.

And I walk out as Alivia Conrath.

The house is of course beautiful. Splashes of gold have been thrown everywhere in decoration. Red accents make everything royal and bloody. As I descend the stairs, there are golden garlands wrapped around the railing, mixed with some kind of red berry. Beautiful draperies crisscross the ceiling.

And waiting down at the bottom of the stairs is everyone.

My House. The Court.

The King.

He wears a golden crown. He’s dressed in black, a tuxedo with a red shirt. He’s absolutely stunning.

The look on his face as I descend is hopeful. Prideful. Lustful. A smile will not be denied his lips as he watches me take one step after another. Closer and closer I come, and my heart flutters quickly.

I told Lillian I wished I were the Queen. And here, looking into his eyes, for a moment, I forget I am anything but her.

“You are breathtaking, my dear Alivia,” Cyrus says as I reach the landing. He takes my hand in his and bows deeply. Reverently, he kisses it.

When he stands, his eyes go to the many people who surround us. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present Alivia Ryan Conrath, the rightful leader of the House of Silent Bend.”

He takes the Raven crown X extends to him and, holding my eyes the entire time, he lowers it onto my head.

It’s the first time I’ve worn the crown, and it’s the first time that it’s felt absolutely and one hundred percent my birthright.

“The House of Conrath is an old and complicated one,” Cyrus says as he takes my hand once more and stands at my side. “I was pleased to call Elijah my friend and though I did not know Henry well, he was a royal and of our blood. This region has floundered for a very long time. You all have wandered, lost and ungoverned. Without a family. And now, with Alivia’s Resurrection, this House has been restored to glory.”

The King raises our hands high in the air and everyone breaks out into clapping and cheers.

“Tonight we celebrate,” Cyrus calls over the cacophony. “Be merry and drink, for we live forever!”

I did not notice the orchestra until they begin playing. The crowd around us naturally migrates toward the ballroom. Like the rest of the house, the massive space is decorated in golds and reds.

But standing along the walls, I see two dozen people. And with just one deep breath, I know they are human. The burn ignites in my throat tenfold. It leaps into my chest, to my toes, to my fingertips. The numbing toxin drips from my lengthened teeth.

My fangs sink into a soft neck, and I’m overcome once again with that blissful sensation—the best thing in the world.

I pull. Suck.

Three times.

Four.

Five.

“Pace yourself, my queen.”

Someone pulls me, none too gently away from what I crave more than anything I have ever wanted. An angry hiss rips from my throat, and I turn to swing at whomever it was that interrupted my meal.

But I freeze when it’s Markov. His eyes glow brilliantly red, but they stare me down, begging me to remember who I am.

Horror once again fills my face, and I turn back to my victim.

It’s an older woman, probably in her sixties. She wears a beautiful green dress, her hair styled to reflect her age. She stands there with a hand covering her neck, blood trickling down from the puncture wounds. Red splashes down over her dress.

It’s immensely disturbing that she looks back at me with a kind smile. She seems…happy about what I’ve just done.

“I…” I stumble away from her. I crash into Markov and he catches me with understanding arms. “I can’t. I’m… How do I control it? I don’t want to hurt anyone!”