"Master Frederick, it is time."

Frederick eyed himself in the mirror. "Is it really necessary for me to wear my family's crown tonight?"

"The queen insisted," Viscon said. "Now, please do not take this as an insult, but you look positively Carnelian."

Indeed. The blue brocade suit fit him perfectly. A plain black tunic beneath it all. Though it was more extravagant than what he ever wore at Thescan yet somehow quite informal, he found that he did not mind it, caught in the way the light traveled over the fabric and illuminated the subtle silver threading.

He'd never owned anything so finely made, detail in every stitch capturing the way the moon sheened off the ocean. And he imagined his wife in that crammed room, lovingly overseeing every detail of this garment. After he begrudgingly put on the crown, he found it suited the whole thing rather well, and someone whistled behind him.

"If you weren't Arabella's husband, I would have pounced all over you," Gheorge said. His red hair had been tied back, and he'd somehow managed to make a black evening jacket with no shirt look formal and refined.

Frederick raised both brows. "I am Arabella's husband, and it doesn't stop you from attempting to pounce on me every chance you get."

"Vicious flirt," Viscon said. "Have you no shame, man?"

Gheorge's mouth split into a slow grin. "Speaking of shameless, did you ever go back to Thescan to speak to that soldier, Viscon?"

"Soldier? What soldier?" Frederick asked.

"That's quite enough," Viscon said, smoothing the ruffles of his shirt in one prim sweep. Viscon said that there would be every fashion from every period in every style worn at this ball tonight, assuring it would all be quite eclectic and morbid.

"But I'm curious now," Frederick said. "What solider, Viscon?"

"See," Gheorge said smugly, standing next to Viscon with his hands clasped behind his back, "Prince Frederick is curious. He has neigh as much authority as our queen. Why don't you answer?"

"Our queen would never press the way you do, and neither would Frederick."

Frederick cleared his throat. "Actually ..."

Viscon's eyes widened, and Gheorge laughed. "Come on, old man, spill. Tell him about that delicious soldier who you—"

"It was nothing, Master, nothing," Viscon insisted. "I just saved someone from a precarious position at that battle gone past. He was thankful that I'd been able to spare him from the enemy's sword. And he was kind to me. That's all."

"I'll bet," Frederick said, raising a brow. "And you fancy him, do you?"

Viscon reddened. "No." Gheorge barked with laughter and Viscon glared at him. "No. I do not fancy him."

"Which soldier?" Frederick asked. "Did you get his name?"

The color in Viscon's face deepened to a bloody rush. "Loren."

"Captain Ellison?" Frederick said. "Then that's marvelous. He's rumored to favor the company of men as opposed to women. I only know he's a fine soldier, but I know of him. Why don't I make up some horseshit errand that forces you to see him?"

"Thank you but you don't need to do that," Viscon said, lowering his eyes to the floor. "As much as I crave companionship, I rarely attract it."

That gave Frederick pause. "You crave companionship, Viscon?"

"Of course I do." He shook his head. "Just look at me. I'm deformed, grotesque, hideous—"

"And so completely dismal and dull," Gheorge included, but the humor in his words didn't reach his eyes. "But I didn't come here to wallow in your self-pity. I have enough of that for myself already. Just know that you're a coward. That man was dying to talk to you, and some cock might make you feel better, you pompous."

Gheorge straightened his jacket, a muscle in his jaw flickering. "Now, Her Majesty has told us that it is time to attend the ball, and she told me to ensure you enter with a flourish. Are you ready to meet the denizens of Carnelia?" He didn't wait for an answer as he gave Viscon a mock salute and strolled out of the room.

"What in the gods was that about?" Frederick asked.

"Gheorge being Gheorge," Viscon said.

"That was uncalled for. I will have a word with him."

"Don't pay too much attention to him—or me. It's your birthday, and I want you to enjoy it."

"I'm waiting," Gheorge barked from the hall.

Viscon left, and Frederick followed, the three of them venturing in silence. But Frederick burned to take Gheorge aside for a word. Viscon had become one of the people Frederick trusted most in this world, and someone he deeply respected. For Gheorge to treat him like that didn't bode well, and he would confront him when Viscon wasn't around to hear it.

Finally, Gheorge paused before two giant double doors. The energy here was unmissable. There were no more than the five vampyres that usually graced the castle. Now the amount was ... unfathomable. He loosened his breath extra slow, but Viscon didn't miss it, and he rested his hand on his shoulder. "You'll be all right."

"I know I will."

Gheorge turned his back against the doors and grinned. "Are you ready for a birthday you'll never forget?" Frederick wasn't but Arabella insisted, and Gheorge pushed through the doors. "He's here!"

The attendees looked to the doorway as one, and for a moment Frederick couldn't move.

A thousand sets of predatory eyes landed on him, all cool in their assessment of him. Quickly, he bowed, and they applauded. When he righted himself, he realized that he had been brought to a vast ballroom—dark marble, dark pillars, dark wood—lit by sconces and gigantic jeweled chandeliers. Many faces observed him with quiet interest—all ethnicities and ages. But there was only one person he wanted to see.

He felt her before he saw her, and the crowd parted.

Arabella emerged, and he forced himself to remember not to gawk. He'd seen the woman a thousand times and yet she continued to astound him. Her dark waves of hair hung freely down her back and shoulders, topped by a black halo crown with glittering jewels, a crescent moon resting on the center of her forehead. And the dress ...

A midnight-colored fabric that faded into lighter blues toward the hem hugged her entire body, and a glittering navy cape hung over one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder and arm completely bare. A dark armband with more dangling jewels squeezed her bicep, the hand covered in a dark metal contraption the resembled a claw. She smiled like the moon as she made her way to him, a slit revealing her thigh-high boots every time she walked.

A warrior goddess. Creature of the night. Queen of them all.

His wife. Forever unmatched.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Happy belated birthday, husband of mine."

"I can't believe you did all this for me." He supported her lower back with his hand, and she squealed with delight as he dipped her. "If I'm going to feel embarrassed, so are you. Now pucker those red lips for me, you little beast."

They kissed, and he righted her to stand upright. "You tried to embarrass me with a kiss? You'll have to try harder. You forget that no one is offended by such displays here in Carnelia."

"Speaking of displays—that is a beautiful dress. I love seeing the pieces from your secret collection."

She bit her lip. "You like it? Really? I always feel so foolish in color but tonight I could not help it. I wanted to match you. I hope you don't mind."

"Why on earth would I mind?" He leaned into her ear. "I like it so much that I want to take it off you immediately to ensure that you don't ruin such beautiful art. Seeing you in it makes my blood hot. My cock hard."

She shivered and drew away, and he grinned at her. They'd seen each other every day for the last week and a half. By having to wait for Vignolo and Dumitri and the responses from the other kingdoms to return, they had much more time at their leisure to spend together.

Arabella cooked while he trained with Gheorge, but once they were both done ...

They spent their time fucking each other without cease.

In the past, sex for Frederick was a need that had to be taken care of like eating or sleeping. One night with a woman could sate him for a week. Often he found it more efficient to soothe the ache himself, which had become preferable in his thirties.

With Arabella it was a necessity or he would go mad. She seemed to know it. Count upon it. Used it to make him suffer with desire before she finally let him inside her. And gods help him, he loved every moment.

There was no way of winning or escaping their vicious attraction. She began to spend every night in his room, and he woke up later for her and she earlier for him, starting their day in the afternoon. Sometimes he'd rouse her awake with his tongue, or he'd wake and find her slipping onto his cock. Two bouts—sometimes three—would only sate them for a little while, and after lunch they'd be ravenous for each other again. They could fuck several times a day.

When Frederick asked her if this was normal, Arabella had blushed and said that vampyres were quite lusty creatures by nature, and then she'd reached into his trews and found him hard and wanting ...

He found himself addicted to her. The sounds, the feel, the scent, and the—

"Stop that," she hissed. "They can all smell you."

"I haven't seen you all day because you were preparing for this," he murmured. "Usually we would have fucked three times by now. But my body craves yours, and it doesn't help that you look utterly incredible."

She gave him an annoyed expression, causing him to laugh. "If you don't behave yourself, I'll have to take you somewhere private and discipline you."

"Promise?"

She elbowed him in the arm, and she stood back and viewed him from toe to head. "Don't you look dashing in these clothes?"

"My tailor is the best."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I only tolerate the best for my husband."

"With a wife like you, I'd say I have the very best indeed." Her blush deepened, and she twisted her fingers against each other.

It was still hard for her to accept his compliments—to really believe he liked things about her and what she provided for him—but she would get used to him over time. There was a comfort and ease between them that he'd begun to enjoy, and once she felt more secure, then she would enjoy it, too.

He took her hand and looped it through his elbow. "This is quite some party. So many beings here tonight. Viscon already told me not to be overwhelmed."

She gave a mocking pout. "Then he's ruined my fun."

Frederick laughed. "I'm sure there's more fun to be had. It's a new world for me."

"And it will be newer still.—Errand, if you please."

Every candle dimmed, the room darkening. Frederick waited to see what it was about when a star as tiny as a needle's eye appeared before him. He stared at it and smiled, and then another appeared, then another. Stars dotted the air, twinkling like fairy dust. Vines so dark they almost couldn't be seen curled around the pillars, and big white blooms began to open, the centers of them glittering. The room became awash with sapphire, and every candle whispered into smoke.

"Extraordinary," Frederick said.

Sounds of awe sounded around the ballroom, and Arabella looked up at him, the stars glimmering in her eyes. "Happy birthday from Errand. My present is yet to come."

He kissed her cheek. "I think you've given me enough."

"And I've only just begun."

"Happy belated birthday, You Majesty." A male and female appeared, and they both bowed. They were dressed like courtiers in mourning, she as fair as he was dark-skinned. "It is so good to meet you," the female said.

"Ginnfer and Oron," Arabella announced, giving Ginnfer a tight embrace. "A bonded pair."

"Mates?" Frederick asked. "You're the first I've met."

"Yes," Oron said, darting a glance to Arabella, "well, fated matches are hard to come by."

"I'm the village apothecary," Ginnfer said. "I look after the mortals who seek passage in Carnelia. I ensure they're in good health before they return to their homes."

"And I am a former member of the Invisible Army," Oron said. "When the water came back, I returned, and I found my mate when I visited her practice for a shard of metal I couldn't get out of my thigh. A comely human woman working in the village."

Ginnfer and Arabella exchanged smiles. "I'm so happy for you, darling."

"I can't thank you enough for giving me the permission to become a vampyre," Ginnfer said, her eyes brimming with water.

"I've only offered it to you a thousand times," Arabella said. "But it seems as though you have found something you want to live forever for."

The fated pair smiled at one another, real love plain on their faces. It stunned Frederick to see. Compared to the marriages in the Thescan court, these vampyres were ... happy. "So you're a new vampyre?" Frederick said.

"Yes, though I've lived here since I was sixteen years of age," Ginnfer said. "I sought passage to Carnelia after fleeing a forced marriage, and I have been growing here ever since, learning from the best in all the world in ancient arts and medicines. But I'm sure you have questions about what becoming a vampyre was like?"

"Ginny, that question is too personal," Oron scolded lightly. "His Majesty probably hasn't made his mind up yet."

Frederick coughed into his fist. "I am rather curious."

Arabella went abnormally tense at his side.

"Well, if you ever have any questions, Oron and I live in the city," Ginnfer said warmly. "I'd be happy to let you know all the things I didn't. You know, if you ever want to stick around for a special someone."

"Ginny, darling," Oron said softly, but his gaze shone with affection.

She sighed, her jeweled earrings swaying. "Too much?"

"Too much," he agreed.

"But I do appreciate the offer," Frederick said. "I know now that this is an intimate subject. Now I have someone I can ask questions to."

Ginnfer beamed. "Any time at all. I'll brew some tea that will help you adapt to the Carnelian cold, and we can discuss it then. Just have Viscon or Gheorge bring you straight to my door."

"Some other vampyres are just vying for your attention," Oron said, "so we won't take too much of your time. I just wanted to meet the prince and speak with Her Majesty."

"Oh?" Arabella said.

"And I just want to say that I am grateful and forever in your debt, Your Highness," Oron said, bowing his head to Arabella. "I cannot stress how sorry I am to have fought with Tessande against you. Right at her side, no less."

"That part is in the past," Arabella said. "You and many others like you took me up on my offer to become residents of my Empire, and that's all that matters now. Not a moment of what happened before. I'm certain that if I need the assistance of a loyal soldier, I may always call on you, may I not?"

"With utter certainty, Your Grace," he said, bowing with reverence this time. "For a debt that can never be repaid, I will always be at your service."

Both vampyres wished him a happy belated birthday and left, and another set of vampyres interrupted with their well wishes.

Frederick was introduced to many vampyres that evening, each one more interesting than the last with ancient or bizarre names. Distinguished creatures colored by the night. Viscon had been right about the fashions—there seemed to be no one way to dress here—but one thing he did notice was that many of them favored clothing with high collars that reached under their jaw.

Arabella explained, somewhat bashfully, that high collars held cultural significance for vampyres, and those who wore them were being polite by hiding bite marks that signified an intimacy with another vampyre. He learned that displaying a bite mark could be more arousing than actual nudity to vampyres.

"For obvious reasons," she murmured, and when she stared at his neck, he nearly asked for a high-collared cape of his own.

And he received so many presents and gold that he hardly knew what to do with them.

An eyepiece from a tinkerer that showed the wearer those who possessed magic.

Books with metal covers.

A handkerchief from a red-eyed vampyre who didn't seem to know whom he was speaking with.

He tried to return a talking skull, but the vampyre refused to take it back. He'd vanished from the ballroom entirely, leaving Frederick with an irate skull. Arabella had muttered something about vanishing during a vampyre gathering being the peak of social rudeness.

"What eventful people," Frederick said to Arabella when they finally found a moment alone in the corner. "And they've all been so welcoming to me."

"I would expect nothing less," she said. "These are the beings that live in the city. These beings are grateful to all the castle provides."

Gheorge's laughter carried across the room. His back was pressed against a pillar by the doorway, and a bulky stranger held a muscular arm over Gheorge's head, the both of them exchanging lupine smiles.

"Looks like Gheorge has found company for the night," Arabella murmured.

"Is something going on between him and Viscon?" Frederick asked.

Arabella's claw circled her goblet. "Was he being cruel again?" Frederick recounted their interaction before they arrived, and her face smoothed. "I'll have a word with him."

The vampyre pulled Gheorge by the lapels, and Gheorge bit his lip as they made their way out of the ballroom.

"I suppose I will have a word with him later," Arabella said. "But rest assured, he will be dealt with."

Frederick took a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. "I love when your hair is down. Have I told you how captivating I find you tonight?"

She looked up at him, softness filling her expression. "I still haven't given you your present. Come."

Arabella took his hand in hers and pulled him through the crowd. The vampyres parted as they approached a door, and she knocked on it three times and leaned to speak into the wood. "We're ready, Errand."

They entered and closed the party behind them, and by the lack of sound, he knew that Errand had taken them to a place where they wouldn't be disturbed.

Before them rested two crowns on display, both made of dark metals. One for a man and the other a daintier version for a female.

"What is this?" Frederick asked.

"You told Ginnfer you were interested in learning about becoming a vampyre," she said, not looking at him. "Why?"

"I meant nothing by it. I was just curious."

She let go of his hand. "I'm about to ask you something, but before I do, I want you to know that I would never expect you to become a vampyre. Know that I would never allow it. Being a vampyre is a path to a long and miserable life, and I care about you too much to do that to you. I'm not afraid to admit that. And that's all you and I will ever say on this subject, as it is non-negotiable. I do hope you understand."

He scrubbed his chest. No, he didn't want to become a vampyre, but to hear her so opposed to it ... More reasons to be assured he wasn't her mate. The two of them would never be more than this. Two companions who sought each other's solace.

And that was enough. That would be all he ever wanted from her.

It. Would. Be. Enough.

And it was irrational to feel disappointed, but to think she had begged someone like Ginnfer to become one. To live forever. He supposed Ginnfer had purpose, and he had nothing to offer.

He would wither and die, and she wanted that to happen.

She gripped her elbows and moved toward the crowns. "I've been thinking about this for a while, and I've finally reached a decision."

His heart hammered in his chest. "What decision is that?"

She raised the larger crown and tilted it from side to side in her hands. "Frederick, I want you to join me. I want us to rule together as equals. I want you to become the King of Carnelia."

He didn't think he'd heard her right, his whole being frozen with the shock of her every word. "What?"

"I've never made a husband a king before," she said softly, sauntering to him, "but you are everything I want in a ruler. Strong. Fearless. Someone who puts their people first. And I know you don't feel like the Carnelians are your people, but I would like them to be."

He took her hands in his own, the heel of his palm digging into the metal of the crown. "You can't be serious. Why? Why would you offer me such a thing."

She gave a mischievous smile. "Because I had nothing good to give you for your birthday—"

"Put that thing down!" Her lips thinned with disapproval, but she complied, and he gripped her by the shoulders. "What the fuck are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that this is a fantastic decision. I know what you did when I was weak—that you made decisions like a king—and I thought I should like to be weak more often. It is nice to have someone to rely on, you see."

He felt his breaths paining him. The ceiling lowering upon him. Each wall closing in. "No."

"Some human wisdom would be welcome in this place," she said. "And after all, Ginnfer is a talented apothecary. I've been working with her for a cure for vampyrsm—"

"A cure?"

"Well, don't look so shocked," she said. "But many beings who are vampyres never wanted to be vampyres. I would love to provide an antidote that cures them of this Hell. Those who want to be free will be, and those who want to stay vampyres will owe a responsibility to society to—"

"Don't pick me," he begged. "I can't. I'm a—"

Traitor.

Bastard.

Filth.

Deceiver.

Rancid in mind and soul—

"You don't have to make a decision tonight," she said. "And you don't have to say yes. Just know that you're the best man I've ever known, and Carnelia would be lucky to have you as its king, just as I am lucky to have you as my husband. So thank you. For all of it. Because this isn't the real present."

"It isn't?" he said hoarsely.

"No," she whispered. "The real present is my trust." She closed her eyes. "I do not give it lightly, and once broken it can never be repaired. But I want to give you my trust, Frederick, because I want you to know how much I damn well admire you."

A tremor began in his throat, the whole world fading into fear. "You can't trust me. You shouldn't."

She shrugged. "If not you, then who can I trust?"

He shook his head. "This is too great—"

"Then I'm glad you understand just what it is I'm giving you."

It was too much. Crushing down upon him with the force of a tidal wave. Every feeling he'd repressed came to force, and he lunged for her, forcing her to take his kiss. His tongue battled to overcome hers, her arms tightening around his neck. There was nothing sweet about this. Nothing romantic.

All that was left was pure need, the both of them yearning.

He backed her against the wall, slamming her spine against it. She cried out, and he was quick to swallow the sound. His hand darted through the slit in her skirts, fast to find what it wanted.

"Freddie," she breathed as he kissed her neck, "they're waiting—"

"I don't care." His fingers strummed between her legs, touching the hardened flesh that crested her lush slit. "You're so wet already. Has Errand taken us far away from everyone?"

"Yes," she breathed. "No one will hear or interrupt—"

That was all he needed to know as he bit into her neck and sucked, his fingers plunging into her. He wanted to see her skin bruised from him later. She panted, quick to fetch his cock out of his pants. He couldn't stand it—touching her, smelling her. Any longer outside her would surely kill him.

"Please," she whispered. "Please—"

He hauled her up by her thighs, her feet planting on the wall as he brought her down on his cock. She moaned and pulled him closer to her by his neck. The fabric of her dress cradled both their hips, obscuring her treasures hidden from him. But he was already fucking her, his hips surging up into her. So wet. So right. She called his name over and over in her breathy, sexy voice, her breasts bouncing as he shook her with the force of his need.

He couldn't see enough of her body, but he wouldn't be harming this dress, and he used his teeth to uncover her breast from its confines. Her nipple bobbed on his tongue as he fucked her, and she gripped him by the hair, knocking his crown from him. Her nails and metal claw dug into his scalp, forcing him to bite her nipple. He teased it, sucked it, breathed on it, loving how it glistened and reddened.

"Yes," she whispered, "yes, I love ..."

A chill crept over his body, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

Love—she loves?

She twisted his hair between her fists. "Gods, I love this. I love this so much ... You feel so good inside me. Want this always. Always—yes, right there!"

His thighs burned with strain as he held the position that was driving her mad, surging into her at the pace she needed. Her pussy twitched and flexed around him, her head thrashing against the wall, that crown of hers glittering like the night.

"Yes," she wept, "yes, yes, I love it, I love this, I—"

She was squeezing—clenching—coming all around him, and he couldn't resist it. He let out a pained sound as he followed her, filling her with aggression and shock. It might have taken all of three thrusts before he could no longer stand. He sank to his knees, careful to ensure he hadn't hurt her on the way down. Her legs relaxed at his sides, the both of them panting.

"I ... I take it you like my present?"

He could barely breathe—how did she sound so collected. "I am completely speechless."

She ran her metal claw along the underside of his chin, lifting him to look at her. "Say you'll do it. Say you'll rule with me."

His cock jolted, the bastard going hard again. Rule with me. "I can't think while I'm still inside you."

"Then maybe we should go again, and I'll ask you in the throes."

He groaned. "What did I do to deserve your favor?"

She wrapped her arms around him. "You were just you. No more. No less."

"But—"

"Hmm?"

He shook his head. "What if you find him?"

"Him? Who's him."

"Your mate."

She sighed. "You needn't concern yourself with that."

"No?"

"No. Not all mates are good for one another. And you are good for my kingdom. You're good for me. That's all that matters."

"You don't want to know?"

She ruffled his hair. "Would you?"

"I think it's the first thing I'd want to know," Frederick admitted. "The concept of being matched with someone perfect for you as chosen by fate intrigues me. Wouldn't you want to know yours?"

"Oh, I do," she said, smoothing her claw along his face. "I know him as well as I know the warmth of the sun. Bright. Brilliant. Painful to look upon. Something that eluded me, stayed at the back of my mind like a memory until recently. A cheater. Liar. Schemer. Yet I'd choose you every time." He stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. "Yes, there is deeper meaning there. No, we're not getting into it tonight. Now let me up."

"No, don't—" He trembled as she released him from her body. He hadn't been ready to relinquish her yet. "Gods."

"Hard again," she said smugly. "I love that about you. But we must rejoin your party at once."

In one graceful ascent, she reached her feet, and she lowered to pull Frederick up. The muscles in his legs seared with strain, his balls aching. He tucked his cock back into his pants and adjusted his jacket, but the thing was creased, and anyone who searched for it on him would know. "All right. Let's get back to this damned party. You and I shall enjoy this night, but I will be having more of you before the sky turns red."

"And we will," she agreed, "but humor me for one moment."

She retrieved the king's crown from its perch, and he stood still as she rested it atop his head. A stupid sense of significance filled him as he looked into her eyes, and her mouth tilted into a gentle curve.

"It looks good on you, you know."

"I'll take your word for it."

She stared at him for several heartbeats more. "I think you would look so handsome and distinguished with gray hair. I would love to see it on you one day."

He raised a brow, unable to stop himself from some sharp remark. "And when I am old and gray, withering away in my throne, will you still suck my cock, I wonder? Or will you be repulsed."

She laughed and wrapped her arms about his neck. "Oh, I'll suck the wrinkles right out of you. But does this mean you will be my king?"

He sighed. "I am undecided. Perhaps I can ponder over it later. In bed. With you. Tonight."

They kissed, and his hands roved her back, tangling in her cape. Arabella was a marvelous kisser. The best he'd ever had. Everything about her was the best, and he didn't know how he would ever be able to untangle himself from the invisible hold she had over him.

And maybe he didn't have to.

As her tongue swept over his lower lip, he realized he'd made a new decision but couldn't fathom when he'd made it. But he was going to keep this woman—this vampyre. And he was going to keep her for as long as he was able.

There would be no more plots against her, no plans to kill her. He never thought about them anymore anyway. Instead, he would become the husband she deserved. Become an equal partner with her in all matters. His father would be dismayed, but there were ways to manage Urnald that didn't need his thought right now.

He ... he would consider becoming her king, for she was already his queen, and the two of them would be content. Dare he admit ... happy?

"Oh," she said suddenly, jolting away from him.

"What is it?"

"Vignolo and Dumitri have finally returned."

He scowled. "I suppose you have to go to them? On my birthday."

"Indeed, I do."

She tugged him by the hand, lifting her skirts in the other, and Errand took them to an isolated hallway where Gheorge stared out of the window.

"Gheorge," she said.

"Yes, I know," he replied dryly. "I felt them, too."

"Stay with Frederick—and don't think of going anywhere. You and I have matters to discuss."

"Goodie."

Frederick let go of her hand and gave her a reassuring smile. "It's all right. I'll tend to those matters right now. You go and sort the others out."

Her fang worried her lip. "You're sure?" He nodded. "All right. I'll be back soon. Go in and enjoy the party, yes?"

She left, and Frederick's eyes followed the swish of her ass until she disappeared.

"I think I can guess what you two were doing," Gheorge muttered.

Fredrick raised a brow. "You and I will not be speaking of Her Majesty so candidly. In fact, you won't be speaking of Her Majesty in your usual way."

He gave a smug smile. "So you will become our king, then?"

She'd told him? "I am undecided. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't want you speaking so overtly about my wife."

He rolled his eyes. "I think I can tell what you're mad about. Is this about Viscon? Little human prince wants to give me some discipline? Perhaps decide if you want to be the king first."

"I'm not going to discipline you, but your cruelty toward Viscon was unfounded. What the fuck possessed you to be such an ass?" Gheorge took a long swig from a bottle Frederick hadn't realized he was holding. "Ah, I see. I knew vampyres imbibed but I didn't know they could get drunk."

"Yes, well. I like my liquor."

"And you reek of it. Talk to me, Gheorge. Tell me what has you so miserable tonight?"

He bared his fangs. "Leave me. No one will harm you in this fucking place so I don't need to guard you."

"Gheorge," he demanded, "my respect for you is plummeting by the second. Now, man up and tell me what has made you this way or else I will leave you."

Gheorge's light eyes reflected the world beyond the window, and the both of them remained there without saying anything, the sounds from the ballroom their only filler.

"I wish Viscon was stronger than he is," Gheorge said quietly. "I wish this world and how they see him would have hardened his heart by now, but it hasn't."

"All right," Frederick said, gently probing.

"He feels every insult, weeps over every word," he continued. "He will never be used to it. He will never move on. And I hate him for it."

"It doesn't sound like you hate him at all," Frederick supplied. "Quite the opposite."

Gheorge shook his head. "I hate this world, Frederick. I really do. Why do they pass over a man who lives to serve. A man with more integrity and loyalty than anyone I'll ever know. I hate how he's treated. I hate what they say about him—what they say behind his back and to his face."

"Yes, well, you didn't help matters by adding to it tonight."

He scowled. "I want to protect him, but I can't. I want to toughen him up, but I can't." His fist clenched around the bottleneck. "I went to see that soldier, you know. That Captain Ellison."

"And?"

"I had rather hoped that he would have wanted to see Viscon again. I went to go find out. But the stupid prick was a coy little flirt. He made passes at me. And me, being the filthy whore that I am, railed that bastard until he screamed. I received his first letter today. Mopey little dog wants another bone."

Frederick folded his arms, staring out the window with him.

"You must think me a traitor," Gheorge said. "A bastard. A terrible friend."

Frederick shrugged. "Why did you bring up Captain Ellison again to Viscon if you'd already hopped into bed with him?"

"Because he meant nothing to me," Gheorge said. "And at least I found out that Captain Ellison does prefer men as opposed to women. But most of all, I just wanted Viscon to try. To go for something even if it means rejection. To build up his confidence until he actually succeeds and finds companionship."

"That ... that is a very twisted way to help a friend."

Gheorge lowered his head into his hands, the bottle denting his cheek. "Yes, I acknowledge that. I'm just a slave to my impulses sometimes and I give sudden ideas hardly any thought. But gods, I am a terrible slut."

"You want to know what I think?" Frederick asked.

"Not if I won't like the answer."

"I think you're lonely, Gheorge," Frederick said anyway. "I think you're jealous of me taking Arabella."

"I would never—"

"And that's normal to feel, for you two were former lovers. But deeper than that, you both are dear friends. Possibly the dearest. I have been absorbing all her time lately and given little regard to sharing her. I will be a better friend to you and ensure you two get time to be friends—and only friends, Gheorge, or I will take all that training you've given me and use it to cut off your head."

Gheorge laughed. "Oh, I do miss my Arabella terribly. I miss having tea and gossip with her. I miss the way her eyes roll at my slutty adventures, and I miss her sound advice. And you're right. About all of it. I am jealous that you took Arabella from me, but I am glad, for she adores you."

Frederick clasped his hands behind his back to stop the urge to fidget. "I don't know if adore is the right word."

"And if I'm really honest with myself, I'm completely jealous of what you and Arabella have together. I want that for myself. Desperately."

Frederick tensed. "I don't know if it's as serious as all that."

He gave a patronizing smile. "Now who's in denial?" Frederick punched his arm, causing him to laugh. "You two fuck like rabbits all day. That is pretty serious to me. And when you're not, I wish you two idiots could see what you look like when the other isn't in the room."

"All right, all right. That's quite enough for one night. I think you have a friend to find and some apologies to make."

He gave a sensible nod. "Quite right. Starting with you. Let's kiss and make up."

"Gods," Frederick muttered, heading toward the ballroom. "Can you actually hear what you say when you say it?"

"Yes, it does sound rather tacky," Gheorge agreed, striding at Frederick's side. "Force of habit. Those will take a while to die."

Frederick was in mid-laughter when he entered the ball and halted. Stars and night had disappeared—fearsome trees towering into the roof—with red, red everywhere taking its place. He nearly forgot how to breathe, unable to get out. He'd nearly forgotten it existed. And this time it would swallow him into—

"By the gods," Gheorge said, "what is the meaning of this, Errand?"

"Errand is pissed over something or other, but I don't have the time or patience to find out what it is tonight," Arabella said, elbowing her way through the crowd. "Everyone needs to get gone. Now."

One by one, each vampyre disappeared. The ballroom emptied in seconds.

Neither Gheorge nor Frederick said a word as Arabella took their arms and vanished with them. They reappeared in her throne room. Vignolo was seated on the steps with his head in his hands. Dumitri leaned against the wall and regarded Frederick with cautious eyes.

"Your Majesty?" Viscon said as he appeared. "What's happened?"

Gheorge's eyes widened. "No ..."

"I'm afraid so," she said, her voice breaking.

All eyes fell on Frederick, terror striking through him like a lightning bolt.

They know.

They found out.

That I planned to betray her.

Kill her.

But it's different now.

I can't bring myself to—

"Vellore wanted to speak with you in Thescan," she continued. "Desperately. Through Yessara, Gheorge learned what she had to say."

Gheorge shook his head. "I wanted to tell you, Frederick. I wanted to."

"Tell me what?" Frederick demanded.

She clasped her hands behind her back. "Gheorge waited until I'd awakened to tell me what she said. He wanted to know how we should tell you. But I didn't know if what Yessara said was true—she and her sister have a history of toying with me, you see. So I managed to get word to Vignolo on Dumitri on the way to Hendlemark. I wanted them to find out for certain before we said anything but ..."

Frederick swallowed, his heart a hummingbird in his chest. "But what ... what is it?"

"She reeks of death," Vignolo whined through his fingers. "The prince was right. Rycard's power is—" He shuddered.

Her expression became so pained that he couldn't stand to look at it. "Vellore wanted to tell you that she saw King Rycard's wife—and she recognized her instantly. It's your sister, Frederick. Rycard is still using his power to keep Beatrice alive."