Chapter 28 Left
Klaus led me off the dance floor, his hand burning a brand into the small of my back. We moved through the crowd, and the vampires parted like water around a shark. They smiled, showing too many teeth. They bowed, their eyes tracking the pulse in my neck.
"Breathe," Klaus murmured, his voice a low vibration against my hair. "You’re trembling."
"I’m waiting for the attack," I whispered back, clutching his arm. "Vespera won’t just leave. She’s not the type to run away and cry."
"She is humiliated," Klaus said, scanning the room with that terrifying, predatory focus. "Humiliation makes people stupid. But you are right. Keep your guard up."
We were intercepted near a fountain flowing with red wine. A group of High Lords surrounded us—ancient creatures with skin like parchment and eyes like old blood. They wanted to congratulate the Grand Admiral. They wanted to inspect the "prize."
"Exquisite," one of them rasped, reaching out a withered hand to touch the sleeve of my abyss-silk dress. "Does she speak, Falkenstein? Or does she only sing?"
"She bites," Klaus said sharply, intercepting the hand before it could touch me. "I suggest you keep your fingers to yourself, Lord Harrow."
The Lord chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Possessive. I remember when I had such fire."
I felt suffocated. The smell of the wine, the heavy perfume, the underlying scent of rot and copper—it was making my head spin. I needed air. I needed water.
"Champagne, my Lord?"
A waiter appeared at Klaus’s elbow, holding a silver tray laden with crystal flutes.
Klaus looked at the tray. He checked the seal on the bottle. "Fine."
He reached for a glass.
It happened in a blur.
As Klaus reached out, the waiter stumbled. He didn't trip over anything visible; his knee just seemed to give way. The tray tipped.
Gravity took over.
"Watch out!" I gasped.
But it was too late.
Three full glasses of dark, crimson wine crashed into me.
The cold liquid hit my chest, soaking instantly into the heavy fabric of the bodice. It splashed over the pearls staining them pink. It ran down the front of the skirt, turning the midnight blue silk into a sodden, heavy mess that looked disturbingly like a chest wound.
The waiter dropped the tray with a deafening clang.
"Oh gods! Master, forgive me!" the thrall shrieked, dropping to his knees and beginning to scrub at my skirt with a napkin.
I recoiled, stepping back. The wine was cold and sticky, seeping through to my skin. I smelled like a vineyard that had burned down.
"Get away from her!" Klaus roared.
He grabbed the thrall by the collar and hauled him up. For a second, I thought he was going to snap the man’s neck right there. The sapphire fire in his eyes was blazing.
"I didn't mean to! I slipped!" the thrall sobbed, his feet dangling off the floor.
"Klaus, don't," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "Everyone is watching."
Klaus froze. He looked around. The entire court was staring. The Emperor, watching from his throne, looked amused.
Klaus dropped the thrall. The man scrambled away, weeping.
Klaus turned to me. His eyes swept over the ruin of my dress. The wine had soaked the abyss-silk, making it cling to my body. It was ruined. The image of the dark queen was gone, replaced by a stained, dripping mess.
"You're soaked," he said, his jaw tight.
"It’s just wine," I said, trying to maintain my dignity, though I felt cold and sticky. "I need to clean it off before it sets."
"We are leaving," Klaus decided, reaching for my arm.
"No, Peregrine," a voice rasped from the dais.
The Emperor stood up. He pointed a bony finger at us.
"You promised me a song for the hunt," the Emperor said. "You do not leave until the first throat is cut. Send the girl to the retiring room. Let her clean herself. But you... you stay here. We have strategy to discuss."
Klaus hesitated. I saw the conflict warring in his face. The instinct to protect me versus the instinct to survive the court.
"I can go," I whispered. "It’s just down the hall. I’ll wash the dress and come right back."
"I don't like it," Klaus hissed. "It feels like a setup."
"It’s just a clumsy waiter, Klaus. Look at him." I gestured to the thrall, who was currently being berated by the head of staff. "He’s terrified."
A woman stepped forward from the crowd. She was older, wearing the severe grey of the palace staff, though her uniform was silk.
"My Lord," she said, bowing low. "I am the Head Housekeeper. There is a private guest suite just down the East Corridor. It is fully stocked. I can assist the Princess."
Klaus looked at the woman. He looked at the Emperor, who was waiting.
He looked at me.
"Five minutes," he told the woman. His voice was a lethal promise. "If she is not back in five minutes, I will start taking heads. Starting with yours."
The woman paled but nodded. "Of course, my Lord."
Klaus turned to me. He reached out and touched my cheek, his thumb brushing away a drop of wine splattered there.
"Don't go anywhere else," he ordered softly. "Lock the door inside. I will come for you the second the Emperor releases me."
"I'll be fine," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. "It’s just a stain."
I turned and followed the housekeeper.
We walked away from the music, away from the light, and away from the only person in this castle who cared if I lived or died.
The East Corridor was quiet.
The housekeeper walked briskly, her heels clicking on the stone. She didn't speak. She didn't look at me.
"Is it far?" I asked, shivering as the wet silk clung to my skin. The air in the hallway was drafty.
"Just here, miss," she said.
She stopped at a heavy wooden door. It wasn't the ladies' retiring room I had seen earlier. It was further down, in a section of the hallway that looked darker, less traveled. Dust motes danced in the light of the single torch on the wall.
"This is a guest suite?" I asked, hesitating.
"Reserved for VIPs," she said, opening the door. "It has a private basin and fresh towels. And stain remover."
She gestured for me to enter.
I stepped inside.
The room was dark.
It didn't look like a guest suite. It looked like a storage room that hadn't been opened in decades. Furniture was draped in white sheets that looked like ghosts in the gloom. The air smelled stale—dust, mold, and something else. Something sharp and musky.
"Where are the towels?" I asked, turning around.
The housekeeper wasn't there.
She was standing in the hallway. Her face, previously blank, was now twisted into a mask of apology and fear.