They all celebrated, but Irene was dying inside. In the space of three hours, she'd gone from a promising Archaeologist to the wife of a vampire lord who was older than her ancestors!
Irene laid down on the king sized bed, hoping to sleep and forget all her troubles but sleep did not come easy. She lay awake for hours, staring at the carved ceiling, listening to the distant creaks of the mansion, the soft scuttling sounds that reminded her she was in a nest of predators.
Then the door creaked open, causing her heart to skip a beat. She didn't have to look up to see that Yin had entered. She felt his presence.
He didn't speak. Only stood there looking at her with so much hate. She'd changed, alright in appearance but to him she was that traitor that made him love her just to have him trapped for decades.
"Tomorrow's going to be a long day, my queen." He said in a mocking tone. "You should get enough rest, cause you'll be needing it." His tone made a shudder run down her spine.
With that, he walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.
When the morning came, a knock sounded at her door. She sat up quickly, her hair tangled, her body still wrapped in the red gown from the ceremony. Yin entered without waiting for her permission. His dark eyes swept over her, unreadable.
"Good morning, Lord Yin." She greeted him. Yin didn't reply to her greetings.
"You are my wife now," he said simply. "So you will act like one. Today you will make breakfast."
Irene blinked at him. "Breakfast?" The word felt ridiculous on her tongue, almost laughable if not for the sharpness in his tone.
"Yes," Yin said, crossing his arms. "A wife serves her husband. Do not expect to live here like some pampered scholar or a princess."
Her chest tightened. "I… I don't know how to cook."
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, cruelty, she couldn't tell. "Then you will learn. Ask someone to help you. I expect food on the table before the hourglass runs out." He gestured at the tall hourglass set near the hearth. The sand had already begun to fall. Then he turned, the sweep of his cloak brushing the floor, and left her alone.
Irene pressed her palms to her face. She was in big trouble. She had studied maps, ancient languages, the history of kings long buried, but she had never held a pan or stirred a pot. Her father had always insisted that Tiffany take care of everything.
She pulled herself to her feet, forcing the tears back. She would not give Yin the pleasure of seeing her break so quickly. If he wanted breakfast, she would find a way to make it.
In the corridor she stopped one of the pale women who moved silently through the house. Her skin was cold, her eyes deep crimson. Irene recognized her—the one who had dressed her the night before. Valda. Daughter of the former vampire lord, now nothing more than a servant in Yin's house.
"Good morning your majesty," Valda gave a mock bow.
"Valda," Irene said softly, her voice trembling though she tried to steady it. "Please… I need your help."
Valda looked at her from head to toe, wondering what help Irene wanted. "and what would that be?"
"Lord Yin has asked me to make him breakfast. I don't know how to cook, please I need your help."
For a moment, Valda's face softened, almost pitying. But then her jaw tightened, her eyes flickering with something darker. Bitterness. Hatred. "You, the new bride, cannot even cook a simple meal?" She chuckled lightly.
Irene flushed, her throat dry. "No. I've never—my father never allowed it. He said my duty was to study. Please, if you could just tell me what to do…"
Valda's lips curved into a smile, but it was not kind. "Of course, my lady. I will help you." she smiled. "It's my duty after all as a maid."
She led Irene into the kitchens, a cavernous room filled with iron stoves, old pots, shelves lined with jars and bottles. The air smelled of smoke and dried herbs. Irene felt utterly lost among the tools, the iron, the strange ingredients.
"Vampires are delicate eaters," Valda said, her voice low, her smile still sharp. "They prefer foods that do not offend their senses. Garlic, for instance, is repulsive to them. As are onions, mustard seed, and… ah, certain herbs."
Irene nodded quickly, trying to keep up. "So I must avoid those things?"
Valda's eyes glittered. "Yes, of course. You must avoid them." She began to set items on the table—bulbs of garlic, a jar of mustard seed, a bundle of herbs that smelled sharp and bitter. "Use these instead. They are special. They will please him and he'll love it."
Something in Irene's chest stirred, a warning, but she was too desperate to notice it clearly. A tiny voice kept yelling at her to stop, but she was too scared to stop.
She rolled up her sleeves, awkwardly trying to chop, stir, mix as Valda instructed. Her hands shook, her fingers clumsy. Oil splattered, smoke rose and she coughed. She burned her wrist on the edge of the pan, hissing in pain, but kept going.
When the dish was finally set before her, she stared at it doubtfully. It looked nothing like the polished meals she had seen at her father's house or at the home of the wealthy man her father worked for. It was uneven, messy, the smell sharp enough to sting her nose.
Valda's smile widened. "Yes. This will do." She assured Irene. This was just the beginning, she smiled inwardly. She'd take care of Irene while her father sees to it that Lord Yin is overthrown.
Carrying the dish felt like walking into her own execution. The vampires in the hall turned their heads as she passed, whispering behind pale hands. Yin was seated at the long table, his cloak spread across the chair, his dark gaze fixed on her.
Irene placed the plate in front of him, her hands trembling. "I… I made this. For you."
For a long moment, he only stared at it. Then he leaned forward, sniffing once. His face shifted, the faintest curl of his lip. His eyes lifted to hers, sharp and cutting.
"What is this?" His voice was dangerously quiet.
"I—it's what—" she stammered.
Before she could finish, Yin pushed the plate back with a single sharp movement, the dish clattering against the table. The room fell silent.
"You dare bring this before me?" His voice was a whip. He rose, the shadows clinging to him, and the vampires around the table flinched at the fury in his tone. "Do you take me for a fool, Irene?"
Her knees went weak. "No, I swear, I—"
The smell of garlic filled the air. He bared his fangs, a flash of pure rage in his eyes.
Valda's laughter rang softly from the back of the hall, cruel and mocking. Her plan had worked after all.
Yin's hand slammed against the table, the wood cracking beneath his palm. He stepped closer, towering over Irene, his eyes glowing like fire.
"You will regret this," he whispered.
Irene's breath caught. For a heartbeat, she thought he might kill her there, in front of them all. But instead he leaned closer, his voice low enough only she could hear.
" You try to poison me in my own house. You have no idea what I'll do to you." He straightened, the hall silent, every vampire waiting, watching. His hand reached for her wrist, cold as ice, holding her fast.
"Tonight," he said, his voice carrying through the hall, "she will learn what it means to be mine."
And before Irene could breathe another word, he dragged her from the hall, the vampires' whispers following like knives.