Vampires are creatures of the deep night, and I have become one, too. We rise when the shadows grow long and head to our beds before the sun dares to crest the horizon. It is well after midnight when we arrive at the great obsidian spire of the Sanguine Court. To enter, we must pass through the Gate of Veins, a massive arch of petrified bone. I've done it hundreds of times, but I flinch anyway. My whole body braces, and my eyes mash shut.
When I open them, I am inside the Court.
We move through a grand hall, walking between pillars of cold stone over floorboards polished to a mirror shine. There are dozens of the Folk here, crowding around the entrance to the vast throne room where the revel is being held. I see pale, elegant ladies in gowns woven from spider-silk, knights in armor the color of dried blood, and elders with eyes like hollow pits. I never get tired of the spectacle of the dark pageantry. I know I shouldn't love it as I do, stolen as I am from the mortal world, but I love it all the same.
Valerius swings down from his steed. Oriana and Hestia are already off theirs. It's me they're waiting for. Valerius reaches out his fingers like he is going to help me, but I hop off the saddle on my own. My leather boots hit the ground like a slap.
I hope that I look like a warrior to him.
Oriana steps forward, probably to remind Hestia and me of all the things she doesn't want us to do. I don't give her the chance. Instead, I hook my arm through Hestia's and hurry along inside. The room is redolent with burning rosemary and the sharp tang of copper. Behind us, I can hear Valerius's heavy, rhythmic step, but I know where I am going. The first thing we have to do is greet the King.
The High King sits on his throne in robes of state, a crown of iron thorns holding down his thin, white hair. When we bow, he touches our heads lightly with his cold, ringed hands.
"Go enjoy yourselves," Valerius tells us. With a look back at the dais, Hestia and I head out into the throng.
Tonight, Hestia has a different idea. She passes the steps and grabs food off a silver tray—a dark plum and a wedge of blue-veined cheese. Oriana thinks we can't tell the difference between regular food and the nectar of the Nocturne, which blooms a deep, bruised purple. Its flesh is sweet and dense, and the cloying smell of it fills the air.
The fruit is crisp and cold in my mouth. We pass it back and forth, sharing down to the pit.
My heartbeat speeds up as I look at the crowd. I've never much liked the music they play here; it reminds me too much of someone else. Someone who doesn't appear to be attending tonight. But—oh no. I do see him.
Prince Caspian, sixth-born to the High King, yet still the absolute worst, strides across the floor toward us.
Vane, Karys, and Lucian—his three meanest, fanciest, and most loyal friends—follow him. The crowd parts and hushes, bowing as they pass. Caspian is wearing his usual scowl, accessorized with kohl under his eyes and a circlet of silver in his midnight hair. He has on a long black coat with a high, jagged collar. Vane is in deep red, rubies sparkling on his cuffs like drops of frozen blood. Karys's hair is the blue-green of the ocean, crowned with a diadem of pearls. Lucian brings up the rear, looking bored.
"They're ridiculous," I say to Hestia. I cannot deny that they're also beautiful, just like in the legends. If we didn't have to take lessons alongside them, if I didn't know firsthand what a scourge they were to those who displeased them, I'd probably be as in love with them as everyone else is.
Then Caspian and his companions are too close for us to safely talk about them. I turn my gaze to the floor. Though I hate it, I sink to the ground on one knee and grit my teeth. By my side, Hestia does something similar.
Don't look at us, I think. Don't look.
As Vane passes, he grabs one of my braids. The others move on through the throng as Vane sneers down at me.
"Did you think I didn't see you there?" he says, leaning in close. His breath is heavy with the scent of honey wine. My hand balls into a fist at my side, and I am conscious of the nearness of my knife. Still, I do not look him in the eye.
"Vane," Prince Caspian calls. He is glowering already, and when he sees me, his eyes narrow further.
Vane gives my braid a hard tug. I wince, useless fury coiling in my belly. He laughs and moves on. My fury curdles into shame. I wish I had smacked his hand away, even though it would have made everything worse.
Caspian has stopped beside a young servant boy with long copper hair. The boy isn't bowing. Caspian lunges. Between one eyeblink and the next, the prince's balled fist strikes the boy across the jaw, sending him sprawling. The boy's scream is thin and reedy. He curls up into himself on the ground, agony plain on his face.
The courtiers around us gape and titter, but only for a moment. Then they go back to their dancing and their songs, and the revel spirals on.
This is how they are. Someone gets in Caspian's way, and they're instantly and brutally punished. Driven from taking lessons at the palace, sometimes out of the Court entirely. Hurt. Broken.
As Caspian walks past the boy, apparently done with him, I am grateful that he has five more worthy brothers and sisters; it's practically guaranteed that he'll never sit on the throne. I don't want to think of him with more power than he has.
Even Karys and Vane share a weighted glance. Then Vane shrugs and follows Caspian. But Lucian pauses by the boy, bending down to help him to his feet.
The boy's friends come over to lead him away, and at that moment, improbably, Lucian's gaze lifts. His tawny eyes meet mine and widen in surprise. I am immobilized, my heart speeding. I brace myself for more scorn, but then one corner of his mouth lifts. He winks, as if in acknowledgment of being caught out. As if we're sharing a secret.
"Stop staring at him," Hestia demands.
"Don't give them any more reason to bother you than they've already got!". The intensity of her response surprised me into snatching back my hand. Angry red marks show where she grabbed me.
I look back toward where Lucian was, but the crowd has swallowed him up.