Chapter 17: 17
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Some say he's a murderer. Others say he's mad. I'm not sure which I believe as he looks at me with an intense stare, his breath shallow, his lips parted. His expressions are odd, almost unnaturally subdued, as if he is fighting a constant struggle to keep himself under control. The Scarlet Prince is the epitome of what one might call a 'dark beauty': angular, mysterious, dangerous. All vampires possess an element of this- or at least so I had always been told. It is probably, after all, how they lure their victims in so flawlessly. No doubt often couple with their powers of suggestion, enchanting their victims and commanding them towards their deathly demise. Or for some 'fun'. The royal vampires have greater powers in this field than any, and it strikes me as odd that Soren hasn't used them yet. Even for someone as unpredictable as a vampire, the action in itself seems entirely unnatural.
"May I take this dance?" he asks, the rich tones of his voice reverberating in the back of his throat, spilling out into the air like honey out a hive- a promise of love, and of danger. There it is again. The dance. As if he already knew that childish part of me that wanted nothing more than to be scooped up by one of those beautiful, bewitching creatures, and dance and dance without a care in the world for the council, or Ithuriel, or that my life is completely and utterly in danger. As if he had delved deep into my mind and plucked out the deepest, darkest fantasy he could find, toying with the idea, playing. He sounds like a gentleman, and much less of a monster. But there is a wariness about him, a bubbling uncertainty that threatens to boil over at a moments notice.
His hand wavers impatiently. As if on cue, a slow, steady thrum of strings and bass lifts up into the air, a beautiful waltz, but its song spells danger. I hesitate.
"I'm not going to hurt you, pretty little dove," he reminds me, his words echoing that of a vampire far more than they did in the Great forest. Of course they would, he has nothing to hide here, I think to myself. Reaching to graze the tips of his fingers wisps away from my cheek he eyes me lazily, seeing if I will pull away, testing the waters. I remain firmly rooted on the spot, not giving him the satisfaction of it. Ridiculously enough, his words hold less value to me here than they did in the Great Forest. Sure he has appearances to maintain, but he is the prince of all vampires, he can do as he likes. It would probably amuse no end of the bastard bloodsuckers to see him gut me where I stand, and then use my entrails as the bunting for their next grand feast- hell they would probably even laugh. My gorge rises at the thought. He'd had me fooled, so incredibly well. Idiot. The tall vampire reaches a lingering hand to grip my arm, and out of instinct, I wince, his sharp black nails a stark reminder of how easily this creature could slice open my throat on a whim. A few vampires hiss behind me, as though I had personally offended them by my actions. I shoot them a look of contempt.
"Come on, let me show you what it's like to dance with the vampires," he pleas softly, seductively, eye's glittering. Then he leans in, pulling me in by the arm and whispering against my cheek so low it sends a shudder down my spine. "I know you want to," My eyes widen, and the Prince gives me a knowing look, a lazy smile playing on his lips, as if that isn't the only thing he knows about me.
Out of fear of what might become of me if I keep him waiting, I nod, and he pulls me in, leading into a gentle waltz. One hand hovers lightly on my waist, the other on my shoulders, black nails digging slightly into my bare back. Vampires part around us, watching with a mixture of horror and awe as he leads me round the throne room, uncaring for their cries of anguish.
My mind reels as we waltz across the throne room, the pale light of day streaming in through the huge arched windows and illuminating my face in a ghostly parlour. I try to suppress the horror that begins bubbling in my throat. Two steps into the plan and everything has already gone magnificently wrong. Somewhere, in this castle is the eternal flame, no doubt under locks and chains, hellfires and traps to keep me out. Even from this room I feel its raw energy circulating through the air, bestowing me with a sense of illimitable power, just like it does all the vampires around me. My mission seemed so simple even then: to find the eternal flame, anonymously, and take it back to our people to restore our power. So we can finally win this war. Kill the Princes if I could. I would become just another shade amongst all the other elves, a perfect disguise. How ironic it is, then, to be dancing with the Prince of all vampires. So much for being anonymous. I curse myself bitterly. I need a new plan. Fast.
"I'm sorry I did not tell you who I was, back in the Great Forest, pretty little dove," Soren apologises slowly, spinning us round, interrupting my thoughts. I bite to hold back what is almost a laugh bubbling hysterically in my throat. The most coldblooded creature known to Faey is apologising to me. The situation seems almost so humorous that for a moment it's hard to keep a straight face. It certainly isn't something I had heard before- a vampire apologising? The vampires didn't apologise when they decided to slaughter half my kind, and they didn't apologise after they made me an orphan when I was far too young to even understand the meaning of the word either. And yet I can do little to hold back the smile twisting on my face. I move my hand to smother it.
"So, what, you expected me to run or something?" I ask, a bit too boldly. A part of me wonders if it would be more fun for him- if I ran. Like a game of tag, only with claws and fangs instead of giggles and light hearted shoves. All at once, Soren's eyes shift dangerously and a dark expression pulls over his face, as though he is remembering something awful. It's like a switch has been flicked behind his face. The mask shifts. There is a menacing semblance about him that wasn't there before: fear ripples through the air, the shadows around us seeming to bend towards him, a dark aura emanating off his body. Not necessarily threatening, but enough to make me wary as he leans towards me, his breath pressing against the shell of my ear. His fingers tremble on my waist, but not out of fear.
"You should do," That is it. Those three heedful words strung out before me sends shivers quaking down my spine. The way he says it is almost like a command, like he, the Scarlet Prince, actually wants me to go. But underneath it all, under the gruffness of his words and the steady grip of his hand, is anguish, dripping from his voice under a blanket of foreboding; and it is worse than anything I can imagine. My smile fades. The vampire Prince makes a staunch attempt not to look into my eyes, to appear nonchalant, as though he isn't averting his gaze for the soul reason of not meeting mine. It's almost like he cares what he'd find there- which is a ridiculous thought in itself. Vampires don't care. Especially not the Scarlet Prince. Soren pulls himself back as we continue to waltz our way across the floor, fangs flashing cruelly, hair swaying round his curled horns as his body graces the throne room with its fluid presence: the picture of what a vampire prince should be. His hands grip a little tighter now, his claws a little sharper, protective- no, possessive, and threatening all the same. Part of me thinks he might draw blood. Another part of me worries why I do not feel afraid if he does.
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Some say he's a murderer. Others say he's mad. I'm not sure which I believe as he looks at me with an intense stare, his breath shallow, his lips parted. His expressions are odd, almost unnaturally subdued, as if he is fighting a constant struggle to keep himself under control. The Scarlet Prince is the epitome of what one might call a 'dark beauty': angular, mysterious, dangerous. All vampires possess an element of this- or at least so I had always been told. It is probably, after all, how they lure their victims in so flawlessly. No doubt often couple with their powers of suggestion, enchanting their victims and commanding them towards their deathly demise. Or for some 'fun'. The royal vampires have greater powers in this field than any, and it strikes me as odd that Soren hasn't used them yet. Even for someone as unpredictable as a vampire, the action in itself seems entirely unnatural.
"May I take this dance?" he asks, the rich tones of his voice reverberating in the back of his throat, spilling out into the air like honey out a hive- a promise of love, and of danger. There it is again. The dance. As if he already knew that childish part of me that wanted nothing more than to be scooped up by one of those beautiful, bewitching creatures, and dance and dance without a care in the world for the council, or Ithuriel, or that my life is completely and utterly in danger. As if he had delved deep into my mind and plucked out the deepest, darkest fantasy he could find, toying with the idea, playing. He sounds like a gentleman, and much less of a monster. But there is a wariness about him, a bubbling uncertainty that threatens to boil over at a moments notice.
His hand wavers impatiently. As if on cue, a slow, steady thrum of strings and bass lifts up into the air, a beautiful waltz, but its song spells danger. I hesitate.
"I'm not going to hurt you, pretty little dove," he reminds me, his words echoing that of a vampire far more than they did in the Great forest. Of course they would, he has nothing to hide here, I think to myself. Reaching to graze the tips of his fingers wisps away from my cheek he eyes me lazily, seeing if I will pull away, testing the waters. I remain firmly rooted on the spot, not giving him the satisfaction of it. Ridiculously enough, his words hold less value to me here than they did in the Great Forest. Sure he has appearances to maintain, but he is the prince of all vampires, he can do as he likes. It would probably amuse no end of the bastard bloodsuckers to see him gut me where I stand, and then use my entrails as the bunting for their next grand feast- hell they would probably even laugh. My gorge rises at the thought. He'd had me fooled, so incredibly well. Idiot. The tall vampire reaches a lingering hand to grip my arm, and out of instinct, I wince, his sharp black nails a stark reminder of how easily this creature could slice open my throat on a whim. A few vampires hiss behind me, as though I had personally offended them by my actions. I shoot them a look of contempt.
"Come on, let me show you what it's like to dance with the vampires," he pleas softly, seductively, eye's glittering. Then he leans in, pulling me in by the arm and whispering against my cheek so low it sends a shudder down my spine. "I know you want to," My eyes widen, and the Prince gives me a knowing look, a lazy smile playing on his lips, as if that isn't the only thing he knows about me.
Out of fear of what might become of me if I keep him waiting, I nod, and he pulls me in, leading into a gentle waltz. One hand hovers lightly on my waist, the other on my shoulders, black nails digging slightly into my bare back. Vampires part around us, watching with a mixture of horror and awe as he leads me round the throne room, uncaring for their cries of anguish.
My mind reels as we waltz across the throne room, the pale light of day streaming in through the huge arched windows and illuminating my face in a ghostly parlour. I try to suppress the horror that begins bubbling in my throat. Two steps into the plan and everything has already gone magnificently wrong. Somewhere, in this castle is the eternal flame, no doubt under locks and chains, hellfires and traps to keep me out. Even from this room I feel its raw energy circulating through the air, bestowing me with a sense of illimitable power, just like it does all the vampires around me. My mission seemed so simple even then: to find the eternal flame, anonymously, and take it back to our people to restore our power. So we can finally win this war. Kill the Princes if I could. I would become just another shade amongst all the other elves, a perfect disguise. How ironic it is, then, to be dancing with the Prince of all vampires. So much for being anonymous. I curse myself bitterly. I need a new plan. Fast.
"I'm sorry I did not tell you who I was, back in the Great Forest, pretty little dove," Soren apologises slowly, spinning us round, interrupting my thoughts. I bite to hold back what is almost a laugh bubbling hysterically in my throat. The most coldblooded creature known to Faey is apologising to me. The situation seems almost so humorous that for a moment it's hard to keep a straight face. It certainly isn't something I had heard before- a vampire apologising? The vampires didn't apologise when they decided to slaughter half my kind, and they didn't apologise after they made me an orphan when I was far too young to even understand the meaning of the word either. And yet I can do little to hold back the smile twisting on my face. I move my hand to smother it.
"So, what, you expected me to run or something?" I ask, a bit too boldly. A part of me wonders if it would be more fun for him- if I ran. Like a game of tag, only with claws and fangs instead of giggles and light hearted shoves. All at once, Soren's eyes shift dangerously and a dark expression pulls over his face, as though he is remembering something awful. It's like a switch has been flicked behind his face. The mask shifts. There is a menacing semblance about him that wasn't there before: fear ripples through the air, the shadows around us seeming to bend towards him, a dark aura emanating off his body. Not necessarily threatening, but enough to make me wary as he leans towards me, his breath pressing against the shell of my ear. His fingers tremble on my waist, but not out of fear.
"You should do," That is it. Those three heedful words strung out before me sends shivers quaking down my spine. The way he says it is almost like a command, like he, the Scarlet Prince, actually wants me to go. But underneath it all, under the gruffness of his words and the steady grip of his hand, is anguish, dripping from his voice under a blanket of foreboding; and it is worse than anything I can imagine. My smile fades. The vampire Prince makes a staunch attempt not to look into my eyes, to appear nonchalant, as though he isn't averting his gaze for the soul reason of not meeting mine. It's almost like he cares what he'd find there- which is a ridiculous thought in itself. Vampires don't care. Especially not the Scarlet Prince. Soren pulls himself back as we continue to waltz our way across the floor, fangs flashing cruelly, hair swaying round his curled horns as his body graces the throne room with its fluid presence: the picture of what a vampire prince should be. His hands grip a little tighter now, his claws a little sharper, protective- no, possessive, and threatening all the same. Part of me thinks he might draw blood. Another part of me worries why I do not feel afraid if he does.
Some say he's a murderer. Others say he's mad. I'm not sure which I believe as he looks at me with an intense stare, his breath shallow, his lips parted. His expressions are odd, almost unnaturally subdued, as if he is fighting a constant struggle to keep himself under control. The Scarlet Prince is the epitome of what one might call a 'dark beauty': angular, mysterious, dangerous. All vampires possess an element of this- or at least so I had always been told. It is probably, after all, how they lure their victims in so flawlessly. No doubt often couple with their powers of suggestion, enchanting their victims and commanding them towards their deathly demise. Or for some 'fun'. The royal vampires have greater powers in this field than any, and it strikes me as odd that Soren hasn't used them yet. Even for someone as unpredictable as a vampire, the action in itself seems entirely unnatural."May I take this dance?" he asks, the rich tones of his voice reverberating in the back of his throat, spilling out into the air like honey out a hive- a promise of love, and of danger. There it is again. The dance. As if he already knew that childish part of me that wanted nothing more than to be scooped up by one of those beautiful, bewitching creatures, and dance and dance without a care in the world for the council, or Ithuriel, or that my life is completely and utterly in danger. As if he had delved deep into my mind and plucked out the deepest, darkest fantasy he could find, toying with the idea, playing. He sounds like a gentleman, and much less of a monster. But there is a wariness about him, a bubbling uncertainty that threatens to boil over at a moments notice.His hand wavers impatiently. As if on cue, a slow, steady thrum of strings and bass lifts up into the air, a beautiful waltz, but its song spells danger. I hesitate."I'm not going to hurt you, pretty little dove," he reminds me, his words echoing that of a vampire far more than they did in the Great forest. Of course they would, he has nothing to hide here, I think to myself. Reaching to graze the tips of his fingers wisps away from my cheek he eyes me lazily, seeing if I will pull away, testing the waters. I remain firmly rooted on the spot, not giving him the satisfaction of it. Ridiculously enough, his words hold less value to me here than they did in the Great Forest. Sure he has appearances to maintain, but he is the prince of all vampires, he can do as he likes. It would probably amuse no end of the bastard bloodsuckers to see him gut me where I stand, and then use my entrails as the bunting for their next grand feast- hell they would probably even laugh. My gorge rises at the thought. He'd had me fooled, so incredibly well. Idiot. The tall vampire reaches a lingering hand to grip my arm, and out of instinct, I wince, his sharp black nails a stark reminder of how easily this creature could slice open my throat on a whim. A few vampires hiss behind me, as though I had personally offended them by my actions. I shoot them a look of contempt."Come on, let me show you what it's like to dance with the vampires," he pleas softly, seductively, eye's glittering. Then he leans in, pulling me in by the arm and whispering against my cheek so low it sends a shudder down my spine. "I know you want to," My eyes widen, and the Prince gives me a knowing look, a lazy smile playing on his lips, as if that isn't the only thing he knows about me.Out of fear of what might become of me if I keep him waiting, I nod, and he pulls me in, leading into a gentle waltz. One hand hovers lightly on my waist, the other on my shoulders, black nails digging slightly into my bare back. Vampires part around us, watching with a mixture of horror and awe as he leads me round the throne room, uncaring for their cries of anguish.My mind reels as we waltz across the throne room, the pale light of day streaming in through the huge arched windows and illuminating my face in a ghostly parlour. I try to suppress the horror that begins bubbling in my throat. Two steps into the plan and everything has already gone magnificently wrong. Somewhere, in this castle is the eternal flame, no doubt under locks and chains, hellfires and traps to keep me out. Even from this room I feel its raw energy circulating through the air, bestowing me with a sense of illimitable power, just like it does all the vampires around me. My mission seemed so simple even then: to find the eternal flame, anonymously, and take it back to our people to restore our power. So we can finally win this war. Kill the Princes if I could. I would become just another shade amongst all the other elves, a perfect disguise. How ironic it is, then, to be dancing with the Prince of all vampires. So much for being anonymous. I curse myself bitterly. I need a new plan. Fast."I'm sorry I did not tell you who I was, back in the Great Forest, pretty little dove," Soren apologises slowly, spinning us round, interrupting my thoughts. I bite to hold back what is almost a laugh bubbling hysterically in my throat. The most coldblooded creature known to Faey is apologising to me. The situation seems almost so humorous that for a moment it's hard to keep a straight face. It certainly isn't something I had heard before- a vampire apologising? The vampires didn't apologise when they decided to slaughter half my kind, and they didn't apologise after they made me an orphan when I was far too young to even understand the meaning of the word either. And yet I can do little to hold back the smile twisting on my face. I move my hand to smother it."So, what, you expected me to run or something?" I ask, a bit too boldly. A part of me wonders if it would be more fun for him- if I ran. Like a game of tag, only with claws and fangs instead of giggles and light hearted shoves. All at once, Soren's eyes shift dangerously and a dark expression pulls over his face, as though he is remembering something awful. It's like a switch has been flicked behind his face. The mask shifts. There is a menacing semblance about him that wasn't there before: fear ripples through the air, the shadows around us seeming to bend towards him, a dark aura emanating off his body. Not necessarily threatening, but enough to make me wary as he leans towards me, his breath pressing against the shell of my ear. His fingers tremble on my waist, but not out of fear."You should do," That is it. Those three heedful words strung out before me sends shivers quaking down my spine. The way he says it is almost like a command, like he, the Scarlet Prince, actually wants me to go. But underneath it all, under the gruffness of his words and the steady grip of his hand, is anguish, dripping from his voice under a blanket of foreboding; and it is worse than anything I can imagine. My smile fades. The vampire Prince makes a staunch attempt not to look into my eyes, to appear nonchalant, as though he isn't averting his gaze for the soul reason of not meeting mine. It's almost like he cares what he'd find there- which is a ridiculous thought in itself. Vampires don't care. Especially not the Scarlet Prince. Soren pulls himself back as we continue to waltz our way across the floor, fangs flashing cruelly, hair swaying round his curled horns as his body graces the throne room with its fluid presence: the picture of what a vampire prince should be. His hands grip a little tighter now, his claws a little sharper, protective- no, possessive, and threatening all the same. Part of me thinks he might draw blood. Another part of me worries why I do not feel afraid if he does.
