with more remorse; more pain; more regret.
‘There were mass killings at that time. Did you ever notice that?’
My eyes went wide. The newspaper article had compared Trafalgar Square to the Kent Bloodsuckers incident, which had happened around that time.
‘And Kaspar?’ I prompted.
‘He took it hard. Harder than the rest of us. He was so close to his mother. But it wasn’t just that. Only fourth and seventh children can inherit the throne, and her death means there will never be a seventh child and he is indefinitely heir.’
His eyes flashed a black-grey once more and his hold around me became unbearably tight. I let out a little whine as my ribcage felt like it was being crushed. He loosened his grip, but his fists remained clenched.
‘His grief changed him. He isn’t the Kaspar I used to consider as good as a brother any more.’ He laughed hollowly. ‘Sure he was a womanizer even then, but that was nothing compared to now. Now he uses and abuses his power, bedding everything that walks, and he thinks nothing of taking a life …’ he trailed off, too traumatized to carry on.
Yes, I knew that Kaspar. But somehow, through my loathing, through everything he had done to me, I felt pity. I knew how he felt. I knew how grief shaped and remoulded your life. I knew how it could make you hate the ones you love with such a passion. I knew how you would do anything just to ease the pain for a single moment.
‘I wish, Violet, that you could have seen us all before it happened. You would think of us differently then.’
I said nothing. I couldn’t agree. That hate of vampires was embedded deep within me, passed from generation to generation, all the way back to those first humans, who had first learned to fear these powerful creatures.
‘And with her died any hope of peace with the humans and the slayers. Now the war is just getting worse.’ He squeezed me, as though I wasn’t on the opposite side of this so-called conflict. ‘It will destroy us, unless you’re one of those who believes in the Prophecy.’
I prised myself away and lowered onto the arm of the chair. ‘Prophecy?’
‘The Prophecy of the Heroines. Some eighth-century crackpot predicted that if nine ‘chosen heroines’ find each other and learn to work together, they could create a lasting peace between us and humanity. But why leave something so important to fate? Everyone believed that the Queen could do it … but now we have to wait for the impossible,’ he finished in a bitter undertone.
‘But do you know what the worst thing is, Violet?’ he asked after a long pause, which included the flexing of his fists. ‘It was planned. We had an anonymous tip that someone within your government ordered her murder. We don’t know who. But I swear, if I ever find out, I will drain someone they love, so they know what it is like to lose someone. So they can feel that pain too.’ He finished, growling, lips rolled back. His eyes were blood red, but flashing to black and back.
I drew back, scared of this side of Fabian I knew of, but had never seen. He looked down at me, his blond hair falling over his livid eyes. Immediately, his expression softened, and his eyes returned to their airy blue.
‘I’m sorry, Violet. You don’t want to know this,’ he murmured softly. He pulled me back to him and I sank onto the arm of the chair, letting the onslaught of information sink in, fitting its way around what I already knew. It made so much sense.
‘You need to go to bed,’ Fabian’s musical voice chimed in my ear. I nodded, my eyes dropping.
I felt him begin to lift me and, in seconds, I was being lowered onto soft sheets. My eyes were just about open when I saw him sweep down. For a moment, panic swept through me, but it faded as his lips, as cold as they would be on a winter’s day, brushed my cheek.
‘Sweet dreams, Violet.’
I heard a click and the lamps went out. Lazy thoughts drifted in and out of my mind, forming the beginnings of dreams.
My father had entered government just three years ago. He didn’t like vampires. My eyes flew open, and I sat bolt upright in bed.
He couldn’t have, could he?
It’s a coincidence, I told myself firmly. A coincidence. Anyone could have ordered her death. Desperate, I placed all thought of it into a box in my mind, locked it and chucked away the key. I would not think about it again.
I must have sat up all night, because before I knew it, the sun was seeping through the delicate voiles covering my window. My eyes blinked furiously, not used to the glaring light creeping its way across the room. I slipped the ruffled covers off myself and slid out of the bed, realizing I was still wearing my clothes from last night. I shuddered, disgusted. My top stuck to my stomach and beads of sweat ran down my back.
I walked towards the window, hoping that it might have unlocked itself. It hadn’t. I smacked the glass in frustration and my stomach knotted up, although that might be something to do with the stomach-ache that was beginning in my gut. I slid down the wall, as homesickness overtook me. Thoughts of my family rushed through my mind: my friends; my room; my home. As every image flashed through my mind, more and more sobs escaped my throat. I just wanted to go home. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?
Sighing, I felt the heartfelt longing ebb away. I hauled myself up and with some reluctance, headed for the shower.
When I got out some time later, I tripped over the rim and by the time I had got dressed, half the bottles on the sink had ended up on the floor too.
Butter fingers, I thought. I snatched them off the floor and placed them back upright. As I stood up, I had to grip the sink for balance as stars appeared in front of my eyes and my temples began to thump. When it had faded, I walked back into my bedroom and dropped onto my front, crawling under the bed to cross off another day on my makeshift calendar. I grabbed a pencil off the floor, and made a small mark on the wall. 16th August. That date rang a bell for some reason. I screwed my forehead up, trying to remember the significance.
Dropping things? Dizziness? Stomach cramps? Messed-up emotions? Panicking, I started counting twenty-eight days back. ‘Crap,’ I breathed.
***
Lyla was away. It was a Sunday, so the maids had the day off. That left Fabian. Great.
I searched most of the mansion – at least the parts I knew about – until I found him swimming lengths in the indoor pool. He broke the surface and seeing me standing there, he smiled, hoisting himself out. My mouth formed a large ‘O’. He was wearing nothing but swim shorts and his stomach was toned. Very toned. Droplets of water ran down his body, gliding over his smooth skin. His almost-white hair was plastered to his face, falling over his eyes and he jerked his head to the side, flicking it away. Oh man. It was like a cologne advert, right in front of my eyes.
‘Morning,’ he said in his usual cheery tone, not even a hint of colour in his cheeks, despite the fact he had just been swimming. He grabbed a towel off a chair nearby and flung it around his shoulders. Before I knew what was happening, he had dropped his shorts, and was pulling a pair of boxers on. I spun around, facing the opposite wall, moving so fast I almost slipped on the wet floor. I screwed up my eyes and felt my cheeks go red hot.
‘A little warning next time!’ I squeaked, mortified.
He
