The Songbird and the Heart of Stone (Crowns of Nyaxia #3)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

I nstantly, I was certain that he was everything they said he was.

Even the humans knew all about the kings of Obitraes, the land of vampires. After all, vampire rulers had centuries to build their palaces of grand myth, forged from the flames of their bloody acts.

In the human nations, they had been whispered of like monsters.

In Obitraes, they were talked about like gods.

I’d heard all the stories over the years. Vincent, Oraya’s father and former King of the Nightborn, had been the drawn blade, a killer cold as the night itself. Dante, King of the Bloodborn, had been the beast larger than life, more teeth and claws than man. One day, the whispers would make legends of Raihn and Oraya, too, and I looked forward to hearing them.

Raoul, King of the House of Shadow, might have dwarfed them all.

He was the oldest of the vampire kings, and the one who had managed to cling to power the longest. Like most vampire rulers, he’d plucked his crown off the severed head of his predecessor, his mother, before even bothering to wipe his blade. Two centuries ago, he’d nearly destroyed the House of Blood without a single battle, relying on torture and spies instead of warriors. They said he could pick thoughts from your head like grapes from the vine and crush them just as easily. They said that he could enslave you without a single chain.

As a human, I’d loved the stories because I loved fantasies. And that’s what they had been to me: fantasies. Myths and legends.

But in this moment, as the King of the Shadowborn looked at me and I felt his presence pressing down on my mind like the blanket of night falling upon the horizon, I realized I had been wrong. Surely it was all true after all.

I wondered if it was the human in me that had the visceral desire to turn around and run.

Or maybe it was the vampire, animal instinct recognizing its superior.

But I never ran away. Not even when I should.

Instead, I did what I always did: I gave that bastard the biggest, brightest smile.

Beside him, a fair-haired woman—his wife, surely—stared at me with rage more subtle but every bit as sharp as her husband’s. She was so still, not breathing, her hand on Raoul’s arm. She looked at me like her teeth were itching for my throat.

She was dangerous. The little razor blade no one saw coming because they were too busy looking at her husband’s sword.

Someone gave me a rough push between my shoulder blades. It was intended to put me to my knees, but I caught myself, lifting my head as Egrette strode by me.

“I captured her myself, Father.” Her voice, puffed up with pride, filled the ballroom. “It took time, but my spies eventually found her whereabouts. She was just a few miles north of our borders. Sent by the House of Night, no doubt. I considered killing her then, but I thought…” A vicious smile spread over her ruby-painted lips. “Perhaps you would want to take the first bite.”

I pieced together what this was.

My gown. The party. Egrette’s voice, too loud, too confident, too cruel. The way she kept looking at her father every few seconds, as if she couldn’t wait until the end of her speech to gauge his reaction.

I had a knack for seeing people for what they were. And right now, I looked at Egrette and saw desperation.

I was a ploy to gain her father’s favor. Something that, I guessed, she’d probably never been able to attain.

Gods take me. I’d die a pawn in someone else’s family drama.

Raoul stared at me, those ageless eyes unblinking. “The House of Night,” he said slowly. Then he laughed, the sound slithering through the air. His cruel pleasure buried beneath my skull.

He rose in one sharp movement. “The kingdom of crows and bats sends spies to me? Neculai hasn’t earned such nerve.”

I blinked, brow furrowing.

Neculai? Neculai was the King of the House of Night before Raihn, before Vincent—he’d died hundreds of years ago.

The chuckles of pleasure in the partygoers withered. They exchanged awkward glances. Egrette took another step forward, her eyes darting between the crowd and her father.

“Neculai deserved to see his kingdom collapse as it did,” she said. “Yes, the Nightborn have always been too bold, Father.”

A weak attempt at covering for his mistake. It didn’t work.

A line of confusion etched Raoul’s brow. He rubbed his temple. “Vincent,” he said, as if reminding himself. “Vincent has the gall to send me spies? I’ll—I’ll send them back to him in pieces, just as I did -before—” He turned abruptly to his wife, a snarl at his lips. “This should not have been allowed to happen. Where is Malach? Get him for me.”

Anger at another dead king. Asking for his dead son. Something wasn’t right.

“Go get him,” Raoul snarled, and the air itself just shattered .

I doubled over as pain split my skull. A low buzz vibrated in my ears. The room grew suddenly darker, shadows dripping down the wall like blood from a slit throat. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I managed to lift my head just enough to see the other partygoers clutching their heads, too. The human blood vendors had slumped to the floor, eyes rolled back, foam bubbling at their lips.

The queen leaned against her husband’s arm. She slipped a wine glass into his hand and helped him lift it to his mouth. He drank deep.

Just as abruptly, it was all gone. The sound. The pain. The darkness.

Gone.

I straightened, still shaking with the aftereffects of Raoul’s outburst. The guests collected themselves, rubbing their eyes and foreheads. I expected to see more of a reaction from the others, but no one acknowledged what had just happened.

It wasn’t the first time.

Raoul was not well. And he was so ancient, so powerful, that losing control of his faculties meant losing control of his magic. That wasn’t just an embarrassment to the House of Shadow. It was deadly .

The King of the House of Shadow was a massive liability.

Maybe my face showed the realization, because Egrette glanced at me and I heard her voice in my head:

Not a word, spy. Not a damned word.

But Raoul’s face was smooth now, his eyes clear. He approached me. Vampires lost so many of their human affectations as they aged. Raoul, ancient as he was, no longer even had to blink.

“You killed my heir,” he said.

He peeled my memories apart as carelessly as if he were disassembling the wedges of an orange. I could feel the sword in my hands all over again. Taste the prince’s blood spattering across my face. I hadn’t let Oraya see the way I’d licked it off my lips that night. How much I’d enjoyed the iron tang.

The king’s magic repulsed me. And yet, it called to mine, and vice versa, sensing the hint of my maker in him.

“My gift to you is more than just retribution, Father,” Egrette said. “Yes, she murdered Malach. But we all know she didn’t act alone in that. Execute her for her crime. Send pieces of her back to the House of Night. Show the slave king and the half-breed queen what we think of their treachery.”

At that, my heart stopped beating.

I imagined Raihn’s and Oraya’s faces when presented with my head in a box. They would start a war for me, even though their shaky newborn rule couldn’t withstand it. They’d end the House of Night for me. No hesitation—no question. I’d left to protect them, and now I would still end up destroying them.

Raoul paused, interest piqued by his daughter’s suggestion.

The momentary distraction bought me just enough time to stuff my emotions behind my mental walls. I forced a laugh. “Oh, gods. That’s flattering. But if you think the king and queen would give a shit about me?—”

“Silence,” Raoul commanded, and my mouth closed. The dizzying desire to please fell over me.

Silence. Silence. Silence.

The king tilted my chin up. His touch was too smooth, too cold. It was repulsive, but I couldn’t make myself pull away. He slipped into my mind, and I frantically slammed doors closed like a teenage daughter hiding her lover in the closet.

Still, he returned to that memory—the memory of his son’s death. The memory of a face that looked so much like his, eyes going glassy and vacant as my sword plunged through his chest. He unraveled it over and over again.

And in this moment, I knew that there was no stopping what was about to happen.

Raoul released me. “Kneel,” he commanded.

Kneel. Kneel. Kneel.

I hit the floor, my knees cracking against marble.

I was going to die.

“A gift indeed, my daughter,” his voice echoed. “Let us show the House of Night what we do with murderers.”

Tears stung my eyes. The tittering delight of the crowd faded to a grainy din in the background. Egrette gave her guard a command I didn’t listen to. The partygoers laughed. The swords unsheathed. A sentence approached.

Raoul’s command bound my muscles, forcing me to the ground. But would I have fought it even if I could? How long could one person escape death? I’d felt like I was supposed to die the first night my god finally abandoned me. I’d been chasing redemption for so long. I was never going to get it.

Maybe death was the best end.

But—gods—Raihn and Oraya. That was the only injustice. That my death would be used to destroy them.

I had failed them, too. Just like the others.

Someone grabbed my hair, twisting my head back to expose my throat.

A blade rose?—

“Stop.” A deep voice boomed through the party. “ Stop. I need her.”