Chapter 18
1386 Words
Vasska mounted and turned his steed after a nod at Elio.
He did so with the ease of someone used to being obeyed before he even gave the command.
Typical.
The vampire officials behind him fell in line without so much as a twitch. Crimson cloaks, black sashes, elegant and cold. Everything about them screamed control.
Haha. Inviting.
“Isolde,” Ezekiel hissed through clenched teeth, “you can stop now.” He reminded.
She was still in her waist pain inducing pose.
I laughed out loud this time.
I inexplicably felt Isolde shooting me subtle eye daggers.
I raised an infuriating brow then turned around.
I was still thinking about the way Vasska’s eyes had scraped across my skin like glass—cool, unhurried, and vaguely amused.
Like I was interesting in that degrading way you'd find a cat cute.
Behind me, Isolde exhaled like someone had squeezed a perfume bottle. Her voice oozed faux sweetness.
“Did you see the way he looked at me?”
“Who?” I said, deadpan. “The horse?”
She bared her teeth, "You were staring. Did you forget you were engaged, cousin?"
“You're just selectively blind. He was staring too,” I said flatly.
Her smile soured. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I won’t. That’s your job.”
She hissed softly.
I smirked but we were already moving.
We reached the city gates. Soldiers were stationed at the top of it with stern faces. Each with a bow notched.
I would be more nervous if we didn't have like sixteen elite warriors, six elders and a beta in our party.
The gates yawned open slowly.
I gasped.
"What in the world?" I mutter softly as I look around the too polished streets.
Sanghana was less a city and more a cathedral built from someone’s fever dream.
I was honestly in awe. Never been anywhere but Vargrheim and the world was indeed different.
The cobblestones glistened with frost. And it wasn't even the season. I stepped on it and it felt real enough.
The buildings rose in sharp lines—obsidian glass and bone-white trim, spires that pierced the sky and arched bridges that gleamed like surgical tools.
No soot. No mud. No grit. Even the rats would probably wear little embroidered waistcoats and talk in full sentences here.
Lanterns hovered midair, blue and violet, flickering without heat. The light made shadows strange—long, reaching, and too slow to move when you did.
The streets were lined with people.
Sanghana’s commoners.
If that’s what you could call them.
They looked more like puppets.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t wave. They just watched with pale faces that were seriously creepy.
Some were beautiful. Most were forgettable in that way that still made your hair stand on end.
There was something seriously wrong with the air here.
And every damn one of them looked at us like we’d tracked in the wet dog smell.
I heard obnoxious whispers.
"Lycan."
"Alive?"
“Royal too?”
I tried my best to ignore everything.
I looked at Elio.
He rode beside Prince Vasska now on a white horse, posture perfect.
He’d fallen into the rhythm of diplomacy like it was part of his blood.
They were talking in low voices but I still caught some words.
"Who...","White hair—", "How many"
"Sister.", "unaccounted for", "letter..."
Safe to say they were talking about me.
I was tucked a few paces behind on feet, next to Quinn, who watched everything with those careful, soldier's eyes.
Ezekiel was up ahead keeping up with the horses with his gait, practically foaming at the mouth.
"Lord Vasska,” he simpered to the air, "Sanghana is beautiful and of course Vargrheim extends—”
“We know,” one of the escorting vampires said smoothly.
Not Vasska.
He wasn’t even looking at him.
The old toad blinked. Then bowed again. “Yes. Of course. Just formality—”
He kept yammering.
I kept walking while dealing with a serious case of second hand embarrassment.
!! !! !! !! !! !!
The castle—and I’m being generous calling it that—sat at the far end of the city like someone dumped a giant slab of stone there and called it a day.
No towers. No Charming little flags. No romantic balconies. Nothing grand or royal-looking. Just a massive, gloomy building with way too many windows, all shaped like they were eyes.
It didn’t scream royalty. It mumbled something more along the lines of tax evasion and people's curses.
And then there were the steps. A full mountain’s worth. Easily a thousand of them, winding up like the world’s most exhausting dare. No handrails. No breaks. Just this long, miserable climb that made you question every decision that led to this point in your life.
I was already questioning mine.
I was fairly sure I was hating this place already. It paled in comparison to my obviously magical imagination of the place.
At the top: gates made of bone. Real bone. Don’t ask me how I knew. You just look at it and your brain goes, yep, that’s from something that used to move.
And of course Elio didn’t even break a sweat while climbing. Because of course he didn’t.
He turned back abruptly, catching my eyes. I gave him a thumbs up then immediately turned it upside down when he turned around.
The air got colder as we entered the courtyard.
The Hall of Dusk—I see the naming theme here—was where we were lead to once we got inside.
We approached it in silence, the whole envoy taut with the unspoken pressure of ceremony.
Isolde practically floated with every step beside Elio, her gown rustling like disturbing leaves.
Quinn led at the front, his expression carved from stone. Ezekiel carried himself with his false sense of superiority, stroking his beard.
I swear the guy had more aura back in Vargrheim.
As we entered the vaulted chamber, silence met us like a wall. No sound of feet, no coughs or whispers.
Above us, thousands of candles glowed in iron candelabras hung high over our heads.
A vast platform stretched out at the far side of the room. A line of people stood upon it, mostly dressed in red or black.
They all looked powerful.
A woman sat in their center on an elegant chair of carved black stone, striking in clothes of crimson velvet. There was no crown upon her head. Yet, I was reminded of the throne back at Vargrheim.
Below the platform, the vast room was packed to the brim with a massive crowd. As we entered, the throng parted, letting us pass through the center.
Cold red eyes. All of them.
Hushed murmurs rose from around us. I listened to the subdued chatter, catching a few sneers sent our way. There was also fear.
That surprised me.
Vasska had disappeared at some point but now I see him again.
He stood on the platform a little behind the woman on the throne, with his hands clasped behind his back. They looked alike. The hooded eyes, and striking mole at the corner. If anything, it made him look even more aristocratic, enhancing his haughty expression. It complemented the fine angles of his cheekbones and jaw and added to his wolfish air.
Beside him, vampires lined the shadows, eyes reflective and all red.
Quinn stepped forward, his voice even and low. “On behalf of Vargrheim, I present our envoy. Prince Elio Romero, heir to the Alpha. Elder Ezekiel of the Council. Myself, Beta Quinn. Lady Isolde of House Lygan.”
A beat.
“And Princess Cinder Romero. Accompanying under special advisement.”
Vasska inclined his head, voice a silken thread. “Your envoy includes two unexpected additions,” he said. His gaze swept across the formation. "We shall make proper arrangements to accommodate them."
He didn’t need to say names. The weight of his gaze already settled on me.
Then I saw them.
Fae.
They stepped in from one side of the chamber, silent as carved alabaster. Draped in silver and deep green, their skin shimmered faintly under the strange light. At their center stood a young man with hair like the sun and eyes like emerald fire.
Vaeril.
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