Her Strength

Dull

Cronan’s POV

The dinner was oddly anticlimactic.

    My father didn’t show.

    Teferi and Semerov sat at opposite sides of the banquet room, positioned in ways that they didn’t have to look at each other during their meals.  Everybody had their Queens, any King that was bonded had brought them along, as well as their children—having the families present made conversation easier, the atmosphere calming.  For those expecting children—Bartholomew, Teferi, and Virote—it was more of a celebration than a meal of business.  The woman fussed over the baby bellies.  I was thankful that Aurelia was in that mix, away from me.  Pretending that I didn’t want to kill her was tiring.

    “When will you choose a queen?”  It was Semerov, poking at Xavier who, unlike the others, was seated alone.  “I’d been betrothed to mine at the age of ten.”

    “Sorry to hear that,” was Xavier’s curt reply.

    Turning, amused, I honed in on that conversation, as did many others.  It wasn’t necessary for a Prince to have chosen a Queen but for one to take the throne without one—and to remain without one for a few years of ruling as Xavier had—was a bit unconventional.

    “My Lada is a dream, is she not?” Semerov asked, turning toward one of the tallest blondes of the bunch.  She was built like a supermodel, as many Purebloods were, nose straight, lips full.  “Why wouldn’t you want a beautiful woman to take to bed?  Or is it that you have other preferences?”  That was a jab if I’d ever heard one.  Pushing at Xavier, looking down his nose at him, Semerov was clearly looking for a fight.  I got the gist from how rigid Teferi’s back had gone that Semerov may have been purposely pushing at someone else’s buttons—Xavier was just collateral.

    Sitting back in his seat, I watched as Xavier shot a smile at Teferi before returning his gaze back to Semerov.  “Why so interested in my love life, Semerov?”

    “I’m just curious.  There’s so many beautiful women within our families to pick from,” he went on, glancing toward a table full of young women, daughters of fellow Kings.

    Catia, Semerov’s eldest, ducked her head, bowing submissively while a few others were still chattering about, paying the men no mind.

    So that was it, then?

    Pushing his own daughter.

    To spy on Xavier, no doubt.  Report back to her father.  Just like someone else I know.

    “You’re such a traditionalist, old friend,” Xavier chuckled.  “I’m still young.  Let me enjoy myself.”

    “You are a King,” Semerov countered.

    “And I’m doing a damn good job,” was Xavier’s rebuttal, expression hardening.

    Semerov’s jaw ticked but I could see a young woman’s approach—one of Semerov’s bonds.  The youngest of the bunch it seemed.  She slipped her hand over his arm and I could see Semerov relax, the visible calming effect of a bond on their master.  The urge to see my Violet was immediate and overwhelming.  To be calmed, to hear her hum, feel her next to me—“Just don’t think about it too long.  The youngest Thanisius will come of age soon and you won’t have your pick of the litter anymore.”  My stomach churned at the mention of Trenton.

    When Semerov’s eyes flickered to me, a sly smile on his lips, I narrowed my eyes.

    What does Trenton have to do with anything?

    A clap on my shoulder caught my attention and I glanced upward, taking in Cortez who was smiling too kindly.  Maybe I was just being paranoid but something was wrong, terribly wrong, if Cortez was being overly familiar with me.  “I heard you were bonded but I don’t see her here?”  It was phrased as a question but there was no confusion in his gaze.  Sharp, pointed—this was a direct attack.  And a public one too.

    “She hasn’t been feeling very well.”  Abrupt.  A lie.

    “Sickly?” he played at confusion.  Then a gasp.  It was loud.  Too loud.  “Your bond, she’s pregnant?!”

    It was theatrical.  Obvious.

    I narrowed my eyes as a gasp spread through the room and my eyes immediately flickered to Cortez’s daughter, my least favorite creature in the entire room.  She’d put me in this situation, this predicament—and whether she realized it or not, she’d have to face the fallout of it, too.  If I was going down, I would take her with me.  “Yes.”  I couldn’t lie about this part.  Bonds don’t actually get ill for any other reason—and illness is the only plausible excuse I could give for her current absence.

    “Oh!” Bartholomew called, enthusiastic.  “We must plan a baby shower in your bonds honor!”

    Agreement, excitement—all the women were a titter, gazing over at me curiously.  I gnawed on my cheek, ignoring my own dread.  “That sounds lovely.”

    “This weekend?” Cortez pushed.

    Bastard.  He's trying to corner me.  “She’s had terrible morning sickness—”

    “Ah, my boy!”  Bartholomew had made his way over to my table now.  “A strong, healthy pregnancy.  That’s all that means.”

    Nodding, I forced a smile.

    “In a month,” Bartholomew pressed.  “We’ll gather in a month to celebrate.”

    Cortez’s mouth had tightened a bit, his displeasure showing only in his eyes.  “Yes.  A month.”

    One month.

    I’d have to find her in a month, present her to the Kings.

    Pregnant, healthy, present.

    One month.

    I smiled, offering a nod.  “Violet will love it.”  A bitter lie, sour tasting.

    “Violet, that’s her name?” Semerov wondered.

    “Is she beautiful?” Batholomew pressed.

    Annoyed, I shot another accusatory glance at my Queen who was avoiding eye contact.

    Xavier was smart for keeping away from Pureblood women.

. . .

There are a number of royal traditions that were a bit bizarre for my taste but the one I could never get used to was “donors”.

    Seated before me, head bowed, was a blonde woman with her arm outstretched in front of me.  An offering before dinner was served.  Our “appetizer”.  It was considered an honor among slaves to be chosen—a slave must be considered healthy, their blood clean of any impurities.  Fed the best food, they were considered more valuable than other stock and treated as such.

    Pressing my chin to my palm, I pursed my lips at the girl.

    It was hard not to.

    Glancing to my right, I saw everybody had greedily taken the hands of the women before them—all women, I realized.  Had it always been all women donors?

    Head bowed, she hadn’t spoken but I could see the tremble in her arm.

    The tremble in her hand.

    Aurelia’s knee bumped mine, catching my attention.

    She had her teeth sunk in the arm of the girl before her—a young brunette, her dark eyes closed, lips already parted in ecstasy.  Another perk of this donor gig.  A nice high without drugs.

    She glanced pointedly at the donor before me and I sighed.

    If I refuse my donor, she’ll be demoted.  They’ll assume something must be wrong with her if one of the Royals was unwilling to feed.

    That’s the way of it.

    Her hand was trembling more and I could feel it.

    Fear.

    Apprehension.

    I tried not to sigh out loud.

    Another knee bump from the horrid woman next to me.

    My hand gripped the donors’ small wrist, eyes flashing silver.

    A shiver ran through her, her cheeks flushing red as my hand slipped to her forearm.

    When I bit her, there was no sense of satisfaction.

    A shiver ran through her and as her blood filled my mouth, her eyes fluttered.

    Euphoric.

    I wondered if I’d made a similar expression when drinking from Violet.

    Wondered if I’d ever feel that way again.

    “It’s like the taste has dulled,” Aurelia whispered in my ear.

    Glancing over at her, annoyed with her presence, I remembered she had Isaac.  Her own bond.  Her human.  He’d disappeared from her too.

    I’d thrown jabs at her about it in the past.

    Thrown salt in her wound.

    Now here we are; both of us in the same boat.

    Maybe it’s karmic, this horrible turn of events.

    “It doesn’t get better,” she continued, a small, sad smile playing on her lips.

    I averted my gaze back to the donor, licking my lips.

    She didn’t have to tell me.

    Nobody else could ever compare.

. . .

Despite Terferi and Semerovs’ differences, their Queens got along well.

      Zuri and Lada had asked so many questions about Violet’s preferences, her favorite colors, what type of venue she might like—etc.  I . . . had no idea.

    How did I have no idea what my bond would like?

    “Rustic,” I’d said.  “She’s kind of shy, actually.  I’m not sure something grand wouldn’t be overwhelming for her.”  That part, at least, was true.

    “She sounds very cute,” Lada had giggled.

    “Every woman likes something grand for their child,” Zuri insisted but her smile was soft.

    “I think Violet would love something quaint, simple but, yes, definitely grand.”  Aurelia spoke in my stead, easily lying about Violet’s preferences, making suggestions—we both know that I have no idea where Violet’s gone off to.  That I can’t focus on celebrating her when I still haven’t found her.

    She’s missing.

    And my child along with her.

    Getting up from the group that had surrounded our table, I left the baby shower planning committee that had formed, moving across the banquet hall toward the exit.  I needed a moment.  To go for a walk, clear my head.  The banquet space was just off of the beach so it wasn’t long before I was at the edge of the ocean, kicking off my shoes, heading toward the water.

    It was dark now, the moon reflecting off of the water and I saw, at the edge, another figure.

    A familiar one.

    He had a phone to his ear, eyes sky bound, lips pursed.  As I got closer, I heard him say huff, hanging up the phone, dark eyes lancing toward me as I approached.

    I hesitated, taking in his expression.

    Xavier and I hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other in the past.  Muddled greetings, our correspondence hardly friendly.  He and I—we had very little in common.  Where he’d gone against the grain taking the throne by force, I’d been careful to fall in line if only to take over my father’s position the “honorable” way sooner.

      When he shoved his phone in his pocket, eyes moving skyward again, I finally sidled to his side, letting my head fall back to take in the view too.  The stars, the moon, the smell of salt—it was beautiful and yet, everything seemed to have lost its color, to have dulled.

     We didn’t greet each other.

    There didn’t seem a need.

    He was here to get away from the façade too.

    Flopping down onto the sand, I finally sat down and, a moment later, he took a seat next to me.

    “How old are you now?”

    Xavier snorted.  “What difference does it make?”

    “Couldn’t be more than sixteen,” I pressed, leaning back on my hand.  “A kid.”

    He was glaring at me.

    It was a vicious gaze but I couldn’t care less currently.

    I was in the mood for a fight anyhow.  I wouldn't care even if we were at the cusp of war at this point.

    Sighing, I found myself wishing I could be like Cliff.  Have an addiction to fall back on.  A cigarette, alcohol, coffee—something other than Violet to numb my senses and help me concentrate.  “Don’t let those old f***s pressure you into anything,” I added, glaring out at the sea.

    A chuckle.  “I never expected that from the Thanisius Prince.”

    My jaw ticked.

    “You’ve always been so noble,” he hedged.  “A traditionalist.”  The disgust was thick in his voice.

    “Just a kid,” I repeated, glancing back at the boy.  “Why didn’t Luca take the throne?”

    If looks could kill, the one Xavier gave me would have knocked me dead.

    “Why leave it to a child?” I continued, narrowing my eyes.

    “Why are you so sure that age decides the makings of a King?”  A harsh argument from a stern-jawed boy.  He’s just a boy.  Young.  Like Trenton.

    God, he reminded me of my own brother sometimes.  Their age, the defiance in their gaze.

    Turning forward, I sighed.  “Isn’t he ashamed?”  Shouldn't he feel ashamed?

    “Don’t project your shitty feelings of responsibility on Luca.”

    That was oddly defensive for the savage, emotionless Rosario boy.  “Did you really tear your father apart?” I wondered, changing the subject

    There was nothing but silence in response.

    I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of salt air.

    “When you killed him,” I went on, curious, “was it as satisfying as you thought it would be?”

    Xavier tsked, rising to his feet, brushing the sand from his pants. “Why don’t you go find out for yourself?” Harsh, menacing, his voice jarred me a bit and I turned, watching as he grabbed his shoes, heading back toward the banquet hall.

    I thought about my father.

    About Trenton.

    About my responsibilities as the eldest.

    Luca.

    The second son of the Rosario family.

    My stomach churned with hatred toward him.  Hatred and . . . jealousy.  Raking my hand through my hair, I felt nothing but spite toward the throne I'd chosen.