A Royal Craving (2 page)

P
rosper was nearly asleep, on his way to his sister's mansion, when the carriage jerked violently. His shoulder bounced into the side door so hard he winced at the pain.

With a sigh, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

It had been a bit of a night; he had forgotten his glasses when travelling to the meeting with the human council tonight and the mistake had not gone unnoticed. The sniggers from the humans, as he was forced to ask a servant to read him the finer print of the proposal was humiliating. He was a vampire, marvelled for their incredible eye sight, but he had shown his human weakness tonight.

This bump was just another knock to his ego.

Using the head of his cane, Prosper banged on the ceiling, to grab the coachman's attention. Asher was loyal and always alert; something must be wrong.

The top opened and Asher looked down in apology. “Sorry, Master, but a young human ran in my way. I had to swerve or kill him,” he apologised.

“Then see he is well, before we depart,” he ordered. He waited for Asher's nod of agreement and watched the top close.

He used the head of his cane to draw the curtain from the carriage window and peered into the night. He watched Asher jump from his post, to inspect the unfortunate creature that had rushed in front of the carriage.

There was not one but two children at the side of the cobbled road, a few inches from where the carriage wheel would have been, had Asher not noticed them in time.

The girl was young, perhaps in her first ten years and the boy, older. He sat on the ground, one hand holding his ankle, the other brushing tears from the girl's face. It was such a tender, thoughtful gesture; uncommon for these times.

The moment Asher's shadow fell over them, the boy looked up with curious but unafraid eyes. “Are you well? I did not see you. The street is not lit,” he apologised, though there was no one to blame.

This part of town remained under the control of the humans, until Prosper signed a treaty with them in fifteen days. It could not come soon enough.

“Fine, thank you. Can you help me up?” he asked, warmly but with an odd accent not known in these parts.

Asher held out his hand and helped the boy stand. The moment he put weight on his ankle, he winced in pain.

His coachman wrapped an arm around the boy's waist, as he fell, helping steady him.

“What is wrong?” Prosper asked, now out of the carriage and curious about the scene before him.

No one answered, as the little girl began sobbing and Asher tried to calm her.

The boy tested his ankle; as he prepared to move, he looked up and paled instantly. “Master.” The boy stared and dropped to his knees despite his injury, lowering his head in respect.

Prosper was intrigued by this child, though a nagging thought said he had once heard that voice calling him 'Master' before. There was such a strange lilt to the tone and grate of his voice that there could be no other with the same speech impediment, as it could only be.

Had he not also seen those bright green eyes and deathly pale cheeks flushed with red before?

“I am sorry we troubled you,” the boy began. “My sister often plays in the middle of the street. She did not see the carriage, nor did your driver see her. I managed to push her away in time to prevent a tragedy. Please forgive us,” he begged, full of apologies.

The Master shared a smile with his coachman. “The silliness of humans at work, Asher. What on Earth have you to be sorry for?” Prosper spoke kindly.

The human looked him directly in the eye, with a hint of confusion. “We could have broken your carriage wheel or harmed you,” he admitted.

“And my carriage would have killed your sister had you not intervened. You saved a disaster, not we,” Prosper corrected his notion that he was to blame, moving closer. He was intrigued by his nature; the boy appeared neither afraid nor nervous.

Prosper crouched before the teenager, touching his chin with his fingertips, to raise his head. A spark travelled through their connected skin, with a touch of
déjà vu
.

The boy met his gaze, with a wonder he could not understand.

“You are beautiful,” Prosper noticed.

It seemed the compliment embarrassed him, as he blushed and looked away. “Thank you, Master,” he whispered.

“You must allow me to heal your wound,” Prosper insisted, concerned about his injury. He did not wait for the boy's agreement, as he moved onto his knees. He urged the human to sit back, with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The boy leaned on his elbows and extended his leg.

Prosper looked over his ankle with interest, lifting the bare foot into his hand. He held the heel and immediately identified the swollen area.

It would take weeks, perhaps months, to heal with proper rest, which he presumed he would not get. It frightened him to recall what the local council had said about the options for a boy such as this.

Prosper lowered his mouth and ran the tip of his tongue over the swollen area. The regenerative powers in his saliva would keep the boy healthy. The swelling lessened immediately.

“I thank you.”

The moment the boy spoke, their eyes met and a spark of electricity jolted between them. Prosper had a feeling that if they were alone, they would go up in flames of passion. He had never thought it possible.

“It is not something to be thankful for. I am merely repaying a debt,” Prosper disagreed, unwilling to move and ruin the chemistry he felt with this boy. He did not want to leave him.

“But now I have a debt to you,” the boy corrected.

“Oh?”

“You healed me. Something no human doctor could do. I would have suffered or been a cripple for life, without your aid,” he claimed, as he rose to his feet and wrapped his arm around his sisters shoulder.

Prosper had nearly forgotten her.

“How can I repay you?” the boy asked, with a look he recognised.

His brother, Parry, had given him that look countless times, over the last five decades. But what could this innocent, beautiful boy be plotting and why did he wish to repay him, when he had nothing to give?

“There are many ways. Ways innocents like your sister best not hear,” Prosper tormented him for his offer, trying not to smile at the laugh Asher choked back.

His coachman had been urging him to find a companion for years and knew he had chosen this boy. Neither would say so aloud, but they knew.

The boy turned to his sister and said; “Go home to Mother and Father. I shall be along shortly.” He placed a kiss on her forehead, sending her off.

Prosper watched her skip to a house two doors away and returned his attention to her attractive brother.

“What sort of ways?” the boy asked, seriously.

Prosper's nerves shook. He wanted this human and the boy knew it. Asher knew it. But did he dare?

Unable to resist those bright green doe eyes, he replied. “I could demand your blood, your servitude, your body,” Prosper recounted the ways his brother would insist this imagined debt be repaid. “Are you sure you are ready for my answer?” he asked, curiously.

“Yes.”

Prosper's dead heart jumped, in anticipation.

“I am nineteen, Master. I am of age and capable of doing anything you ask of me. Capable and willing,” the boy answered, surprising him.

Prosper gave in to temptation and took a step toward this beautiful boy, who showed no wish of recoiling. He lowered his head to a long, lean neck and inhaled his human scent; the boy did not blink. He stood still, letting Prosper explore.

He felt a hint of recognition in that scent that made his head swirl. He could not identify what it reminded him of, but it was heady. As heady as those beautiful eyes, those soft pouting lips and the frailness of his body that suggested no one had ever properly cared for this lad.

“Tell your parents you are leaving,” Prosper demanded, aware of the harshness of his tone, though he could not control it. “My coachman will return in two hours to collect you.” He trusted his instincts in this matter.

The boy nodded his understanding and swallowed. “How will I know two hours have passed, Master?” he wondered, shyly.

“You do not have a watch? A clock at home?” Prosper asked, surprised when he shook his head.

The tut of Asher's disbelief mirrored his own.

“My father sold his valuables when he lost his job, so we could eat,” the boy answered.

“And how do you eat since the sale?” Prosper wondered how bad life could be in his kingdom. His people should not be reduced to selling family heirlooms, just to pay for food for their children.

“Able enough.”

Prosper knew a lie when he heard one. He turned and whispered to Asher, “Leave his parents some money. Enough to keep them living well, until I figure out what to do about them.”

Asher nodded, without question.

Prosper removed his watch and placed it onto the boy's wrist. “You can tell time?” he asked, since many impoverished families did not send their children to school.

The boy nodded and gazed at his watch in wonder.

“When you arrive at my home, my coachman will bring you to my chambers. There you will become my companion.” He explained their agreement, pleased that the lad nodded in understanding.

He turned to the coach and stepped inside, his thoughts a mass of conflict.

T
he house where Prosper resided always felt colder when he was away. Davian, as one of the servants, had been tasked with keeping it well maintained, but none had ever managed to discover why all the warmth departed with their Master.

Not that Davian would know the first thing about the Master. He had been employed by the King only two months ago. He had known that his fate was sealed, the moment he accepted the position.

Now, he wandered purposefully toward the library, intent on proving his worth and maintaining the position of power he had been granted.

Davian stepped into the darkness, careful to not bump into the furniture, as he moved to the side cabinet and lifted the candelabra. There were three candles on it, as always. He lit all three with the matches he kept in his trouser pocket.

The library was the one room in the extensive house that
encouraged darkness and oppression. The constant patter of rain on the windows made him turn, wondering if something were trying to get into the house or out of it.

He had been nervous since accepting this post, as a servant to a Royal Vampire family. Twenty, none too smart and without any means of financial support without the job, he would have been stupid not to take it; vampires or no vampires.

Monsters were nothing compared to poverty, homelessness and famine.

Davian headed toward the wall-to-wall bookcase and began scouring the books. He had been tasked with arranging them into one of two orders, depending on his knowledge of the titles. Either he arrange them by author or by genre. Considering he had been working on the job for a few weeks and did not recognise most of the titles, he had opted for author.

He lingered and fixed a few books a night, not caring for the job. But no matter what he did, he could not drag his mind from the topic of vampires. Little wonder, since his livelihood depended upon them. Yet, there were still some in the world who refused to believe they existed.

Davian considered them mindless fools.

It had been decades since the vampires had come out of hiding, to warn the humans that the sun was slowly dying. Twenty years later, its light and heat were scientifically proven to have dimmed.

The world remained in crisis for ten years, trying to accept that vampires existed, trying to adapt to a new world. Electricity and gadgets had become obsolete to all but the vampires, useless in a world where survival had become the only focus.

If they were to survive a world without sun, heat and energy, they would revert to the old Victorian days. And, as such, the days became shorter, darker and colder, which made the world's inhabitants the same; a shorter life span, colder, darker and dangerous.

Davian had grown up better than some, but never as well as the vampires. Yet, even with all of his experience of the world, he feared walking certain streets, because of the gutter crawlers who frequented the cobblestones.

It had been twenty years since those changes began; long before Davian knew any better than this awful world. He still loved to hear stories of how the world had once been. He dreamed of cars, electric lights, and the fantastic inventions he had missed.

But it was for the best. The vampires had taken over the world order, to calm chaotic human survival instincts.

Some children, if born with disease or deformity, were killed as in the old ways to save them from suffering. The vampires did not agree and it had been outlawed. The humans had come up with another solution; breeding out unfavourable human conditions. They annihilated anything thought to be a waste of life or food.

Davian believed it an excuse, created by the government, to remove the lower classes. The cull had been extreme, until the vampires reintroduced the old ways, when humans thought clearly about the worth of a life.

One of the lucky ones, Davian had been born healthy, allowed to live and raised by his parents. When they died from a new strain of influenza, he was thirteen and old enough to be given a job in the new world.

By twenty, his hands and back ached from the long hours and hard work. He had saved money to return to the city and seek his career. Then the coachman, Asher, found him wandering the streets, advertising his qualifications. He had been hired on the spot and moved into the house that night.

Now he had his own room, neatly furnished with a bed, a dresser full of new clothes and a desk, in case he had family he wanted to write to. Which Davian did not.

It was not a large room compared to those upstairs, where the family slept, but it suited his needs. He slept when they did, during the day when the sun peaked. He woke at five to begin preparations for the vampires awakening, around seven.

He liked the new routine. He liked being busy and having a handful of other servants to talk to about his new life. He liked his salary and being free to venture into the local village or city any time he wished.

He even liked his employers.

The Mistress of the house, Sienna, was sick and cared for by Jael, a servant with medical training. Sienna lived with her two brothers, Parry and Prosper; royalty of the highest order.

He had only met Parry, the joker of the family. The Vampire Prince openly tormented him, but was a good Master, though Parry had trouble remembering their stations in life.

Every vampire was Master or Mistress, while humans were Sir and Ma'am. As long as Davian kept his manners and paid attention, he should not get into trouble. King Prosper would probably never punish him, even if he did.

The King was a recluse; badly deformed, with a gentle way and a soft voice. The opposite of his playful, rowdy brother and the charming, prim sister.

Davian moved three books, then set his candelabra down, to survey his night’s work.

The rain grew heavier. The constant sound made him tired, but he shook it off and put his hands on his hips, as he decided whether to do more.

Nights like these always dragged on. Often, his thoughts were the only thing to help him keep time. But it did not feel that way tonight.

He rolled up his sleeves, only to notice that he had buttoned his shirt haphazardly, in the dark of his room. Three buttons were in the wrong holes. With a sigh, he undid them and attempted to fix the careless, unprofessional mistake.

“Delicious; clothed or unclothed,” a male voice commented.

Davian rolled his eyes and turned to face the door. “Master Parry. I am sorry, I did not know you were there,” he apologised, as he buttoned his shirt.

Parry was the last person he wanted to see him half dressed, so he focused on a particularly difficult button.

When Davian raised his head, he found the Prince standing before him, using his vampire gift of speed.

A hand pressed against his, stopping him from doing up his buttons. “You are a delight to look at. It is a shame you are still human,” Parry lamented.

“I would not be free for you either way,” Davian argued. Something about the way the Prince spoke made him feel positively exposed and that made him brave.

Parry shrugged and walked to the door. “Not yet. But you will be.” He smiled with the promise, before leaving.

Davian wanted to grab the stupid books from their shelves and throw them around the room in a temper, but could not. Instead, he grudgingly returned to work.