Bride by Midnight (3 page)

He knew he should look away to spare the girl the embarrassment of meeting a stranger’s gaze, but he did not. Instead he stared into her eyes for the span of a heartbeat. She was a pretty girl with normal worries who had no idea that there were monsters like Volker so near. She was the one who turned away, increasing her pace once more to make her escape and barrel toward wedded bliss.

When the girl and her scent were gone, Blade once more turned his full attention to the palace. Volker was in there, alive and ignorant that his past had followed him to Arthes. He dismissed the bride-to-be from his mind. She lived in another world, a sheltered world so unlike his own that he could not imagine how her mind might work. His own world was not at all simple, and if all went well it was about to end.

***

Miron Volker quickly ascended the palace steps. Nearing fifty, the Minister of Foreign Affairs was no longer a young man, but his health was good, and he remained active and fit. He needed to be the picture of health and strength if he were to command respect—and fear—once he took the throne.

For some years now, official palace activities had been restricted to the lower floors of the palace. No one had been able to restore the mechanical lifts that had been in use during Emperor Sebestyen’s reign; no one had even tried in many years. When
he
ruled, he would put his best scientists and magicians to work on the issue. He rather liked the idea of living on and ruling from Level One, at the top of the palace. At the top of the world.

But one battle at a time. First he needed to unseat Emperor Jahn, and the weapons he needed to make that happen were stored on Level Two.

For all intents and purposes, Level Two was deserted. Or had been, until Volker had taken it over and put it to use. Down the hallway, at the far end where cobwebs and dust gathered, his right hand man waited.

Stasio was unnaturally still. His black robes did not flow when he moved; they were like stone. His hood fell forward, hiding his face. Even from a short distance away, it appeared there was only a vacuum where his face should have been. The wizard was unnatural, disturbing even to Volker. But he was also possessed of great magic, and he was as intent on seeing Jahn ousted as Volker himself was.

“You’re certain?” Volker asked as he drew close enough to see the shadow of a chin beyond the hood.

“Fairly certain.” Stasio’s voice was smooth as silk, without excitement or happiness or a hint of emotion of any kind. “The test will tell.”

Stasio walked past Volker, his robes still, his head down. He withdrew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door to a room that had once, long ago, been a fine bedchamber for an empress or a concubine. A woman—no, a girl—sat upon the bed there. She did not appear to be afraid, or even curious about her new circumstances.

She lifted her head and looked directly at Volker. “Hello,” she said, and her voice... her voice was like honey; it called to him, drew him forward. She had the look of a Ksana demon, fair and blue-eyed and uncommonly beautiful. It had been years since he’d captured a new one; he’d begun to think his collection was done.

“Wait here,” Stasio said. “I would suggest you not move any closer.”

Stasio glided down the hall, but Volker didn’t watch to see where he went or what he did. The girl on the bed—the deadliest of demons, if Stasio was correct—held his full attention.

That was a part of her power, or so he had been told.

“Come closer,” she said, cocking her head to one side.

“I cannot,” Volker said.

The girl pouted, then lifted one hand to brush her golden hair back. She seemed not to even be aware of the manacle on her wrist, even though the chains rattled and the manacle itself had to be heavy and painful. A bloody, raw strip of skin marred her delicate wrist.

“Have you come to feed me?” she asked. “I’m very hungry.”

“I will have food delivered to you shortly,” he said, fighting the urge to free her, rescue her, be her hero... touch her. If she was what Stasio believed her to be, he would do well to remember the instruction to keep his distance. He hadn’t been so cautious all these years only to fall victim to the charms of a child like this one.

Volker didn’t respect or crave anything the way he respected and craved power. Even from this distance, he saw and felt the power in the girl before him. There was power in great beauty, yes, but she possessed so much more. And
he
possessed
her
.

Stasio returned with a young man in tow. The boy was likely no older than the beauty on the bed. Sixteen, perhaps. Not a man yet not a child. Volker didn’t know what Stasio had promised the boy in return for his assistance, but judging by the ragged condition of his clothing, it was probably nothing more than a loaf of bread.

The girl on the bed turned her attention to the newcomer, and her smile grew wide. “Hello,” she said, her voice and her face deceptively sweet.

The boy moved toward the bed. He glanced back at Stasio, who waved him forward with an impatient flick of one pale hand. “She needs a companion,” Stasio said sharply. “Someone to talk to. Someone to entertain her.”

The boy neared the bed and said, in a wavering voice, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Princess.”

“Princess?” she responded.

“Lord Stasio... he said your presence here is a secret for now, that the Emperor is protecting you. I thought you’d have an accent, coming from so far away, but from what little I have heard... you sound just like anyone else from Columbyana.”

“Will you sit with me?” the demon-child asked, patting the bed. Her chains were covered by the long, flowing sleeves of her gown. Not that the boy had eyes for anything other than her face.

The boy sat. Volker held his breath as Princess—the designation suited her, given her regal power—lifted her hand to touch his cheek. He was fascinated by her and still did not seem to notice the bonds.

“What I most want is a kiss,” Princess said. “Would you oblige me?”

The boy literally lost his words as he mumbled what sounded like a positive response and leaned forward. Princess leaned forward, too. Slowly. Deliberately. And in the moment right before her lips met those of the anxious boy, her skin seemed to glow, shimmering green and gold.

For a second or two, the kiss looked like any normal meeting of mouths between two innocent and curious young people who had forgotten that they had an audience. But then the boy bucked, every muscle in his body convulsing in protest. He tried to pull away, but could not. His body stiffened and jerked, and he clutched at the bedcover with desperate fists.

Princess continued on as if they were sharing an increasingly passionate and loving kiss. Eyes closed, gold and green shimmer at a level so low it was almost imperceptible, she moved her mouth over the boy’s with relish. Her tongue flicked into and out of his mouth, and as his skin turned gray she sighed in great contentment.

By the time she was done with him, the boy was nothing more than a husk of what he’d once been. Skin gray and wrinkled, face that of an ancient man who had been frightened to death, eyes sunken and sightless, he collapsed onto Princess’s lap, dead.

Well, Volker certainly hoped the boy was dead.

Princess licked her lips. “Thank you. I feel much better, now that I have been fed.”

Before him sat a Ksana, a half-demon, half-human woman child. The most deadly, the rarest, of the demon daughters.

And he now had three of them in his collection.

Since she was sated and he knew to stay out of her reach, Volker stepped into the room. “I don’t know what you were called before you came here, but from here on out you shall be called Princess.” She was indeed a Princess, or soon would be.

“As you wish,” she said pleasantly. She lifted a hand to brush back a long strand of hair, and he noticed that the bloody scrapes on her wrist had healed completely.

“You will like being mine,” he promised. “I will take care of you, and I will love you the way a father should love a daughter.” That was what they all craved, according to Stasio. Their human halves craved a father; they longed for love. “You may call me Father, if you’d like.”

“Yes, Father.” She smiled, ignoring the corpse in her lap. “When will I meet my sisters?”

He was silent for a moment. Princess had a touch of precognition or else she was reading his mind. Either—or both—was possible. The powers of the demons, even the Ksanas, varied. It didn’t matter. He would find a way to use all her gifts to his advantage.

“This very afternoon, my dear Princess.”

Chapter Two

Lyssa sighed in relief when her groom arrived, a little late but in one piece, and not appearing to be ill or injured. Kyran was well-dressed, his long dark blond hair was nicely styled, but he looked... not at all happy. She wondered what had delayed him. She’d been so worried that assisting her father with the delivery to Empress Morgana would make her late, but still she’d had to wait for Kyran. Did he not realize how anxious she would become when he didn’t arrive on time? He knew of her sad past where weddings were concerned, so he should realize how his tardiness would worry her. It was a terrible way to start their new life together.

The room was dismally and sparsely occupied. Her father and stepmother, the holy man who would perform the ceremony, an anxious bride, and a nervous groom who’d arrived alone, without a single family member or friend as his guest. Lyssa was suddenly aware that there was not one cheerful face in the room. Sinmora attempted a smile, but it wasn’t genuine and didn’t last long. Should both bride and groom be miserable on their wedding day? It didn’t seem right, but neither did a lifetime alone. So what was she to do? If the witch’s prophecy had been correct, if her dreams of an achingly lonely darkness were more than simple nightmares, then Kyran was her last chance for all that she desired. A family. A home of her own. He was her
last chance
to become a wife before she turned twenty-three. Maybe they would learn to love one another, in time. At the very least, she hoped they would become friends.

She was a little surprised that not one member of Kyran’s family had come with him. Was this not a happy occasion, for him to take a wife? Maybe they were angry because he intended to leave the farm. It had already been decided that he would live here and would immediately go to work for her father. Maybe his family knew of her unfortunate past and they were worried for him. Maybe they liked her even less than Kyran did.

Truly, there was nothing she could say about the groom’s lack of a wedding party, since none of her own friends had come to the house for this ceremony. They all had very good reasons why they couldn’t make it; they were busy with their own husbands and children and responsibilities. But she did wonder if perhaps they simply could not bear the drama of yet another disastrous almost-wedding.

Lyssa lifted her chin, dismissing all her worries as best she could and concentrating on the positive. She
would
be married before she turned twenty-three. Barely, as the sun was about to set on the last day of her twenty-second year, but it was as good as done. Kyran was here, having avoided death and disease on the way to their simple altar, and she was determined to see this done, in spite of her reservations.

Kyran walked over to her and took both her hands in his own. The way he looked into her eyes, the sorrow there...

Oh, no.

“I’m so sorry, Lyssa. I can’t do this.”

The floor beneath her feet started to spin, much as it had in the morning’s nightmare. Her vision narrowed until all she could see was his traitorous, ordinary, not-very-bright face.

“Of course you can,” she said, her heart pounding. She could feel it slamming against her chest so hard that surely everyone in the room heard her heartbeat. Her father took a step toward her. The priest sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. Lyssa stopped her father’s approach with a glance and a shake of her head and then she gave Kyran her attention. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t love you, either. There’s more than love to marriage. We can make it work. We’ll be friends,
partners
. We don’t need love.”

“I’m in love with someone else,” Kyran whispered. “I thought I could do this. I was ready to marry you even though I knew it wasn’t right for either of us. I thought it would be enough, to have you beside me as a friend and wife while I worked in your father’s shop. Many people live worse lives. But then I met her, and I realized what true love could be.”

Patience fading quickly, she snatched her hands from his. “You’re leaving me for another woman?”

“Yes.” Kyran smiled weakly. “I met her quite by accident, on the road through the woods just last week. Oh, Lyssa, she’s so beautiful, so kind, and... I loved her at first glance, and she loves me.”

She took a step back, the truth making her feel faint. “I truly do not need to hear this.”

Kyran nodded, as if he understood. “We’re leaving Arthes immediately. She has family in the Northern Province. Trust me, it’s better this way. It would have ended badly for us. You deserve to find a love of your own, to feel what I now feel. Forgive me.” With that he bowed curtly and exited the house as if a wolf were on his tail.

Lyssa stared at the door for a long while. Well, it seemed like a long while, as the seconds dragged on. Her parents and Father Kiril remained silent and still, disapprovingly solemn. She had done nothing wrong. She had given them no reason to be displeased with her, but...

Again she felt as if the floor were dropping out from under her, just as it had in her nightmare. The witch had been right. This was the end of her life. She would never marry, never give birth to a child, never have a home of her own. No man would ever love her. She would have no partner in life.

She wished with all her heart that she could convince herself the witch had been wrong all those years ago, but after four failed attempts at becoming a wife, what was she to think? The constant dreams of being alone in a dark room, where no one could see or hear or touch her... they were not only nightmares that woke her with a scream, they were horrifying predictions of her bleak future.