“Because my mother resides in the Blood Court.”
My mind raced over what he had just said. I had never heard of a fae living in the Blood Court. “How can she? Is she safe?”
His hand tightened against my hair. “She is.”
“How? I don’t understand.” I shook my head as I tried to make sense of what he was saying.
“My mother isn’t fae, Adara. She is of Sidra.”
“What?” I jerked back and my braid fell from his touch as fear ran down my spine. “That’s impossible.”
He watched me for a long moment before he answered. “It’s rare, but it’s not impossible.”
In all the history and legends I had ever heard, no one had ever spoken of such a thing. Fae and vampyres were enemies and had been for centuries.
“So, you’re…” I trailed off as I searched his face, but he refused to finish my sentence. He didn’t move a single inch as he stared at me. “You’re of the Blood Court.”
“I am born of blood and magic,” he corrected me with a voice that was resolute. “I am neither of the Blood Court nor the Fae Court fully. But I choose to serve my father.”
“But you’re still—” My voice trembled.
“Yes, Adara,” he cut me off. “I am half vampyre.”
Even though I could see the seriousness in his eyes, I didn’t want to believe him.
He was a prince. A member of the royal family, and I didn’t want what he was saying to be true.
“You’re older than Gavril?”
“I am.” He nodded, and I noticed that he inched closer to me still.
“But you aren’t the crowned prince?”
He studied me before smirking. “Is that what you would have preferred?” He closed the gap between us again, and this time I didn’t retreat. Fear coursed through every inch of me, mixed with a lust that I didn’t understand. “Have you been dreaming of what it would be like if you were betrothed to me instead of him?”
“Why would I ever do that?” I whispered, but gods, he was right.
“Because, princess…”
I watched his dark fingers as they ran across his jaw.
“I think we both know that I could do things to you that my brother would never dream of.”
My stomach tightened at his words, and I reminded myself that I was to be fearful of him. He was everything I had ever been warned about, a mirror image of my nightmares, but I couldn’t stop myself from wishing that he’d close the distance between us and press his lips to mine.
“I’m not your betrothed because they wouldn’t dare put that precious crown on the head of the king’s half-blood bastard son.”
He slid his hand along my side and inhaled sharply when his fingertips met the bare skin of my back.
“What happened to your hands?” I searched his face. “Did the queen do that to you?”
“I just told you that I am a half-breed, and you’re worried about the color of my fingers?” Those fingers in question pushed against me, and his touch thrummed with a barely controlled power.
I didn’t answer him because I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. I was more fearful of him than ever, but even that fear couldn’t stop my eagerness to understand him.
“It’s a consequence of my magic.” He lifted the hand that wasn’t clinging to me and held it up between us. “All magic leaves a mark whether it’s on the soul or on the skin, and dark magic leaves a notably more grim scar. Though it does fade.”
“You’ve been using dark magic?”