A Fate of Wrath & Flame (Fate & Flame 1)

He says something to her. She nods and reaches up to unfasten the clasp on her cloak. The material slides off to pool on the stark white bedding, revealing a simple dress much like the nightgown I used to wear, except this one has a plunging neckline and wide collar, the linen fabric settling off her shoulders. It’s seductive in design, exposing plenty of skin and the swell of the woman’s full breasts. She may be playing demure, but she is not prim.

How he likes his women, based on what I’ve heard.

And now that her hair has fallen back, I see the thick gold band on her ear. She’s a royal servant. A human.

The king is bedding a slave?

He says something else, and she nods again, and her throat bobs with a hard swallow. She’s a servant who’s nervous to lie with the king. I don’t blame her. Zander is intimidating in regular conversation. Sitting on his bed with him looming over you like that?

Did Princess Romeria ever sit on his bed like that, waiting for him? A strange feeling stirs deep within me at the thought. Corrin said he was busy chasing her skirts. Did she let him under there? Or did she play her game like a pro, giving only so much that he wanted more while she ensnared him in her web?

Zander reaches out and slides a finger along the servant’s cheek, shifting a wayward strand of hair off her face. It’s a tender gesture, and one that is about to lead to more as he kneels on the bed beside her and grips her chin, pushing her head back to expose her long, slender neck.

I should turn around and head back to my rooms—

He parts his lips and, with a slight wince, two white, needle-thin fangs descend from his upper jaw.

I blink several times.

This can’t be right. I must be hallucinating.

My hands muzzle the scream that threatens to escape my mouth as I watch Zander lean forward and sink his teeth into the woman’s jugular, while easing her back on his bed. She doesn’t fight, flinch, or recoil.

He’s feeding off her.

Just as the daaknar tried to feed off me.

My head spins as I struggle to absorb what I’m seeing, my mind unable to form a coherent thought. The woman’s chest heaves with deep breaths; her hips curl toward Zander’s body. She reaches up to smooth her hand over his shoulder and along his back, the gentle stroke one of affection. Though I can’t hear anything through the closed doors, I can imagine any sounds she’s making are of pleasure.

She’s enjoying what Zander’s doing to her. How is she enjoying this? Even now, the excruciating burn of the daaknar’s teeth where it bit into my flesh is still fresh in my mind.

Zander suddenly pulls away from the woman’s neck, and his head reels toward the terrace. His heavy-lidded eyes meet mine as surely as if he can see me in the darkness.

As if he knew I was there all along, watching this horror unfold.

I jump out of view and rush back to my side, my feet slapping on the stone, my heart pounding in my chest. I dart through my bedchamber and keep going, running through the vacuous sitting room, pitch-black save for the light of a lone lantern, all the way to the door, my robe a billowing mass around me. I test the handle with a frantic jiggle. As usual, it’s locked from the outside.

“Elisaf?” My voice is hoarse and brimming with panic. “Elisaf!”

Silence answers.

I lean my forehead against the wood with a soft thud. I’ve spent five weeks confined and yet I haven’t felt this trapped since the night of the tower. “Please, I know you’re out there.” I don’t, and the door is flush with the floor, offering me no glimpse of anyone beyond, but he’s always out there. I hold my breath and listen. A boot scuffs against the marble. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

But I think I do. This is what Wendeline was talking about when she said she was afraid to come to Islor. She was afraid because Islorians are … what are they?

Vampires?

A version of elven who drink blood?

It dawns on me. This is the difference between two people who once shared the same ancestry. At some point, Islorians began feeding off humans like bloodsucking vampires.

And King Barris shuttled his own daughter off to marry one of them. Princess Romeria didn’t want to marry Zander because of this. It’s all beginning to make sense, finally.

Wendeline, Elisaf, Corrin … all of them know.

It is a requirement. That’s what Elisaf said about the human slaves, how almost all households have them. He said so many things that I now see through an entirely different lens.

“Elisaf?” Still no answer. Is he truly not there, or is he ignoring me? I hesitate. “Are you one of them?” He said he was from Seacadore, which means he isn’t fully Islorian. So maybe he—