Cathedral (Cradle of Darkness 1)

“Which daughter?”

No hesitation came with the answer. “The sweet one.”

Slander nailed those words to my back. Physically bowing, I felt the drill of sweet and knew the joke they made of me. There were no other daughters.

None living, at least. Had King Darius fathered others, they were long from this world. Or had escaped him through the ages, no longer counted and free.

Which was impossible when every immortal mind was open to him like a book.

Once, long ago, I’d tried to run.

Malcom had found me in minutes. Literally minutes. He’d brought me to the throne bloodied to dump at my father’s feet.

He’d beaten me so badly that my father had not so much as lifted a finger to crack another bone. Knowing him now, I imagine Malcom thought he’d done me a mercy. My father could do things even to an immortal that could not be undone.

“Where is the little girl?” How strange it was to hear a hint of teasing in Vladislov’s voice. One did not mince words with the devil and survive it. One did not poke the bear.

A coarse, bored, devious, and light reply. “I will allow your stud to attempt to breed her, but there will be no talk of my daywalker.”

“But I like her.” Again, I knew the foreigner was aware of my presence, and had the sinking sense that through some strange turn, my father was not. “Why be so greedy? She was a taste of heaven when she sat on your knee. I’d offer you a legion, an army, any member of my court in exchange for the precious child.”

“Denied.”

The guest grew openly agitated. “Ten years.”

I moved, fought to look up. Malcom twisted my hair tighter, clawing my scalp until skin punctured, simultaneously grinding my knees harder into the stone.

“Think on it, old friend.” Though I couldn’t see him, I imagined Vladislov smoothing his embroidered sleeve, careless that the man on the throne could see his head rent from his shoulders with little effort. “No need to make a rash decision. I can offer your kingdom much. And what is one, unwanted, burdensome half-breed? It would do her some good to go to the old country and learn of her heritage. I have a particularly vicious warlord in mind for her to tend. Instability on the continent affects even your Americas. And, of course, I’d watch over her as if she were my own daughter…”

“You’d find her lacking, weak, and insubordinate. Ungracious in bed. The complaints I’ve heard…” Was this really how my father spoke of me to strangers? To ancients? My mouth went sour with the shame of it, thighs quivering to close despite my painful posture.

“Sad news for my stud, I suppose.”

“I have no interest in your stud’s complaints.” And the meeting was over. A shuffle of silks, the king of all undead this side of the ocean rising to leave as if bored of all he saw, all he’d lived. As if he had somewhere to go.

And go he did. The force of his presence lifting from the room. Those within sucking in a breath as if they had been denied air for an eternity. I found it funny, the immortal, breathing in relief.

The crowd began to jostle and migrate, careless feet stepping upon splayed fingers. Caught up in the tide, Malcom kept me still, like a dog on a leash by the hair. Tethered to be stepped on.

Until the room was vacant, as if all inside acted on some unseen order to wander away.

My father’s throne empty, until it wasn’t. Until the brunette foreigner in his surcoat and cravat, his thin fingers heavy with rings placed himself upon it.

And my heart stopped beating. Arteries stopped pumping. Ghostly white, I felt dread to see something so horrific.

“Child.” He smiled at me. One perfected with age and practice. “Is it true you are disobedient?”

Eyes darting around, looking for the trick, the lingering vampire who would have me existing in a room where another dared sit my father’s throne. “How is it that you have done this?”

Proud, arrogant, ugly-beautiful, in completely different ways from my sire. Vladislov offered a shrug. My father would never shrug. “We all have our tricks. What’s yours?”

I don’t know why this banter drew my anger, but it did. There were enough problems piled on my plate, and pieces of my brains had once been in that man’s pockets. “I can walk in the sun.”

Without taking his eyes from my face, Vladislov flicked his wrist. A kingly, courtly gesture, both demeaning and silly. “Get out, Malcom. You’re not required at present.”

And my hair was set free. Just like that.

And just like that, I reached back for my guardian because I knew to remain in that room would see me ended. I even turned, eyes wide as I pled, “We had a deal.”