Bite Me Royal... (Mature Vampire Romance 18+)

Chapter Seven

Amir's P.O.V

One too many times I have pondered to myself, contemplated so very harshly and thus drawn a fine conclusion. In the many wars I have perpetuated, in the many cries and mourns of man, I have grown but devoid -completely detached from the reality of emotions and vulnerability. 'Tis been but three weeks since my raid upon Raiz and yet I feel not the remorse nor the ruefulness. And over the eons, I have learnt to become one with this new self. And hence the numbness.

'Tis now eve. The rays of setting sun spear into my chamber and stab upon marble floors through high window. As I remain sat upon the chaise, toying around with the topaz ring sat upon my finger, I look upon the lass stood before me -her name is Stanza. Or is it Nassir?

I rise from the cushions of seat, tread lightly in her direction. Whilst I stand before her, gazing down into her cobalt-hued eyes, I scent the horror that resonates off of her. A terror so tangible I have to battle against far more dangerous instincts. I can only but let just a sliver of the darkness come to surface, nothing above or beyond.

Then there's the soft thrumming of heart. The smooth coursing of blood through venations. The pulsating of the pulse in her neck. I smile and the fangs lengthen and glimmer. Her pupils dilate, of course they do, and once the little blackly veins litter around the sockets of my eyes, the lass takes a step back. I look her dead in the eye, fold arms behind my back whilst I do.

"Calm yourself. You shalt submit. After such, you shalt forget that which you see, that which you encounter. Draw nearer, will you not?"

And she does. In her dazed state, she draws closer, tilts head ever so slightly. My fingers feel for the curly strands of her head. Soft as the finest of velvets. I cup her cheek in my palm, sink fangs into artery, drink and ravish. The metal hits my tongue and I hiss. So divine is the taste of scarlet. I sip only enough, draw away from the lass. She is a pretty one this one. Still, not nearly enough to intrigue or pique interest.

"Leave me," a simple command that has her turning and exiting chamber entirely.

I feel for the redness that dribbles down one corner of my mouth, lick on it, proceed for the bedside table, grab a napkin and dub. I pour myself some fine vintage wine, tip the flute, sip from it. Good wine is like a drug -it soothes, brings laughter with it.

I chug the drink, rest flute by bedside table, proceed for the doors of the balcony area. By the railings I stand, look upon the people and the earth.
I feel for the topaz ring, roll it off my finger entirely. And the beams of sun begin to carve and scorch trails upon the nudity of my chest.

Yes, it is times like this that have me yearning for mortality. To tread upon streets without the need for protection from such simple jewelry. To tread in the hours of day and not be entrapped in the claws of death-like slumber. And perhaps, just perhaps, to rest and never wake. Immortality is a beautiful thing. And yet it has me jaded at times.

I draw back to my reality, blink, sigh. I slip ring back on and the flesh that formerly crinkled and creased begins to smoothen and heal. I gaze upon the lands once more, drink in the splendor of their being. To the far east sit hills as old as Methuselah himself.

To the very north is the great Mediterranean sea. It shimmers, it gleams preciously. The central parts are coated in only rich greenery. Pearls of laughter of children who enjoy the glory of their childhood resonates, and young women gather around the Anisa Well to make light conversation about this and gossip about the other.

If truth ever found this people -that the royal family were anything but mortal- if such revelation ever came upon their ears, then surely they'd scramble for the hills in pursuit of their safety. I should expect nothing less.

One more glance and I return to my chambers and glide the cedar-wood doors shut. I rest upon the chaise, grab hold of my pedal harp, set it perfectly between my legs. Then, I begin to string smooth melodies. Each soft pull awakens a memory from my past. A time when I first came upon the instrument. A time when my grandmother took it upon herself to teach me this art. A smile curves onto my lips at her charisma whilst she taught.

"Babu, they call it a pedal harp. It belonged to your grandfather. Do you wish to play, perhaps?"

And with three fingers, I continue to string.

"When you play the pedal harp, your fingernails ought to be short, Babu. That is unless you wish for a brassy sound."

She was a patient human that woman. Yes. A lovely one too, both inside and out. My eyes flutter shut and the melodies corrupt my mind and fill the room in which I sit. New memories begin to scrape at the
fore-front of my mind but I smother them before they poison my peace of mind.

For long minutes, I remain there, playing and swaying head to the gentle harmonies. That is until the rapping of knuckles against door infiltrates my ears, and I halt in my motions. Then comes the familiar scents of lotuses and morning dew. I need not look beyond the doors to know who stands behind them. Yalifa. The lass has come to loathe me more than she does death. Rightfully so.

"You may come in," I speak, rest the harp upon carpet floors.

She glides the doors open, slips right in, shuts them. She is draped in flowing amber silks, a sharp contrast to the hue of her lovely skin. Little beaded anklets dance around her ankles and her stringy hairs pour down to her hips. Her eyes -coated in thick kajal- allow for the hue of her irises to pop, her lips a dark shade of crimson. And the same glare of venom she directed towards me then she does so even now. 'Tis not her fear but her hatred that is most tangible in this moment.

"What is it you seek, Yalifa?"
"My prince, the king and his queen request your presence by the dining arena. Shalt you be joining them?"

I contemplate the query for a moment. I have woken and fed. I am sated and calm. Thus, what is it they seek of me? Must be a matter of vitality.

"I shalt be joining them tell them that."

She takes a bow, turns and proceeds for the doors.

"Yalifa, within the course of today have you eaten, perhaps?"

I know she tries to decipher my intent, her eyes tell me so. She scrutinizes silently and the terror begins to heighten and radiate from her. I clench jaws at the whiff of it, look her dead in the face with all seriousness.

"I have, my prince. A single meal in the wee hours of morning."
"Just a single meal you say?"

I watch in amusement as the frustration blossoms and carves upon her face at my words. Still, she does well to keep mute.

"Just a meal, my prince."
"Consisting of what?"

She keeps hold on the quiet as though pondering her response. And I patiently await, a thing that is much unlike me. Her brows furrow, she chews on her bottom lip, swallows. She shifts her weight from left to right foot, and the slits of her skirts move to reveal her bruised knee. I arch a brow at the sight of it.

"Lettuce, radishes, some cornbread too, prince."

Her eyes move along with mine and she looks upon the kneecap. Then, she pulls on her skirts to obscure the fleshy sight. Well then...

"Mhmm, I see. Yalifa, henceforth, I am assigning you duty of being my personal maiden. I shalt have a word with Boaz, let him know of your transferal."

Her mouth falls agape. The rage is visible, clear as crystal. Her brows knit, her jaws tick.

"P...pardon me, my prince?" Her voice cracks.
"You seek to have me repeat myself, is it? This be the last you attempt such. Clear?"

She nods, backs away a few steps just as I rise from the chaise. Her heart palpitates mightily in her chest and I halt in my moves. I may have frightened the lass more than need be.

"Yes, my prince."
"Good. Now, take your leave. And be so kind as to convey my message to my parents."

She utters not another word, only turns and twists the knobs hastily. And I am left to stare upon the empty space -where she formerly stood...

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