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

Chapter Eight

The pic above is of Farah...

I proceed for and march into the dining arena where the royal family is assembled and sat. I take a bow before the king, his queen, and Farah -Amir’s sister- then work to make my speech.

“My king, my queen, the prince should meet you in a moment.”

“Alright then. Stand and await your dismissal,” the queen voices and the disdain drips from each syllable of every word.

She eyes me, looks me from head to toe with a single arched brow. And I fall mute, only tread lightly towards the furthest corner of the arena where I stand and gaze upon marble floors as though they were a thing of such great fascination. My arms fold and clasp behind my back, my heart remains thumping inside my chest. The anxiety chokes me, it threatens to suffocate and drain the life from my lungs.

The queen eyes me still, I am well able to see this from my peripheral. Seconds fleet, they convert into long minutes of patience and waiting upon the prince to make his entry. And he does. Tranquil as ever, he graces his family with the presence of him, struts his way ever so serenely into the arena.

“Son, good rising. Take a seat,” the king’s voice booms, it sends a trail of chills scraping at my heart.

I swallow, I blink, I look upon the royals despite all warning. Amir works to pull out his seat from beneath the table, makes himself comfortable atop the soft cushion of chair, stares upon his parents quizzically.

“You called for me, father. And I assume that in coercing me join you this eve, there must be a reason of validity, no?” Amir begins, his palms clasping together atop smooth surface of table.

His face is a sheet of blankness, his voice none too enthused.

“Amir, son, calm yourself,” the queen chimes in, and man’s eyes avert from father’s to mother’s.
“Cut to the chase, shalt we? Why have I been summoned here?”

The king takes a sigh, pinches the bridge of his nose for short minutes, looks upon his son as though a thing disturbs his peace of mind. The queen clears her throat, reaches for Amir’s clasped hands with one of hers ever so gently. The lad does not look pleased. Far from it even. His gaze lowers to look upon his mother’s hand upon his, then moves to gaze upon her. All traces of humor or jolly drain from his features entirely.

“Amir, you have not found yourself a suitable companion. Your father and I, we are but concerned. Sooner rather than later you shalt need to take over as ruler of Akhila. And yet you may not assume such task without a queen by your side. Son…”
“Is this the reason you summoned my presence?” His tone lowers a few octaves, it brings with a new sense of terror that cuts through the atmosphere so fiercely.

“Amir, brother, calm yourself,” Farah speaks and Amir spares her a single glance.
“Son, we took it upon ourselves to find you a bride. I know this may upset you, but you are a grown man and…”

The queen’s speech is rudely interrupted by Amir’s pearls of throaty laughter. That right there, that maniacal burst utterly shakes me down to my very core. The cackling simmers down to an uneasy quiet.

“Exactly. I am a grown man. If I seek a bride, then I shalt be competent enough to find myself one. Still, I have more than enough royal maidens and concubines in my harem, mother. And need I remind you that I did in fact find myself a suitable companion once upon. One that you saw fit to send off despite…I have nothing left to say to you,” his tone rings foreign, overly calm.

And despite the loathing I feel for the lad, my interest is piqued beyond levels fathomable. Was the man ever capable of emotions of affection? Did he once fall for another? What became of the other?
I catch myself reeling and drowning in thoughts that are not of my concern. He rises upon his feet, glares upon me with clenched jaws and furrowed brows. I avert my eyes, look anywhere else but.

“What do you wait upon, servant!”

My heart clenches upon his tonality but I know better than to show the hurt. I tread after him so carefully, maintain a safe distance between the two of us. I fight against the horrible urge to yawn till the tears well my eyes. A low rumbling noise is heard from my stomach and I press a hand to the skin there. Grace, I am famished and my knees buckle from beneath my weight. I have hardly the time to sit and eat, and much as I am grateful, the foods they provide are only the leftovers from the royals’ tables.

Then comes the commissions they assign, ones they expect that we perform with  utmost diligence despite the frailness we all encounter. I wake at five, scrub and polish marble floors, dust all shelves and corners of chambers, launder the soldiers’ regalia till my cuticles burn with little bruises, water the orchids by northern gardens, prune the roses by the southern gardens, weed if there’s need to weed. Yes, this is the life that was ascribed to me upon birth. Born in slavery, perish in servitude.

Even before I am able to discard the plunging thoughts, even before I am well able to blink and come to, I bump into Amir’s chest and stumble a few steps back. He looks down upon me and I am unable to decipher his expressions. Might he be upset with me? I wince at the very thought of it. This man is…not entirely human. I have not the idea what or who he truly is, but to this I am certain. On its own accord, my foot moves one step back and the man knits his brows.

“Forgive me, my prince.”
“Watch your step next time, Yalifa.”

And I nod my head in comprehension, bow it too.

“I need you to fetch one of the girls from the northern wing.”
“You seek that I fetch you one of your pleasure women from the harem?”

It never fails to amuse me how so easily the man manages to rile me up. And the resentment begins to bubble and surface. Grace, I detest the very presence of him, I do! Are those women in the harem there on their own accord or because of some sort of coercion? Did they choose or were they subjected to such fate via some compulsion of sorts? Oh, but what king or prince cares for choice when he rules with such iron fist?

“You seek to have me repeat myself, servant?”

Whilst he speaks, he makes a step forward and I back away into marble pillar. Still, in my foolish bravery I gaze the lad dead in the eye.

“You know my birth name, my prince. Use it.”

His head tilts to the side. His eyes narrow into thin slits. They twinkle with malice. He leans in impossibly close that our noses nearly graze. Oh, my heart pounds harshly inside my chest. Its as though it begs for a release. But I dare not show the cowardice now. No!

“And what should you have me call you? Are you not just a mere servant in this castle? Do not take liberties with me, Yalifa. ‘Tis not a warning but a promise,” his voice is now akin to a whisper.

His thumb, index and middle fingers grip my chin firmly and my eyes flutter shut so tightly.

“Look upon me. Look upon me when I speak, Yalifa!”
“You sicken me,” I speak lowly, my lip quivers.

Then, his lips brush up against my own -ever so lightly- and linger there as if he contemplates a thing. And those memories, those darkly, blackly memories begin to mock and to taunt and to tease me to the point of tears. He draws back entirely. He stares upon me as though pondering his own acts. His jaws tick. The darkness fights the brownness in his eyes. His fists clench and unclench and clench again. The man battles against his very own restrains right before my eyes.

“Y…Yalifa, I...”
“You are just like them. Don’t you ever touch me without my consent. Don’t you ever touch me again, you hear?” I shove him by his chest, shove him hard as I can even when he remains put.

Only when I calm myself enough to reason do I realize the tiny little streams that roll down my face. I brush against them furiously yet they still remain adamant. Then, the lad does a thing so peculiar. He takes a step forward, cups my face so delicately -as if his actions were a foreign thing even to himself- wipes at the little tears that fall with his thumbs.

He utters not another word, only turns and treads past his chamber doors -shutting them with a click. And I remain stood and staring upon the empty space where he formerly stood whilst the recent past replays faithfully at the front of my mind…

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