Bitter Bloodlines

Chapter Nine

I stood in front of the mirror in my room, staring at the new dress that my mother had made for me. The feast was tomorrow. I was expected to meet the nobles tonight.

The dressmaker had certainly made something fit for a princess, though I wasn't sure that princess was me. I felt naked in it. It was light, as he'd promised, and made of smooth burgundy fabric with details of black lace. It was slit up the side for movement, with a modestly low collar and straps instead of sleeves, as the Queen requested. I appreciated that he seemed to have thought of me during the process, too: there was a soft, dark hood attached to the back of the dress, a way to hide my eyes in sun.

I reached up to touch the scar on my neck. It was thin and light, like its companions that ran along the inside of my arms, but to my eyes it seemed glaring. I understood why rumors circulated that vampiric creatures - nasferata and strigans - hated mirrors. I had always avoided looking in them too long.

I remembered asking about my scars, when I was young. Early on, the nuns told me they marked me as the salvation of my family. My first tutor, at the Duke's estate, told me that they were marks of my transformation, but would not elaborate.

Phoenix, as always, told me the truth.

"That is where you were cut open, when they killed you," he said.

"Who did?" I asked, assuming that he meant an attempted killing.

"The nasferata that your mother hired, to turn you when you were an infant. I do not know their names."

"But they didn't kill me."

"They did. Just like others did to me, as is done to all of us. We must be killed to be turned, and then brought back."

Even back then, I remember being skeptical of the process. The fact that I didn't remember it made me imagine it, childlike, as some kind of magic ritual, like the kind that brought back slain heroes in fairy tales. But now I knew better. It was medical, a swift bloodletting, a sort of transfusion.

An illness, like mine, I remembered James saying.

I shook my head, stepping away from the mirror. If it was an illness, then it was one that made me stronger. I would be the princess that my mother needed, in the face of the nobles tonight: beautiful and powerful, just like her.

*****

It felt good to have a particular, assigned place to be at my mother's side as various noble families came through the castle to make greetings and pay tribute. The festivities had not yet begun, but most of them still wanted a chance to speak with the Queen before the tournament and feast tomorrow. She met with them in the throne room - not sitting on the throne, but standing several paces in front of it, as if she'd just left it for a moment out of politeness.

Half of the people who saw me seemed shocked at my presence, despite the fact that tomorrow's feast was in my honor. I wondered if they had expected to see no real princess at all, or if they had simply not expected it to be true that I was a nasferata. The stares and averted eyes were equally uncomfortable, but it felt different while standing at my mother's side. Here, I was supposed to be threatening. Here, I was needed.

And besides that - her presence seemed to take up the whole room, distracting people even from the scars on my skin. Even the nobles who resented their "temporary" foreign queen still paid their respects.

"You are radiant as ever, Queen Regent" said one of the southern viscounts, kissing her ring.

"And you are ever the flatterer, Lord Emery," she replied. "Allow me to introduce my daughter, the Princess Audrianna."

He gave another bow in my direction, though I did not offer my hand as she had. Unlike many of the others, he seemed neither surprised nor perturbed by my presence.

"And how is your brother, the King's son?" he asked me.

"My late husband's bastard is unwell, I'm afraid," my mother replied, before I could form a response. "A defect of his birth. He may make a short appearance at the feast tomorrow, if he is feeling up to it."

My brain bucked between the description of James as my brother, and the description of him as defective. I was unsure which one I disagreed with more.

"I am sure we would all appreciate the opportunity to see our future king," Lord Emery said.

My mother's smile grew wider as her eyes got darker, and she stepped back to place a arm affectionately around my waist.

"Should the public decide to accept a king of noble birth, and should his illness ever allow him the chance to rule, James will be well-protected here with us," she replied. "In the meantime, Viscount, I look forward to ruling our country well."

"Of course." He gave a deferential nod, his eyes gleaming.

I studied his face as he backed away and the guards began to escort him out. He had sharp features, and the look of some kind of puckish sprite inside the pages of a children's book: troublesome, scheming.

"I do not think we should allow him near you tomorrow," I told my mother, when he was gone. She removed her hand from my waist and patted my cheek reassuringly.

"No need to fret, dear," she said. "The little nobles are not the only ones with tricks up their sleeves. No one will dare to threaten me tomorrow."

Because of me, I thought, proud, as one of the servants approached.

"Your majesty," she said, with a curtsy. "You asked to be notified when the Perian representative arrived."

I looked between the servant and my mother, curious. "Sir Francis, the ambassador? I thought he was already here."

"No, a higher-level representative from their silly little government," the Queen replied. She turned to the servant and asked, "Has his cargo arrived with him?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"Keep it away from the other guests. I would like to take a look as it is unloaded."

The servant girl nodded, and went to lead the way. My mother turned to me with her own puckish smile.

"Why don't you stay here and refresh yourself for a few minutes?" she said. "I don't want to spoil tomorrow's surprise."