Smoke and Mirrors : Royal Angels I

Ketchup and tattoos

~Daniel~

Funerals were a great time to not think about your fiancé's sister.

"Would you like a drink, Your Highness?"

The server offered me an intricately carved goblet, the contents of which looked a lot like the pretty red stuff in my veins.

"Yeah, I think I'll pass."

Because when you're in the vampire capital, you couldn't damn well expect grape juice.

Nah, alcohol is so last year. Let's just serve some blood instead. O negative is all the rage this season.

I'd flown down to Kadria this morning to pay my respects to the vampire King, on behalf of my country.

As patriotic as that was, the highlight of my trip had been the air hostess who was better at spreading her legs than the butter on my toast.

And yet somehow, you're still thinking about her.

Lady Alexandra had been the picture of a good hostess, greeting everyone by name and running a tight ship. She didn't show a shred of emotion, carrying herself like a thoroughbred royal.

She'd make a great wife.

But you're still thinking about her.

Darius made no such attempt to conceal how he felt. Anybody who was dumb enough to start a conversation with him got a good dose of "shut the fück up and mind your göddamn business."

He was ice cold and intimidating, like a sword destined to reap vengeance.

And since you clearly didn't mind pissing that guy off too, you're still thinking about her.

The truly sad part though?

Adriana isn't even here, you sappy, pathetic bästard.

The guests to the ceremony were exclusively from the eight Royal families. Angels, vampires, shapeshifters, faeries and Otherworld beings stood united under one name.

The Immortals.

Looking at the mahogany coffin at the head of the church, I realised even that wasn't true anymore.

"I'm afraid I haven't had the chance to speak to you. How are you, Your Grace?"

Lady Alexandra's voice was composed and polite, as she gave me a bow.

I absently kissed her ring. "There's a glaring lack of liquor without bodily fluids in it. But otherwise, I'm good."

She smiled. "It's not blood, Your Grace."

"So ketchup?"

My future queen laughed. "It's a vintage red from the Naples. It's rumoured to be an aphrodisiac, so perhaps not the best choice for my father's funeral."

I was distracted by how similar yet different she was from her sister.

"Is something bothering you, Your Grace?"