Queen of Nothing

5. Queen of Disastrous Dates

I arranged to meet Tristan later that night at Bohème, a ritzy jazz club in the French Quarter. I didn't particularly like jazz and I didn't know if Tristan did either, but the place looked classy enough from the handful of times I passed by it while touring through the city.

Dressed in a gold tasseled flapper dress and black lace shawl, I sat alone at a table for two in the dimly lit, smoky parlor, watching the performance on stage. A woman in a white dress that looked similar to mine but probably cost half as much crooned mournfully about lost love to the soulful tunes of the band behind her. The performance was surprisingly enthralling, thanks in no small part to the singer's captivating vocal performance. So engaged was I that I barely noticed when someone came to occupy the empty seat across from me.

"Hi," came Tristan's voice, nervous but excited.

I snapped out of my trance and faced him, my long earrings swinging elegantly as I turned. Tristan spared no expense with his appearance tonight, wearing a crisply tailored navy suit, his black hair slicked and parted down the side. But the most attractive thing about him was his smile — wide and genuine, it lit up his whole face. God, he was so... innocent. And I'd have to ruin his life. Oh well.

I smiled back at him, burying the last vestiges of my guilt deep within. "It's good to see you."

"Thanks," he replied. "I was afraid you'd never call me back."

"Sorry I brushed you off that night. I was still kind of moody from before," I lied, casting my eyes downward so he wouldn't notice.

"It's okay. You uh, had a hell of a night at that party," he said. His eyes raked over the room, resting to watch the band play. "So, you like jazz, huh?"

"I guess," I shrugged. I hadn't listened to much of it before nor did I have any strong desire to listen to more after this date was over, but I enjoyed it. "Do you like it?"

Tristan nodded. He kept his face neutral but I could tell from the stiffness of his shoulders that he wasn't as keen as he claimed. "It's alright. Kind of depressing though. All these songs about heartbreak."

"Well, what do you like?" I asked, finding myself genuinely curious. Not because I honestly cared, but because of his unique upbringing. Being orphaned at a young age and raised by vampires must have led him to develop some interesting tastes.

"Rock and metal mostly," he replied.

"Metal?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "I thought you didn't like depressing music." I didn't listen to metal, but from what I knew it was all about death and destruction.

Tristan scratched the back of his neck. "Not all of it's about doom and gloom though. There's different kinds. Like power metal is all about honor and glory. You know, stuff that really gets the blood pumping." He cleared his throat. "I live with my uncle and he hates it. I'd always play it as loud as possible to piss him off."

He was referring to King Sheridan, no doubt. I wondered why he was downplaying their relationship, why he hadn't told me that he was the many-times-great grandson of the freaking vampire king of the South. Granted, the subject hadn't come up but still.

"What does your uncle do?" I decided to ask. I wanted to know whether he was deliberately omitting the info or if I was just paranoid.

Tristan smiled hesitantly before speaking. "He's uh, a politician."

"Does he work with the king?" I asked nonchalantly.

Tristan nodded, his eyes shifting. "You could say that, yeah."

I tried to look casual as I processed the information. Why would Tristan lie about who he was? I wouldn't, in his position. Back home I bragged to whoever I could that I was an Ambrose, and my family weren't even royalty. If my "uncle" was the King, I'd bet my bottom dollar I'd never let anyone forget it. So why was Tristan hiding?