18 A myth and a monster (part 2)

My heels tap a nervous tune on the marble flooring, along with the hundreds of other feet, elves, and nymphs and vampires alike, who have begun to dance in time with the music. The instruments orchestrate a slow, heavy tune and the chandeliers swing with each low and tumultuous note. Goblets of blood sway sickeningly on silver platters, vampires watching, whispering like ghosts among us. My mind races.

For some odd reason, perhaps the allure of a pretty face, the temptation of fresh blood, or simply to have his fun with me, the Scarlet Prince seems to… Like me. 'Like' being a strong word, since I doubt he could possibly like me particularly in any fond way, more probably he 'likes' what I offer him. He has already made the effort to dance with me- twice too, so clearly he has a purpose. Calculating creatures like him often do. The assertiveness of his tone and the complete conviction in his tone when he uttered the words 'I am not going to hurt you' lead me to believe that he wants something from me, else he would never have made such an attempt to earn my trust. Perhaps he wants my blood. Perhaps my body. Perhaps he wants to have his fling with me, toy with me as the cruel, masterful Prince of all vampires probably would. Well, that makes two of us wanting something. But in that short moment of revelation, something clicks. Some idea forming hazily in my mind, faint, swirling, dangerous, the pieces fitting together like an ill-formed puzzle. The council would hate me for it, condemn me for eternity, but as it stands, it might be my only hope. It's stupid, I warn myself, reckless, chaotic. A thought so insane that it might just work.

If you want to earn their favour, you must first play their games. Show them just how cold your blood runs.

The two Princes of Sezeria are the only people who know the location of the eternal flame, concealed in some dark crevice of this enormous palace. I had banked on being able to find it on my own, using Ithuriel to help me scout little by little right under the noses of the vampires, unnoticed, and undisturbed. That plan is already out the window, I need a different approach.

I feel the same dangerous sense of freedom bubbling inside me as I felt in the forest, careless, insane. There is no one here to stop me, no council to detain me, no boundaries to withhold me. Here is a place bound by no rules, each for their own, where the only way to survive is to play dirty, and make your every move worse than the last. The playing board is in front of me, and this time, I am the one making the moves. So, I think gleefully to myself, giddy with exhilaration, an addictive surge of power rushing to my head. I am going to play a game of pretend. Just like all these other creatures.

And what better game to play than one with the Scarlet Prince himself?

So I make myself fearless, drawing my face close to his with reckless abandon as we dance. He is so close that I can see the little brown flecks swimming in his eyes, his cool breath caressing my cheek. By the look on his face and the rigidity of his body, I can tell I've startled him. A part of me is startled at myself. I'd never let myself be this close, this daring, with a boy- except perhaps Ithuriel, but he hardly counted. Nor had I ever considered myself a particularly bold person, so quickly I find myself marvelling at my own ability to be so forward going. I savour the rush of it. The handsome prince's eyebrows raise, his mouth agape with shining red lips. His hands clench tensely on my back for a moment, unsure how to act. It is almost as if, I consider, deviously to myself, when faced by the very game he plays, he suddenly doesn't know how to play it at all. I bite down on my lip to prevent a small laugh slipping out my mouth. Vampires around us screech, but they are dull to my ears. I don't care for their pale, angry faces, hissing with discontent- they do not matter. Nothing matters- nothing except this wicked Prince, and the flame.

He draws me in closer with a hand gliding daringly down the small of my back, pushing my abdomen against his with a force that sends a renewed wave of sparks chasing through me as we dance. It's the sort of rough and magnetic vigour I had imagined when I was eight, dancing around my room, frolicking in heels that left my feet burning the next morning. Ithuriel had always danced too carefully with me, too slow, as if he were worried I might trip, or step on his feet. The Scarlet Prince is everything but that. His body is fluid, moving sensuously against mine in the way I had always imagined vampires did. The press and sway of his torso on mine leaves me tingling as his hands trail seductively across my neck, my back, and between the grooves of my breasts that the fabric fails to cover. I hate it almost as much as I want more. Closer, closer I inch, until we are near enough so he can hear the beat of my heart under my skin. Soren sucks in an involuntary breath- perhaps wishing he had glamoured me now. It is not everyday one tries to mess with the prince of vampires, seduce him or otherwise- not unless they have a death wish.

Perhaps it is a good thing I'm not expecting to get out of here alive, then.

"How brazen, I did not expect you would be the one to try and tempt me out of all the fair maidens here," he laughs coolly, but his eyes shift covetously, swirling with a crimson glow as he presses my body further into his, as though savouring the warmth of my skin- the rush of blood in veins. Part of me had forgotten he is here to choose a mate. That among all these vampires and elves and sprites and nymphs, many of them had come in hopes to be wed to this deadly creature. It would probably be another vampire, since it would be unwise (though not unheard of) for a vampire to mate outside his own species. I myself had no intention of wedding this damned creature, that is not part of the plan. But manipulating him into thinking I might want to is a different matter entirely.

"Such a pretty little creature you are. I expect your blood is just as fine as your face," he murmurs roughly, eyeing me for a reaction. His tone is indifferent, careless, but the way his hands continue to trail down the small of my back tells me that this event is anything other than displeasing for him. Hedonistic bastard. Yet my heart hammers against my ribs, betraying my attempt at a cool and collected exterior. Foolishly, I hope to myself that he doesn't hear it. Stupid, stupid heart. The Scarlet Prince brings up a ringed hand to lift my chin, fingers resting on my jugular lightly, tipping up my head. So… Gentle. It almost scares me.

"What is your name, little dove?" he coos lowly, softly, looking down at me through hooded eyes and sooty lashes. My insides freeze.