16 The Scarlet Prince: the immortal beauty

A rush of cold hits me as I enter the Palace, the deathly aura from the vampires milling sending a nauseating combination of giddiness and wintery cold through my body. The sort of cold feeling you get when you are inside, looking out at the snow, feeling its icy claws dig its way into your skin, eating away at your flesh.

I blink back the light as the inside abruptly opens up to a huge throne room. Ithuriel is already skittering through the crowd, twisting and swerving his way around hundreds of feet, until he is swept away. Glass chandeliers swing gently from the eaves, candles casting huge arching shadows across the room like elongated fingers reaching desperately towards the light. I glance nervously across into the adjacent rooms, where banquet tables are being prepared, hundreds of tables lined with thick linen tablecloths, towered high with wobbling piles of precariously balanced food and large vats of thick, red liquid. I always believed I had a good stomach, but the sight of the pooling glasses of blood, fresh and warm, tells me otherwise. I hold back the urge to vomit.

A pair of female vampires watch me as I pass with apathetic eyes, giggling cruelly, a hand on their hips, another enclosed around a glass chalice, sloshing with a thick crimson red liquid that stains their lips bright red with its raw colour.

Lilyana was right, the vampires are daring with their fashion. The lack of need to keep warm permissed them to wear whatever they wanted, and for many that meant opened shirts, bare shoulders and dresses of red or purple or black that drew attention to a woman's bust or hips, seductive, bold, and entirely raunchy. The council would be most displeased at the sight. So much skin is showing that it hardly seems worth wearing clothes at all, just a ludicrous display meant for pleasing the eye and charming courtiers. I wonder amusedly whether if I entered the courtroom with nothing at all it would cause any fuss whatsoever. Part of me doubts they would even bat an eye. Many of the creatures, or at least the ones that do wear clothes, wear fabrics similar to what I'd seen in the shops, beautifully embroidered and laced with pearls or gems that sparkle faintly in the candlelight, clinging tightly to their beautifully framed bodies. Looking down at my own body, I frown, suddenly becoming acutely aware of my own figure. Not tall enough to be slender and graceful like them, too curvy, my hips too wide, my chest too big, my waist too small; I stick out like a sore thumb. My frown deepens, watching as the vampires continue to waltz their way around the grand, cavernous room, their movements like a horrible, hypnotic dance. I think I must do well to draw away my gaze so swiftly, thinking it best not to get caught up in the midst of things so soon. But it's hard not to get distracted by the muffled sounds of shapeless chatter and the warnings of the council. The creeping of the shadows and the thick scent, cloudy of blood and flowers does little to clear the fogginess from my mind. Dejectedly, I fix my eyes ahead of me and continue moving through the sway.

Curious eyes trace me as I walk, half running, through the crowd, clumsy, trying to get my bearings. I imagine how they see me: a lumbering sack of meat and blood, a tempting prize, albeit a forbidden one. I think of this as I navigate the room, through the sea of alabaster skin and red eyes, watching, lustful, hungry. It makes my mouth go dry with dread. Hundreds of white faces stare me down, some laughing cruelly, reaching out, as if to test the warmth of my skin, to feel the blood in my veins. Against them, I recoil, pacing quicker. Searching, looking, for someone, something, to help me. Dancing my way round the grasping pale hands that reach for me with fervour, it seems like a nightmare. My heart beats faster and faster, rising in my throat. Overwhelment washes over me. I fight back the panic.

That's when I see him.

The man lounges sideways across his throne, one leg drawn over the arm of the of it, the other dangling towards the ground. The throne is beautiful, golden, padded with soft red fabric, emblazoned with jewels. The top is tall, twisting into thorns, or perhaps horns, surrounded by floating black and blue fires that duck in and out, illuminating the area. Even without the prince sitting there, the throne would have been sinister enough on its own- it looks like a death trap. The prince on top only makes that death trap a reality. His flamboyant black shirt is partially unbuttoned, the collars of his sleeves pinned back, shoulders pads jutting up like knives, little feathery ruffles adorning either side of the front placket, laced with a gold trim and a stitched pair of raven wings. He wears dark brown trousers, woven with spirals of golden silk, and little red roses that ran all the way up his calf. His long leather boots shine, newly polished. Large horns, like a ram's, jut from either side of his head, twisting, and curl down the sides of his face and his studded ears. They are the largest horns I've ever seen on a vampire. A crown sits between a small, spiked secondary pair of horns that issue from the top of his head, partially obscured by the messy waves of dark curled hair that cascade gracefully down his face. He radiates a foreboding coldness, sitting and twirling a purple rose in his ringed fingers absently, frowning a little, as though his mind is elsewhere. Yet his eyes aren't on the rose.

I gaze up from the foot of the steps that lead to the throne; frozen with shock, numb with horror.

Slowly, the Prince arises, his raven feathered cloak lifting behind him, trailing down his back like a dark snake. The room hushes a little, heads turn to watch him graciously descend down the steps, and I watch too, his body fluid, each motion captivating, like a beautiful dance that only he is privy to. I can't look away. Some of the vampire girls blush as he passes them, fanning themselves, reaching out, to try and catch another glimpse of his face, or the way the light catches on his cheekbones and plays on his lips. They are trying to attract his attention, calling his name softly, hoping that perhaps it might be them after all these festivities that get be his immortal mate. I barely hear them, my body slowly shutting down against me.

His eyes aren't on them either.

Before I realise it, he is standing before me. No. A part of me sobs. No no no. But my body stays still, my feet frozen in place. Slowly, and very deliberately, he reaches down, enclosing his hand lightly around mine. I wince, his touch icy as he brings his lips up to the back of my hand. He presses them softly to my skin, a faint rush flowing through me once again, despite my best efforts to suppress it. My body betrays me. A little gasp escapes my mouth. At the sound, his golden eyes catch mine, soft, glittering gently under the candle light. He looks a little surprised, eyes widening for a second, before an intense emotion crosses his face, his eyes hooded, his sooty lashes pressed against his cheek. The sound seems to please him immensely. The thought in itself makes my body bubble with nerves. Hedonistic vampire. I try not to stare, but it's hard not to. Not at the horns on his head, or his locks of dark hair, a mess of fluffy curls. Nor at the dark freckle above his upper lip and below his eye, or the way his mouth draws into a small smile, his lips parted, the sharp points of his fangs pressed carelessly against his lower lip. Up close, it's undeniable. He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

"Hello again," he murmurs against my hand, drawing himself up, his smooth fingers clasped over mine with a tenderness that's almost scary; as if despairing to keep me there. His voice vibrates through my skin, low and rich.

Yet I can hardly look at him. This is the creature the angels have feared for generations, standing right in front of me. The same unpredictable, coldblooded killer who has ruthlessly disposed of hundreds of his own kind and drained thousands of others. The monster that both haunted and blessed my dreams, the one they told me would kill without hesitation. I find myself thinking a little too late that I should've run while I had the chance. I barely find it in me to force out the words.

"Hello," I say, my voice trembling a little. "Prince Soren,"