A search in futile

Shifting onto my feet with a groan, I walk groggily over to the bedroom, wiping the sleepy dust from my eyes as I go. My back feels awkward and stiff, and it's only now that I begin to regret sleeping on a tiny armchair. Silently I curse myself. I thought I would at least learn my lesson doing that the first time. In the bedroom the bed is made, furry duvet crisp and smelling fainting of elderberry. Two wardrobes are lined with clothes, and in the faint light of a gas lantern, I catch sight of what other horrors Lilyana has chosen out for me and laugh out loud nervously. By the looks of things, mainly the half eaten pack of dried meat laying on the small oak table beside the bed, Ithuriel has already left and gone. A part of me despises the fact he didn't wake me up with him. And then I sigh, knowing there is nothing I can do about it. Fine, if Ithuriel didn't want to wait, I would go on my own. Firmly, I make the decision to get myself changed, to go and find Soren. Stick to the plan. How hard could it be?

***

Very hard. For someone with such a dominating presence, finding the Scarlet Prince is the hardest thing to do. For the whole of the first day I wandered down hallways, passed through the throne room a dozen times, dodged my way past snarling vampires who were intent on giving me the death stare, and still, no Soren. No blinding smile, no murmurs of the soft hum of his voice, or even a wisp of his dark ebony hair and jutting rams horns. Simply gone. It was by the evening when I had settled down with aching feet and a spinning head that I realised that maybe he hadn't wanted to be found. He had simply up and vanished, like he did with the shadows, the only memory of his presence the towering throne sat up on the dais, which, even when it was empty, sent chills hurtling down my skin. And I, being foolish and slightly disoriented, had been too scared to approach any other vampires so soon after the incident with Azrael: In case I hadn't washed off the blood properly, in case they could still smell it on me. The last thing I need in this god-forsaken prison is another vampire attack, and approaching the dais alone would be like sticking a neon sign on my back with the words inscribed:

"Free food"

So I spent the rest of that night permeating my skin in floral bathwater and scrubbing myself head to toe with soap so vigorously that by the end of it the bar of soap was nothing more than a thin slab. Part of me mused over the thought that with so many soap suds scrubbed over my skin, taking a bite out of me would be rather like taking a bite out of soap: bitter and unappetising. All the while foolishly hoping to myself that would put the vampires off. Then, perhaps out of spite for the colour, I painted my nails a deep red and stared off into nothing, wondering how in the hell I was going to find the flame. Ithuriel had kindly braided my hair into rams horns, perhaps to try and cheer me up, or perhaps to make me look like one of them- the vampires, but it did little to improve my gloomy mood, and I turned restlessly for the rest of the night until finally dozing off into a blissful blackness.

By the next two days, I gave up on finding Soren. I soon realised if he didn't want to be found, or if he is somewhere else entirely, then I would have to deal with it. Admittedly, I almost found myself missing his crude flirty remarks and stark golden eyes as I wondered the palace alone- if only for the stability and familiarity he provided against all the other creatures that dwelled in his palace, who I neither knew or cared to know. And then I scorned myself for even missing him in the first place. That treacherous bloodsucker had been less than good to me, he'd played and toyed with me just like I was promised vampires do, gentle or otherwise- and I would give him hell for it next time he came about. So to take my traitorous mind away from any stupid thoughts, I decided to explore. That was almost- (almost but not quite), as pointless as trying to find Soren. The palace is an unforgiving labyrinth of doors and hallways, private banquet rooms, bedrooms, kitchens, libraries and every other room in-between. My every turn was thwarted by a butler who skittered past me with brass goblets of wine, or a looming vampire trying to tail me that forced me down another route, another hallway, another passage. And try as I might to trace my steps, every new corridor had me just as lost as the last. Amongst my aimless searching and pointless wandering, I tried in vain to find his room, or at least I think that was what it was, to find some clues about him, and about this damned place- and the flame. To find his strange, torn up study that was pulled up to shreds with vicious claw marks, stained with dried blood that rotted my nose with even the memory of the smell. It had been a strategic move of him to not show me the way to his room, teleport me there instead, in case I decided to go wondering for him again. For all his flaws, and all his vile behaviour, I could commend he is a careful Prince, careful to trust, to assert the rules, to determine what is allowed, and what is not. He had been careful to assess me, too- testing my limits, prodding, poking, wondering over the extent of my patience, of how long it would take for me to draw that shiny silver sword pressed at my hips- to never put himself in a vulnerable position. Indeed, he was careful.

As I walked the winding halls with little else to think about, the memory of the white hair vampire and the sickening crack that had resounded through the walls resurfaced in the depths of my mind, drawn to the surface by phantom hands. The wild look in Soren's eyes, the way he had bristled and snapped the vampire's neck with such ease it had made him look like an insignificant twig. If a vampire was an insignificant twig to Soren, then what did that make me? The thought set me on edge, yet try as I might to dismiss it, somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I could still hear it ringing, still hear Soren's words.

And so I tried and I tried, hoping that I might take the right turn along the labyrinth of hallways and stumble across Soren's room by chance. That amongst the glass chandeliers and delicate lampshades and servants who trotted alone each corridor with such purpose- as though the palace wasn't one huge, ginormous maze- someone, something would lead me to that place. But there was no help. No friendly face to guide me. The numbers of the rooms were going up. 521, 522, 523… I started to lose track of the ones I counted. And soon all the corridors had blurred into one. It was at this point, three days in from my arrival with a lost vampire prince on my hands, that I decided to take a break.