Prince of Lies [COMPLETED]

Chapter 41

At some point in the evening—after much confusion—Frederick found himself back in his room. Once inside, he did not delay. He did not hesitate. He retrieved his sword from his scabbard and fell onto his bed, his mattress welcoming the weight of him as the room spun with black.

He'd spent the night talking with Saebane, and the enormity of it left him feeling filthy, wrong, and vile. Frederick needed to get closer to the sorcerer to learn his weaknesses but after tonight, he no longer knew how he would be able to stomach such a task.

They'd discussed the current affairs of the kingdom. Saebane even probed into details of Frederick's marriage to Arabella.

Yes, Carnelia was gruesome.

Yes, vampyres were a different sort.

Of course, fucking Arabella was exceedingly different from fucking an ordinary woman.

She'd stayed at their feet for the entire evening, chained like a dog, listening to every word. She'd heard their vulgar exchange about her body and her bedroom manners. They'd even discussed the way she tasted. Frederick had called her incomparable.

In response, Saebane recounted their gruesome orgies from millenniums before. He'd described events and acts Arabella had supposedly taken part of—acts he wanted to submit Arabella into again when she "behaved" herself. The detail in his depraved words made Frederick want to gut him slowly with a rusty blade.

But all he could do was pretend to laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

As if this sorcerer was the most amusing being in all the Star.

Gods, I'm sorry, Ara.

There was no advantage gained tonight. Frederick had learned nothing new about Saebane and was no closer to his defeat. He'd never wanted to kill something more than Saebane, but he would have to become better at this game. He would observe as much of the sorcerer as he could, learn everything he could, biding his time.

Then strike when the moment became right.

And when it was over, he would ensure Rycard met an even more gruesome end to what Frederick originally planned for resurrecting this absolute monster. He would make him suffer for defiling his sister's body and for reintroducing this evil into the world.

But the person who deserved to suffer the most for his current circumstance was Frederick. Arabella was a prisoner within her own body, subject to the whims of a maniac. And he had himself to blame.

He had felt his face heating the more and more he drank, the room gently rocking. Saebane's anecdotes about the old world began to grate, his robust laughter hurting Frederick's ears. Only when the self-inflicted wounds began to itch like mad did he excuse himself and bid Saebane a good night.

Now that he lay in bed, he tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness of his room. He searched for the outline of his window, unused to the curtains he'd arranged to have installed on his last visit—when he thought he would be returning with Arabella more and more.

That hadn't happened.

He reached across and pulled the sheets over his face. The servants hadn't changed them. They still smelled like her.

His blood pulsed throughout his body, circulating like a babbling stream. The pounding in his head tonight was a direct result from drinking with the sorcerer. And gods, how he longed for Arabella. His body screamed to give her the blood she needed, his skin too tight to contain it all. He knew the longer he left it, the thicker it would become.