The Crimson Prize

Chapter 1

The first thing they took from me was my tea.

I had barely lifted the cup to my lips when a woman in a cream gown plucked it neatly from my hands and carried it away as though I had been holding poison.

"You'll stain your teeth," she said.

I stared after it. "I wasn't aware that would be my biggest concern today."

She pretended not to hear me, which was probably wise. Three others moved in around me before I could say anything worse. One loosened my dressing gown from my shoulders. Another gathered my hair and began separating it into sections with careful fingers. A third pressed cool hands against my jaw and turned my face towards the pale morning light spilling through the tall windows.

"Look up," she said.

I looked up.

"Close your eyes."

I closed them.

"Lift your chin."

I considered refusing, purely because it was the only thing left in the room that belonged to me. Instead, I lifted my chin and let a stranger begin painting my face for a wedding I had not agreed to.

The dressing room was larger than the entire downstairs of my parents' house. Cream silk wallpaper stretched towards a painted ceiling covered in cherubs and climbing vines. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, scattering soft light across polished floors and the mirrors that lined one wall. Fresh white roses filled every available surface. They spilled from silver vases, climbed around the window frames and sat in bowls along the dressing table.

White roses.

My favourite.

How thoughtful.

How cruel.

A woman fastened pearls against my ears and smiled at me in the mirror. "You are very fortunate."

I had heard those words more times in the last fortnight than in the previous twenty four years combined. Fortunate. Blessed. Honoured. Chosen. Everyone said them with the same careful brightness, as though if they repeated them often enough, I might eventually forget what was really happening.

I met her gaze through the glass. "You've never met me. How do you know I'm fortunate?"

Her smile faltered. "I only mean that many families pray for this distinction."

"I imagine my family would rather have kept me."

The room went quiet. The brush at my cheek stilled, and for one long second no one moved. Then the door opened without ceremony, saving them from having to answer.

A woman stepped inside carrying a tray of silver brushes. Unlike the others, she was not dressed in pale cream or soft gold. Her gown was midnight blue, severe in its simplicity, and her dark hair was twisted neatly at the nape of her neck. She looked no older than thirty, but there was something ancient in the way she held herself, something too still to be human.

Her eyes swept over me once. "Has no one fed her?"

One of the attendants blinked. "Pardon?"

"She looks as though she's preparing for an execution."

The laugh left me before I could stop it. It was sharp, ugly and completely inappropriate. Several women gasped as though laughter was the most scandalous thing that had happened in this room.

The newcomer placed the tray on the dressing table. "I apologise. I forgot humans dislike honesty before breakfast."

I turned in my chair. "You're a vampire."