The monotonous sound of the rain tapping against the glass of the doors and windows of my room continued. The sun was nowhere to be seen. The sky was dark and gloomy, an endless stream of dark clouds slowly rolling by. If it hadn't been for the clock tolling hourly in the room, I would have never known whether it was night or day. It had been raining for a week straight and it didn't look like it was going to let up soon.
I stared at the ceiling not quite sure to do with myself. Michael was attending another meeting with Vittoris' Immediate Council before he met with the Supreme Council that was comprised of Eleven other vampire kingdoms, though ten only held chairs at the moment, for obvious reasons. Binky was busy sleeping, and every time I tried to play with him, he had curled up his upper lip and growled at me, looking pretty menacing for a dog of his small size.
"How are you holding up?" Abbie asked, walking through the door. She balanced what looked like a dozen voluminous gowns. It was both impressive and funny seeing someone as short and petite as Abbie carrying so many dresses. As she spoke to me, her voice was somewhat muffled by the pile of clothing that blocked her face. I got up to help her and grabbed a few dresses off the top of the pile.
"I'm fine," I said, looking at the dresses. "Where should I put these?"
"You didn't have to do that," she sighed, but she jerked her head in the direction of my wardrobe, a sturdy piece of furniture made of dark wood. "Over there, I suppose."
"I want to help," I insisted, walking over to it. I reached out to open the doors but almost toppled over, realizing that my arms were full of dresses. Frowning, I tried to put all of the dresses on my left arm so I could open the doors to the wardrobe with my right. After coming close to dropping all of them, I realized that this would not work, and I returned the dresses to my right arm. I stared at the doors for a while, tracing the intricate scenes carved in the wood with my eyes, trying to figure out what to do. After I could not think of a solution to my problem, I turned around and looked at her, bewildered. "How do you manage to do all this?"
"Years of practice," she laughed, smiling at my efforts. She walked over to where I was and easily threw open the doors to the wardrobe. The dresses didn't so much as twitch and she never teetered. Still amazed, I shook my head at her and hung them up. She had been impressing me a lot lately, but I didn't know whether that was because I was discovering just how much she did in the palace or because I discovered that she was once Damon Percy's giver.
I really wanted to ask her about it and find out why she didn't tell me in the first place. I had tried asking Michael about it, but he had only said that he didn't treat her right and did not tell me anything more. Looking at her smiling face now, so content and pleased with the work she was doing, I didn't want to bring back any bad memories.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, closing the heavy doors as she finished putting things away.
"No reason," I lied quickly. I then realized that she didn't even turn around, so she couldn't have looked at my face. "How did—"
"I could feel your eyes on the back of my head," she said simply, before I could finish asking my question. I tilted my head, cocking my eyebrow at her. Did she know me that well?
She turned around, scanning the room with her eyes, probably assessing what needed to be done. After visually sweeping the walls and floors, her eyes landed on my bed. More specifically, her eyes landed on the dog sleeping in the middle of the bed. She put her hands on her hips.
"That dog," she muttered, "keeps dirtying my sheets."
"He's only sleeping," I protested.
"He can sleep on the floor!" She clapped her hands and walked over to the side of the bed, shaking it so Binky would wake up. "Come on, shoo!" She fanned her hands at him. He lifted his groggy little head, looking at her for a moment. Then, his eyes narrowed and his lips curled upwards as he let out a low snarl.
"Uh, Abbie, remember what happened last time?" I warned
"This dog will not get the best of me!" she insisted, then hissed, "I said, move." Her voice was filled with impressive authority. Surprisingly, Binky whimpered, stood up, and jumped off the bed, hiding himself under a chair with a navy cushion. Satisfied, Abbie began to straighten up the sheets that Binky had disturbed.
I laughed at her and sat down on a couch.
"You spoil that thing," she teased, moving over to the lamp sitting on the table by my bed and inspecting it for dust. She swiped her finger along the lampshade and examined it. After she was done searching, she wiped her hands on her dark blue apron and continued to move across the room.
"That's because he's so adorable!" I cooed in a voice that a mother would use with her newborn child, looking at him. He was still huddled under his chair, glancing nervously at Abbie.
"Adorable," she scoffed. "Yes, and it was so adorable when he watched us cleaning up all those feathers and cushions! And even though the prince provided new furniture, he keeps gnawing on all of the chairs!"
I looked down, seeing that the bottoms of the chairs were indeed mangled. Instead of each leg being carved at the bottom to resemble some large animal's paws, they were "carved" by Binky to look like crude pieces of wood with splinters jutting out of them. I bit my lip.
"Uh oh," I said, sucking in a sharp breath. "He isn't going to be happy with me!"
"No, he isn't," Abbie sighed, knowing perfectly well who 'he' was. "Those chairs are antiques."
"Were antiques," I clarified. I frowned disapprovingly at the dog. "Silly little thing."
"That 'little' thing does a large amount of damage." She walked over to the heavy turquoise curtains and lifted them up. The bottoms, as well as the braided silver tassels used to tie them aside, were ripped and torn. "Don't you feed him?"
"Yes!" I exclaimed, offended.
"If you insist." She dropped the fabric, making sure it fell in the right place, pulling a face at its tattered state. As she did so, she looked out the window. "Will this rain ever stop?"
"Not with my luck," I muttered.
"What luck?" she asked, laughing. She walked over to where I was sitting and leaned against the back of a chair. "I'm only teasing you," she said. When I didn't respond, she tilted her head. "What is wrong?"
"Do you really think," I asked, "that this war will end well?"
"Oh, that again," she said, shaking her head. She blew a stray strand of reddish-brown hair out of her eyes, walked around the chair, and pulled it closer to me. "I better sit down for this."
"Why do I always get that reaction?" I demanded, frustrated. "You and Michael always look that way when I ask about it!"
"Men always resort to fighting to solve their problems," she answered. "You just have to accept their reasoning and not question them."
"Why do I have to accept anything?"
"Because they're men," she said simply. "And you are a woman!"
"What does that have anything to do with it?" I snapped. "Men aren't always right! I can fend for myself just fine! You know," I reminded her, "the reason why Elliot hates me is because I beat him in a sword fight!"
"And look at the mess that has made!"
"You are not helping!" I groaned.
"All that I'm saying is that maybe you should stop questioning the prince so much," she said gently. "He is fighting for you, after all. You as well as the other people that Prince Stephen are bound to hurt. Now, you know I am not one for politics, but if the Council thinks—"
"Damn what the Council thinks!" I exclaimed. "I don't understand why he has to take it upon himself to do that. He is only one person."
"No, he is the person," she stressed. "He has a duty to the people of his kingdom and the people of the other Eleven—even Prince Stephen's. He cannot abandon them, don't you see? Not when Prince Stephen is so power-hungry." She twisted her hands in her lap. "Power is such a volatile thing. It is the one thing that men crave the most, but they do not realize that the more power one has, the harder it is to protect it, and the harder he will fall."
As she said these words, a loud thunderclap tore through the sky, practically shaking the castle. Binky yelped and ran to hide under the bed as a bright bolt of lightning illuminated the room.
The door opened suddenly, hitting the wall with a soft thud. Hearing the creak, Binky got out from beneath the bed and bolted into the hallway, almost tripping the person standing there. He muttered something under his breath, and when I sat up to see who it was, found that it was Michael.
"I apologize for being gone so long," he murmured, closing the door behind him. "There were a few… disagreements today."
"About what?" I asked.
"Excuse me," Abbie said, getting up to give us privacy. She picked up a stack of dirty dresses along the way and walked out the door, closing it softly behind her.
"The usual." I moved over on the couch to make room for him and he sat down beside me. He let out an agitated sigh and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, he pinched the bridge of his nose and then massaged his temples with his thumb and index finger.
"Care to clarify?"
"Not really," he responded, sitting up. "But I will because I know that you would be relentless if did not." He shook his head. "There have been multiple arguments concerning when is the appropriate time to go to war. The other nobles insist that we need more time, but…"
"But…?" I probed.
"Time is the one resource that we do not have. It is a matter I should discuss with the Supreme Council, though." He stood up. "A few of the leaders who hold chairs on the Council should be arriving within the week with their families to discuss plans."
"That's…" I didn't know what to call it, "good?"
"I suppose." His eyes suddenly lit up as if he had forgotten something.
"What?" I asked, looking up at him.
"It seems as though I did not greet you properly." He bent down, placing a chaste kiss on my forehead. "Hello."
"Hello," I muttered in response.
"What is wrong now?"
"Well," I said, "that wasn't really much of a greeting."
He laughed, grabbing my hand and pulling me up. He pressed his lips to mine and then pulled back.
"Hello," he said again, smiling this time.
"Hello," I responded, smiling back.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much," I nodded.
"This is precious." We both turned around to find the owner of the voice. Evanon was leaning against the doorway, his arms folded. He grinned. "It's about time."
"Evanon!" I exclaimed, surprised. I then realized that he had seen and blushed. Noticing this, Michael chuckled and kissed my cheek.
"How are you?" he asked, straightening up and looking at Evanon. Evanon shrugged, his green eyes flashing mischievously.
"Fine." He paused. "Why so red, Amanda?"
"Shut up," I mumbled. I was glad that we were able to convince him that what had happened wasn't his fault. He had accepted the invitation that Michael extended to him and came to the palace. He came to the conclusion that though it wasn't his fault, he would "make up" for it—though I wasn't sure what 'it' was—by assisting in fighting Stephen, Damon, and of course, his brother. He was his usual bubbly self again and when he wasn't talking to Michael about the stupid war, he was doing everything in his best efforts to embarrass me. Unfortunately, as my blush deepened due to his suggestive eyebrow wag, it was working.
"Why, what's wrong?" Evanon asked innocently.
"Is there a crime against humiliating the prince's Compeer?" I questioned, putting my hands over my cheeks in an attempt to hide the blush.
"No," Michael laughed. "And I am not quite sure that I want there to be. You are quite amusing, you know."
"Evanon, I hate you," I muttered, smiling slightly. Though I was embarrassed, I decided that I would much rather have him making fun of me than sulking.
"Darn," Evanon said, trying his best to pout, but his smile only widened. He walked into the room, closing the door behind him. He looked at Michael. "Some meeting today, hmm?"
"Do not remind me," he scowled in response.
"I don't see why I can't go to these meetings," I interrupted. They both turned to look at me, Evanon with an amused expression on his face, Michael with a disapproving one. "And don't tell me that it's because I'm not a man!"
Evanon laughed but said, "I'm not against it. In fact, I think it would be a fantastic idea if you attended! Then I would have somebody to talk to instead of those old drones. Even he isn't any fun at the meetings." He jerked his thumb at Michael.
"Do not encourage her," Michael sighed. "Why would you want to attend, anyway?"
"I want to know what's going on!"
"My father will be there," he said. "Are you sure you want to be in a room with my father?"
I winced mentally, remembering the hatred in the king's black eyes. Then, I recalled the same look in Stephen's eyes. If I could handle Stephen, I could handle anything.
"I don't care."
"I do not know…" Michael hesitated.
"Oh, just let her go!" Evanon said lightly. I smiled at him gratefully.
"I do not like the idea," Michael said. "I do not want you involved in this. Though we are only talking about matters at the moment, this situation is completely dangerous. You should not—cannot—be a part of this. It is for your own protection."
"My protection?" I shook my head. "When will you start worrying about your own. Michael," I said firmly, "you said so yourself that we are in this together. I am your Compeer, and I should be by your side. We live and die as one, remember?"
"Nobody is dying," he muttered. "Not I, and certainly not you. Stephen will be conquered."
"Then can I attend the meetings with you? At least the ones for the Immediate Council?"
"Hmm." He pursed his lips, giving me a hard look for a short while, before slowly nodding his head.
"Thank you!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms around him. He arched an eyebrow at me, his lips still set in a straight line. "Er—when is the next meeting?" I let my arms drop to my sides.
Evanon and Michael both glanced at the clock.
"It starts in a few minutes, actually," Michael responded, wrapping an arm around my waist.
"But you just came back from a meeting!"
"It was an intermission," he explained. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," I responded.
No.
The minute the heavy doors opened to the conference room, I wanted to turn back. It wasn't because I was scared, it was just because—
Well, fine. I was scared. But I had good reason.
Eleven heads turned towards us when we entered. Their piercing eyes looked right past Evanon and Michael, who were standing in the front, and rested on me. Each one of them reacted differently to my presence, but one reaction in particular caught my attention.
The king's.
"What is she doing here?" he hissed, standing up. His black eyes seemed to be tinted red. He bared his teeth at me menacingly before looking at his son for answers.
"She is here for the meeting, Father," Michael said rather obviously. The king let out a low growl.
"I assumed that!" he snapped, "but why?"
"Well, this war does partially concern her," his son answered dryly, "so she is entitled to hearing what goes on in this meeting."
"I do not care," his father said, his voice rising in volume as his anger became more apparent, "if this does concern her, or if she is your Compeer! I do not want her in here."
"I do," Michael said firmly.
"Are you disobeying me?" the king boomed from the far end of the table, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
"That is one way you can describe it." His face was impassive. "You are lucky this isn't a meeting with the Supreme Council, father, or they would not be so amused with the way you are speaking to my Compeer."
Shocked at his son's defiance, the king sat down abruptly. He measured me with his calculating eyes before looking back at Michael. Gnashing his teeth together, he finally nodded.
"Very well," he muttered. "But not one word from her." I was surprised at how quickly he gave in, but I noticed the weary look in his eyes. He seemed to be fazed at what minimal power he now held over his son. Was the king afraid?
"Fine," Michael responded. He grabbed my hand and led me to a chair by the long, rectangular table, the gesture inciting murmurs and whispers from the ten other men sitting there. He sat down at the end of the table opposite from his father, gesturing for me to sit down at the chair nearest to the end. After he did so, the buzzing sound of their voices stopped as they stared at me.
"Hello, Father," Evanon murmured to one of the staring men seated across from him. The man, taking his eyes off of me, nodded at Evanon. That was Lord DuPonte? I had never seen him before, but his appearance was not what I expected. His hair was brown, as I thought it would be, but his eyes, unlike Evanon's, were not a piercing green, but a coal black. Assuming that Evanon's eyes and the merriment in them came from his mother, I credited Elliot's cruelty from his father. As I looked more closely; however, I saw a faint sparkle in them as he greeted his son. I came to a conclusion that Lord DuPonte was not a brutish man. It seemed that his mirth was only hidden behind eyes hardened with years of working close to the harsh king. His thin lips twitched upwards at the corners and, for a moment, he reminded me of his son. Looking at Evanon, I wondered, then, if he was a mere shadow of the man his father had once been.
Michael cleared his throat and the prying eyes flashed from me to him. All of the men seated at the large table – save for his father, who was looking down at the table seeming quite annoyed – looked at him with respect. I couldn't help but be proud of him as I saw how greatly these men must have valued his opinion.
"Where were we before this meeting was postponed?" He thought for a moment. "Oh, yes. I have received letters from some of the other Ten. All of them have pledged their full support." He frowned. "We now must start discussing timeframes."
"What does this mean, then, Your Highness?" one man with graying hair asked. He looked old and tired.
Evanon leaned down and discretely whispered to me, "That is Lord Charmaine."
Charmaine? The husband of Lady Charmaine and father of Violetta? No wonder he looked so worn down! His features had been aged by years of being married to a bumbling idiot and raising a girl who seemed to think that exposed skin fared better than brains. I instantly felt sorry for him and wondered what he did to deserve his fate.
"It means," Michael answered, looking at the poor man, "that they will be arriving in the kingdom shortly for a meeting."
"And where, pray tell, do you intend to house them?" the king asked suddenly, looking up from the table with a scowl on his face.
"In the capital," he answered. "As usual."
"Where?"
"Surely we have dozens of rooms open here in the castle," the prince responded. "It would be easy to let them stay here, as we are letting these men who do not live in the capital do so anyway." He gestured to the men at the table. "They are the other Ten. I know we are the heads, Father, but I would never show them such disrespect."
"Very well," the king nodded. He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes darkening. "You may continue."
"Thank you," Michael said. "The first few to respond were the king of Breenaya, the king of Darcien, the king of Devlittis, and, of course the king of Noctania. All are bringing their families. We have yet to hear from the few others."
"And they have all already pledged their allegiance to us? So easily?" the man sitting directly across from me asked. His long hair, so dark that it seemed almost blue, was tied back with a black cord at around his shoulders. His voice was deep and his eyes were a deep forest green.
"Yes," Michael answered. "They have agreed that Stephen has been flaunting his seat on the Council for too long, and that it is time to intervene. I have the letters with me. Shall I read them?" When everybody nodded, he stood up and reached into his pocket, pulling out four envelopes. Putting three on the table, he kept one in his hand, opened it, and pulled out a few pieces of heavy cream-colored paper. Putting the now-empty envelope on the table, he unfolded the pieces of paper and tried his best to smooth out the three creases the folds had left. He sat down again and began to read.
Not particularly wanting to hear what the letter said, I looked down and studied the envelope it came in. The shade of the envelope matched the papers that were in it. A picture of a shield, which I assumed to be the shield of the kingdom it was from, was in the middle of it. The shield had a beveled edge, which was silver. On the inside, there were four quadrants. The upper left quadrant was purple as was the bottom right quadrant, and the upper right quadrant was black as was the bottom left one. In the middle was a red teardrop. I assumed that it was a drop of blood.
I looked up at the people sitting at the table, studying the ones across from me who had not yet spoken.
On Evanon's father's left sat a man with black hair and a pointed beard. His eyes were sharp and flitted back and forth from Michael and the king as if he was trying to gauge their reactions to each other. Sitting next to him was Lord Charmaine, who only seemed to grow more ancient with every spoken word.
On Lord Charmaine's other side was a man with a tuft of white hair. He sat with his hands folded and his lips pursed. He nodded at every one of Michael's words as if he agreed with everything he said. Every so often, his nod deepened as he found a word that he must have particularly agreed with. To me, he resembled an over-eager duck. Trying to keep a straight face, I looked at the man sitting next to him.
This man wore a cobalt blue cloak. The slightly desaturated shade stuck out greatly from the dark colors that his peers wore. He had a kind, slightly wrinkled face, and his eyes, the exact color of what he wore, danced in the lighting of the chandelier that hung above our heads. Seemingly sensing my gaze, he turned to look at me, smiled slightly and briefly nodded his head before turning back to look at Michael. Embarrassed, I looked back down at the table and decided that staring at people probably wasn't a good idea. I glanced up, taking a quick look at the last man seated on the other side, and saw that he was glaring at me. I dropped my eyes back down to the table, studying the wood. I did not try to see around Evanon to look at the four others seated on his right side.
"No!" the king suddenly bellowed, startling me slightly. "I will not have it!"
"But, Father!" Michael protested. "Do you not think that having a human ally would be invaluable?"
"Invaluable?" the king scoffed, "invaluable to whom? Humans are weak! What advantages would they bring to us? We already have the support of the Ten!"
I fought the urge to throttle the king as I instead listened to what Michael had to say.
"Humans and vampires have different strengths and weaknesses—"
"Strengths?" the king interrupted. "What 'strengths' do humans have?"
"So," Michael continued, ignoring him, "they must have different fighting styles. If we listen to what they have to say we may be able to use these fighting styles and adapt them to suit our own ways. Stephen would never expect it. I know that we already vastly out number him, but would you not like to be on the safe side?" He shook his head. "It is time we start making human allies. I know of quite a few kingdoms that Stephen has wreaked havoc upon; quite a few powerful human kingdoms, I must add. If we promise them protection for their help, the relationship could benefit both kinds in the future."
Nods and murmurs circulated throughout the table as the men discussed this with each other. The king looked around; frustration becoming clear on his face as he realized that nobody was siding with him. The man in the blue stood up and looked around.
"I agree with the prince," he said, his voice strong. "And I am sure that the members of the Supreme Council will agree as well. It is becoming clear to me that things are not as they used to be. The prince himself was fated to a human Compeer." He nodded his head in my direction. "If that is not a sign for things to come, I do not know what is."
"I also agree with the prince." The man sitting next to Evanon stood up once the other one sat down. "I believe that the humans will be of some values. If they cannot fight with us, well, they can at least offer us their words and advice. It is no secret that vampires and humans have been feuding for centuries, and though they may not do it in the large scale, it certainly adds up. Forging relationships with them now could bring a new era of peace. We would not have to worry about anything after Stephen is defeated."
When he sat down, the nodding man who looked like a duck exclaimed, "I agree as well!" However, he offered no further explanation. He continued to nod as if his neck offered no support for his head. Evanon held in a snicker and looked down.
"Very well!" the king exclaimed. "If you gentlemen insist on letting more humans into our kingdom, let it be done! Only I will not be held responsible for the chaos that ensues! This concludes our meeting!" He stood up angrily and strode out of the room, the doors shutting behind him with a loud bang.
Michael and the others stood up. They shook hands and say goodbye to one another. I stood up as well. It felt good to stretch my legs, which seemed to be full of pins and needles, and to get up from the stiff chair that dug painfully into my back. I knew that I brought the discomfort onto myself, but I would not let him know that.
"You must think that we are a lot of daft old men," the cobalt man said to me with a smile.
"Oh, no. Of course not!" I exclaimed, surprised that he was talking to me. He chuckled.
"Do not look so scared, my dear," he said, his voice kind. He bowed and extended his hand to me. "I am Lord Biumonte. I know who you are, already. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Likewise," I answered, shaking it. He looked at the clock in the corner of the room.
"My, look what time it is!" He shook his head. "I must be off. Keep my nephew in line, will you?" He nodded at Michael, who was talking to the duck man. The man clasped his hand and nodded earnestly, his mouth moving quickly as he spoke. Michael nodded every so often and glanced around, seemingly trapped.
Nephew?
"Uh, of course," I mumbled as Lord Biumonte bowed again. As he was leaving, he patted Michael's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Michael turned and glanced at me for a second before nodding to the man who claimed to be his 'uncle.' As he left, the doors closed behind him softly. The sound the doors made when Lord Biumonte left differed greatly from the sound they made with the departure of the king.
I remembered the shocked look on the king's face when Michael first defied him and the frustrated one he wore right before he left. Realizing something, I smiled slightly to myself.
His reign was almost over. King Valerius was fighting a losing battle.