Lothaire

“There are garments for you, Uncle. Take care not to set a new fashion.”

At the window, Lothaire stared out, agog. Why did Ivana ever leave this place?

He was in the fabled black stone castle of Dacia, the one circled by fountains of blood.

The magnificent structure sat high upon some rocky vantage—from here, he could survey a kingdom that stretched on and on, before fading into a mist on the horizon.

Soaring caverns rose above; cobblestone streets wound through the fog below. The architecture was old- fashioned but ornately constructed with carved stone.

At the top of a high cavern, a giant prism diluted the sun’s light, shining it over the entire kingdom—muted rays that illuminated all, but didn’t burn. Not even a vampire’s skin.

And everything I see is . . . mine.

When he could manage words once more, he informed them, “My coronation will be held as soon as my throat heals. I will accept your vows of fealty then.”

This was truly happening—the imbeciles were inviting him to rule this fantastical kingdom.

“Very well,” Stelian said with unconcealed disappointment. “Will you take a new regent name?”

A vampire tradition. Lothaire’s own uncle Fyodor had taken a new name when crowned by the Horde—one which meant rule without end.

Ah, not quite, Uncle. “No. I’ve done too much PR with the name I have. I’ll be known as King Lothaire, the Enemy of Old.”

He’d still have his vampire war, but the sides would be changed. I’ll use the Daci to lay waste to the Horde. He had no problem reversing himself; he switched alliances with ease.

And then he would be done. He’d have everything he’d ever wanted. Then he’d know happiness.

I knew happiness before. But she stole it from me.

With one swing of her sword. Of all the blows, of all the torture, that strike had hurt him the worst.

Why, Elizabeth . . . ?

Fists clenched, he ordered them, “Leave me to dress.”

Leave me to relish the idea of my Bride trapped in a hellhole filled with malicious Valkyries. Arch-Fury Carafina would terrorize her. Belligerent Regin would have her throat. Would Nïx save Elizabeth, or let nature take its course?

I hope the latter. Perhaps he should send his female a parting gift, as she’d once said.

Yes, to inform her that I’m now a king, and have forsaken her.

The princes traced away one by one, with Stelian muttering, “A red-eyed king who spurns his Bride. Gods help us all. . . .”

53

“This is a kill-or-be-killed scenario, leech,” Regin the Radiant, a glowing-skinned millennium-old swordswoman, told Ellie in a baleful tone. “So raise your weapon and prepare for your end. ’Cause I’m about to take your head.”

Ellie yawned. Ten days of this was getting old. “Girl, I don’t wanna play video games anymore.”

Regin’s berserker mate, Declan, had been having meetings with some other berserkers concerning the Accession, so Regin had been hanging here every couple of days, glowing on the couch, playing games with Ellie.

At first, Regin had been excited to meet her because Ellie had done what Regin had dreamed of for centuries. “Buy this leechly leech assassin a mug of the thick stuff! Took down Lothaire? No shit? Describe it second by second in a breathy voice. . . .”

The only thing the Valkyries hated more than vampires in general was Lothaire in particular.

Of course, Regin would have succeeded in “collecting Lothaire’s head and fangs.”

Yet after a couple of days, Regin had realized that Ellie still had feelings for the Valkyries’ archenemy: “Not cool, hillbilly, not cool.”

Why hadn’t he come for Ellie yet? From time to time, Nïx had visited, keeping her informed—even if she wasn’t always coherent. Through Nïx, Ellie knew that Lothaire was indeed recovering and had been invited back to Dacia to rule.

Serghei was no more. Lothaire had become a king.

Just as he’d always wanted.

Ellie had gone through so many emotions when thinking about him—guilt, anger, longing.

Was all forgiven? Hell no! She was still furious at him. That didn’t mean she wasn’t pining for him to rescue her. Ellie knew he could—she believed he could do just about anything. But after nearly two weeks, she had to wonder if King Lothaire was ever going to reclaim his queen.

She’d asked Nïx, “If he’s healed, then why hasn’t he come for me?”

“Who?”

“Uh, Lothaire.”

“Not ringing a bell . . .”

“Can I send a message to Dacia, to explain what happened?”

Eyes bright with anticipation, Nïx had cried, “Who are we sending a message to . . . ?”

Now Ellie told Regin, “We’ll play tomorrow. Besides, isn’t it time for my cup of dinner?”

Regin’s amber irises flashed silver with ire. “I am not your blood gofer.” She gave a shriek that hurt Ellie’s sensitive ears. “Suck my dick, Vampirellie—suck it.”

Pissed, Ellie drilled her knuckle into Regin’s arm with all her new vampire strength. Nïx had told her in the beginning, “If any of my half sisters step out of line, go mountain on them.”

Ellie had learned there was no other way to deal with Valkyries. If they liked females who took zero shit from them, it was just a matter of time before she was Ms. Popularity here.

“Bitch!” Regin screamed. “You can only skate by on Lothaire’s takedown for so long.”

Nïx had told everyone that Ellie had attacked Lothaire on purpose, and the near decapitation of one of the Lore’s most feared villains had made Ellie a creature with which one did not fuck.

“Bring it, Regin, any day of the week.”

“Next time I will brangit. And your blood is in the microwave, slore.” Then she stomped away.

Apparently, this was how Regin treated all her friends.

Ellie shrugged. Each of the Valkyries was eccentric in her own way, from the vacant-eyed Nïx to the daunting Cara—who was part.

Fury, a breed of warrior females that even the Valkyries gave a wide berth.

Though many of the dozens who lived at Val Hall were wary of Ellie’s vampirism, she thought she was growing on them. When they forgot themselves, the Valkyries were kind of fun.

They were all half sisters, basically a big family unit, with all that came with a family of this size—feuds, cussing matches, favoritism, and unwavering loyalty.

In a way, Ellie was right at home here.

She sighed. But she still missed her own friends—Balery and Thad—and her own family. . . .

Ellie’s gaze dropped to the couch, to Regin’s forgotten cell phone. Her eyes went wide. After ten days of browbeating her captors to let her make a call, Ellie still hadn’t persuaded them.

As carefully as she would cradle an egg, Ellie collected the phone. Did she dare call her family, let them know she was alive?