6
The thought of it makes Elle sick to her stomach. She’ll remember to pray for the unfortunate woman who gets chosen.
Then the man proceeds to say, “Please stand in orderly lines for the choosing ceremony to begin. When your name is announced, please step to the front and present yourself to the King.”
The women abruptly line up near the foot of the stairs, bowing their heads in respect – and fear – of the vampire king. Elle ensures she stands at the very back, although it doesn’t matter anymore. The King will see her nonetheless when she presents herself in this noble disguise.
Fear takes hold of her heart, and a sudden wave of lightheadiness causes her to sway. She folds her shaky hands underneath her arms as her stomach, yet again, cramps. There is no telling whether it’s fear or hunger that is causing her insides to turn.
And so, the man draws a blood sample from the box, and the first lady is announced. “Lady Ivana Delacour!”
Anxious to see what awaits her, Elle peers past the woman in front of her to see a young girl with red hair make her way to the front. She curtsies before the king and silently awaits her fate.
The man – or the steward as Elle assumed his position – hands the blood sample to the King, who brings it to his nose to catch the lady’s scent. But the next moment, he encloses his hand around the parchment and Elle beholds it being reduced to crimson-colored ash that falls to the floor.
The steward waves the lady off, thus sparing her from this awful predicament. He reaches for another blood sample and calls the second woman to the front. “Lady Seraphine Beckett!”
This goes on for what feels like hours. By the time the seventy-third lady is announced, Elle is thoroughly nauseous with hunger. Her hands are shaking uncontrollably as she sways on her feet, close to feinting the longer she deprives herself of food.
Lady Octavia had her reasons for forbidding her to eat anything at the ball. After years of being fed little to no food, one taste of the rich cuisine on the buffet tables would have been enough for Elle to behave like a starving woman. Noble women don’t stuff their faces, and it would’ve certainly given her away.
But now, she hardly cares for her stepmother’s rules or the ongoing choosing ceremony as the cramps in her stomach worsen. Would someone notice her sneaking off to grab a scone from the nearest table? Would she even make it that far without feinting?
“Lady Elle Clandestine!”
Too lightheaded to recognize her own name, Elle remains on her spot as silence befalls the ballroom. Around her, women are looking around, searching for the lady whose name has just been called.
“Lady Elle Clandestine?” the steward calls again, impatiently.
Elle’s heart sinks to her stomach.
That’s her.
Not wishing to waste any more of the King’s time, she hurries past the other women and stumbles down the pathway that leads to the stairs. Some of the ladies snigger at her clumsiness, while others regard her with sympathy and fear—fear for her, as no one knows how the King will react to being kept waiting.
One foot after the other, Elle approaches the stairs and curtseys before the King, trying her best to focus on anything but the cramping in her stomach. She doesn’t dare look up, afraid that meeting the King’s eyes will be enough for him to see her for what she truly is: a maid.
“Regard your King with some respect, girl!” the steward snaps at her.
Elle flinches at his tone and abruptly looks up, then freezes. Although she had never having seen a vampire before, she had a clear picture of what to expect. However, that picture was the opposite of the King.
He is not hideously deformed and monstrous, but perfectly sculpted with fair skin that glows as healthy as any other person’s does, making it hard to believe he never ventures in the sun. His face is defined with a strong chin and sharp jawline, complimented by high cheekbones and a perfectly straight nose, while his raven-colored hair is tied at the base of his neck in a low ponytail.
But when Elle meets his piercing silver-blue gaze, she finds herself unable to look away. There is nothing hideous about the King at all. In fact, she has never seen a man quite as handsome as him. Although it’s not enough to ease her racing heart and fearful thoughts, at least he doesn’t have ten rows of teeth and glowing red eyes.
However, his trance over her is broken when the steward hands the King her blood sample. Elle watches with an upheld breath as he brings it to his nose. and stills. A frown creases his brow as he presses the sample to his tongue for a taste. The King’s eyes widen as he looks from the parchment to Elle before muttering under his breath.
The silent anticipation is enough to smother every soul in the room. No one knows what is happening.
Out of the blue, the King descends the steps to stand before Elle. She just about sucks in a breath at his proximity, and it takes every ounce of self-control and courage not to push him away in cold dread.
He couldn’t have chosen her; she refuses to believe that. How can she believe that? So far, he’s turned all the other blood samples to ash, something Elle now knows is a sign of rejection. But he both smelled and tasted her blood and is now standing less than an arm’s length away from her. What does that mean for her?
“Lady Elle Clandestine,” he says her name like a prayer and a curse, his voice instilling her with fear that numbs her senses. “I hereby welcome you to Von Stein Castle. I hope your time here, although temporary, will be memorable. Now, let us bring this evening to a close with a dance.”
Before Elle can process his words, he leads her to the center of the ballroom. Casting a look at the orchestra, they begin to play the intro to a waltz.
Elle’s head is spinning. She can’t dance; she wants to tell the King, but can’t utter a word without it falling stuck in her throat. But when he takes her hand in his and places the other on her waist, she jolts to reality.
He chose her.
Elle Clandestine has been chosen to be the king’s heir.
It’s all wrong—Lady Octavia was wrong. The King didn’t consider the width of her hips. He didn’t inspect the state of her health. He chose her based on the taste and smell of her blood—blood that isn’t of noble descent. She is an impostor in his hold, and as soon as he realizes that when he beds her tonight, he will have her killed before her dress hits the floor,.
And in that moment, Elle knows she must make her escape. It is almost midnight, meaning the carriage will still be outside the castle. If she discards the heels and runs as fast as she can, she might make it. And if she’s caught, well, she faces death either way. She might as well make the most of her limited options.
So, the moment the waltz begins, Elle breaks out of the King’s grip and pushes him away. Without regard his expression, she spins around and bolts up the stairs, past the steward and servant, and through the set of doors, not daring to slow down until she reaches the doors they arrived at. At the top of the stone steps, she kicks off her heels and hurriedly descends while frantically searching for the carriage.
Where is it?
Where is it?
When she can’t spot it within three seconds, she decides to run as far as her legs can go. Perhaps she can cut through the woods and hopefully throw anyone who follows her off her trail.
Elle takes a turn and stumbles through the shrubbery that leads to the forest. The branches grab at her dress and tear through the cheap material, some even scratching her arms as she flees through the thorns.
However, when another wave of lightheadedness hits her out of nowhere, Elle trips over a root and plummets to the earth. The air is knocked from her lungs when she collides with the ground before proceeding to roll downhill, breaking through shrubs and scraping over rocks on the way down.
At last, everything comes to an end as the rolling stops. Elle drops on her back and unleashes a cry of pain when something sharp pierces through her side, her body convulsing with agonizing pain. It’s too dark to inspect the damage, and even if she had the light, her vision is too blurry to even make out her surroundings.
The last thing she sees before passing out is the shadowy tendrils emerging from the trees before a figure steps out of them.
And then all goes dark.