1

Francois

T

he moment Nicolas Dupont had brought his newest pet into The Neutral Zone, her scent had permeated every atom of the air.

And it had driven me crazy.

I could barely stand to see Nicolas in my office, attempting to make his little deal over land that no longer held any interest or value compared to the virgin he’d left sitting in my restaurant downstairs.

He’d been teasing me, and he knew it.

I knew it.

We both fucking knew it.

And we both knew I’d want her.

But maybe only I knew I’d stop at nothing to get her.

She was a virgin, and she was my savior.

Nicolas Dupont could take his arrogance elsewhere. No bayou tract of land would ever be more important than my family name, the royal line of the House of Ricard.

I was glad Nicolas killed my children for their ill-conceived attack on his virgin on the streets outside. I could both take insult at his actions and I didn’t have to kill them myself. They should have known better than to try to take a virgin on my territory.

That honor would belong to me.

Only to me.

As soon as Nicolas left my presence, I’d hurried to Father’s resting place, a mausoleum reachable from our grounds. The whole place had recently been cleaned, a testament to the maintenance our staff kept up as we waited again for the king to rise.

“Father.” I whispered into the dark as I approached the raised dais upon which he slept. “I’ve found our way forward. I am a viable heir after all.”

Strains of my father’s derision leaked into my mind as he fought the stasis that bound him. I chose not to visit him very often because he got into my head despite his frozen features and immobile body. His skin had yellowed, becoming waxy, and it was starting to harden. He needed to wake up and feed soon or he would fade beyond revival.

One day, he simply wouldn’t wake at all. They said madness ran in our family, but both Father’s imbalance of the mind and his regular periods of stasis were due to being alone for too long.

“Father,” I said again. “She is our savior, but…” I hesitated, my next words already bitter on my tongue. “I need you to tell me what to do.”

Father’s laugh echoed inside my head, mocking me. “Always so weak.” His voice was no more than a hiss these days. “So weak.”

“She can secure our future.” I watched him to see if the news would be enough to bring him back. I didn’t want him, but I didn’t know what to do without him. “My efforts haven’t worked before, but she is what we need. She is the cure, exactly as written in our Book of Gray, and she is a virgin as well, Papa.”

I used the old familiar name I hadn’t called him for many years as I sought to ingratiate myself. I hadn’t done much right in my life, but I could do this. I finally had a way to make him proud.

Memories of the beatings and bruises too numerous to recall individually were bile in my throat, sourness on my tongue, fog clouding my mind.

Weak. How I hated that word.

“Francois, you’re weak,” he repeated. That sentence had echoed through our halls and up the staircases, across the gardens and all of New Orleans.

All of my people knew I wasn’t the man my father would have chosen to inherit his throne. That honor should have gone to Loïc, but he was gone. My older brother, taken in a feat of bravery while I’d hidden in Mother’s skirts.

I hadn’t even been able to save Mother. I’d run away. Father had lost everything that day.

His mate, his heir.

But maybe now I could offer him some of the old glory and a son finally worthy of continuing his rule. With virgin blood inside me, my people would truly be my people. They couldn’t ignore the old ways. It would take a virgin to elevate me to the throne, and the power of her blood would keep me there. We would enhance each other, and I would keep her with me always.

Nicolas’s virgin would save my future. She would be mine.

She could save me.

Perhaps she would even grow to like me.

And Father would be proud.

“I can do this, Father. I have a plan.” I continued to whisper, my urgent words tumbling over themselves as he lay peaceful in his stasis. “I’m going to take her and keep her until the time is right, until you tell me to use her.”

Father’s laugh was less mocking this time. More like the rustle of fallen leaves when the wind stirred them over a sidewalk, like maybe I’d awoken his faith in me even if I’d been unable to wake him.

“Good luck.” His wheeze rattled through my head, and anger surged inside me. He didn’t believe me.

I stood as fury pounded in my mind and drowned him out. I could no longer hear him over the roar of blood.

“I’ll have her,” I ground out. “I’ll have her, and when she’s mine, I’ll come back here, and I’ll slit your throat, and you won’t rise, and I will rule. I will be worthy of our people and have a woman who loves me by my side.”

I jabbed my finger hard against his chest with each declaration, and one of his old rib bones cracked under the force, but he didn’t flinch.

He couldn’t.

The stasis kept him prisoner. It kept me prisoner, too, as I waited to see my fate this time. As each of his rests lengthened to his eventual demise, I waited. Always prepared to rule or to step back into whatever role Father determined for me.