9

“Be that as it may—”

“—Be that as it may nothing. He has my virgin mate, I’m reclaiming her. He came onto our territory, onto my territory to abduct her in the first place.”

“Yes. And look how weak that makes you look. Francois was able to sneak into Baton Rouge and take the one thing you were supposed to hold most dear, to prize above anything else, from directly under your nose.” Her tone was cold, stern, and I knew she was right. “You’re positioning yourself as the next king, Nicolas. And for now, your people have been understanding. They’ve seen your virgin; they know your intentions. No one can know she’s gone. They can’t know that Francois has more potential power than you. Mon Dieu. He could already have her blood running through his veins. And then what?” She stopped talking and only her soft breaths let me know she was still on the line.

“Mother?”

She exhaled again. “Just keep this quiet, Nicolas. It will make the start of your reign even more unstable if you have no way to complete your ascension. There is no one I trust enough to provide you with discreet backup, and the council mustn’t find out. Ensure your men know this.”

I scoffed. “They’re trustworthy,” I assured her.

“Be that as it may,” she said again. “We need a plan B. You do what you need to in New Orleans, and I’ll start making discreet enquiries about a second virgin. She seemed like a sweet girl, if a little out of her depth. But we need to secure your rule—and by any means possible. Leave that part with me.”

Anger washed through me, and my gums ached at her words. A second virgin? How the hell could a random virgin replace Leia? I didn’t give a fuck about my rule anymore. Not without Leia by my side.

I waited a moment to compose myself before I replied, but the line had already gone dead. Mother had hung up without even saying goodbye, her focus on her latest mission more important than anything else.

I sighed and launched my phone onto the seat across from me. “Fuck.”

3

Leia

I

’d lost track of the hours in the grim room where I spent my time. The gothic features added to the heaviness of my mood, and the dim pool of light barely cast from under the central lampshade did nothing to chase the shadows away. I left that light on all the time, though. At least it gave me a fighting chance to see any monsters that might sneak their way into the space.

I listened to each footfall outside the door with dread, but this morning, the scrape of the lock had woken me. I scrambled from bed, sleeping fully dressed because I didn’t want to be anything less than protected and covered up.

The bed was between the door and me when Francois entered, a tray balanced on one arm.

A wide grin claimed his lips the moment he saw me. “Bonjour, ma petite. Ça-va?” He put the tray down on the sturdy dresser.

I nodded. “I’m fine, thank you, Francois.”

Fine was a relative term, but I still hadn’t figured a way out of this shithole and my goal had shifted slightly to making it from day to day alive. I figured baby steps were okay in this situation.

He provided me with plenty of food and drink, like he really did know how to take care of a pet human, but I rarely ate more than a few bites. My plan, such as it was, involved making him let his guard down. Once he trusted me enough to let me roam the house, I could leave.

And I wouldn’t earn his trust by angering him. He left the room, and I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing my posture and slumping against the bed.

“Ma petite? Are you well?” I jerked my head back up—I hadn’t even heard him come back into the room.

What the hell? He never came back into the room. He only ever brought food, made polite enquiries about my health, or escorted me to the hospital facility beneath us. The doctors down there changed almost every visit, with Francois’s eyes glowing dull red every time another one of them touched me to perform their tests.

He approached the small table that sat in one corner of the room and draped a lace tablecloth over it before leaving the room for a second time and reentering with a bouquet of flowers already in a vase.

Fussing silently for a little while over his task, he produced candles from a pocket in his jacket and set the table for romance before unloading the tray.

I edged a little closer, glancing at the pastries and eggs. “Not lighting the candles?”

His eyes held knowledge as he looked at me. “Non,” he bit out. “No fire.” He looked meaningfully at the bed, still rumpled from where I’d crawled out of it. “Unless…the flames of passion would be welc—”

“Breakfast looks lovely.” I cut off his next words, and he drew one of the chairs out for me to sit down.

I approached him, conjuring a smile. I sat carefully at the table as Francois nuzzled his nose into my hair then against the crook of my neck, which only reminded me how badly I needed a decent shower, but I refused to be naked and vulnerable in this house. My vulnerability level was already high enough, without adding nudity.

I stayed still, frozen as he inhaled and brought his hand up to caress my hair.

“Perfection,” he murmured. “And such temptation. I’m unsure how Nicolas bore it when you were content to sit so close to him in my restaurant.”

His voice was quiet, like he was pondering a problem rather than making conversation. Then he straightened, the movement abrupt and walked to the seat opposite me.