Chapter 14: Dinner With The Damned

••{RHIANNON’S POV}••

For a long moment I do nothing but stare at the gown lying across the bed.

It’s absolutely beautiful. Something a princess might actually enjoy wearing.

But not like this.

I don’t want to go.

I refuse to wear this gown and sit across from Azræl, pretending to share a meal with him as if he isn’t holding me hostage. Giving in to his orders would mean putting a leash around my neck with my own hands.

I’d rather die than surrender even the smallest part of myself to him. But I can’t stay locked in this room any longer.

I’m very hungry. I need movement. A change of scenery even.

I just want to feel something that isn’t my own despair weighing down on me. So now I walk through the halls in this deep red gown, escorted by two guards following silently behind me.

I can’t stop thinking about what’s waiting for me in that dining chamber.

Who will be there?

What will they say when they see me?

What will Azræl do?

"Your Highness?" one of the guard’s voices pulls me from my thoughts.

"Hm?" I hum, glancing at him.

"We’re here," he says.

I slowly turn to see the towering doors standing before me. My throat bobs and I start fidgeting with the sleeves of my gown.

The guards step forward to open the doors, and the moment I step inside, the room goes still.

Azræl’s golden eyes immediately lock with mine from across the room. He’s seated at the head of the long table, and there are two women sitting on either side of him. They turn to look at me at the same time. Their intense gazes pin me in place, and for several heartbeats I’m not sure what to do.

So I just stand there, staring at them.

"Princess Rhiannon," says one of the women as she rises from her seat.

I take her in properly as she approaches.

She has long black hair that flows like waves reaching her waist. Her skin is fair and flawless, and once she’s standing close enough, her eyes glint like the color of red wine when it catches the light.

She’s breathtaking in a cold, otherworldly way.

She offers me a warm smile as she takes my hand, then guides me gently toward the table.

"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you," she says. "My brother refused to let me see you. He won’t even tell me anything about you except your name."

My brows furrow.

Her brother?

I glance at Azræl, then back at her.

When we reach the table, I take the seat at the far end directly facing Azræl’s.

"You’re Azræl’s sister?" I ask, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

"Yes, I am," she nods, her smile widening. "My name is Azeria and this," she gestures to the woman sitting across from her, "is our mother, Seraphine."

Seraphine has long silver hair, porcelain skin, and golden eyes. She barely looks older than Azræl and Azeria which only reminds me again that vampires don’t age like humans do.

I bow my head to her. "Good evening, Your Majesty."

She tilts her head, her expression unreadable as she studies me for a moment. Her gaze slowly trails from my face down to the gown before meeting my eyes again. Then she simply looks away without even acknowledging my greeting.

I glance at Azræl and Azeria and I can immediately tell they noticed the awkwardness too.

The dining chamber is unnervingly silent for a few heartbeats until Azeria clears her throat.

"So... Rhiannon. Where are you from?" she asks.

"Astragarde," I say softly.

Her smile grows. "Hmm... I’ve never been there. Tell me what it’s like."

Under the table, my fingers fidget with the skirts of my gown.

I don’t know if I can talk about home without falling apart, but the way Azeria looks at me tells me she genuinely wants to hear about it.

"Growing up, my mother used to tell me that there’s no place like Astragarde," I begin quietly. "And truly... there’s none."

Azeria rests her chin on her hands, listening closely.

"The streets are paved with white stones," I continue. "They shine almost golden at sunrise. There are lanterns tied along the canals with blue and silver ribbons. They sway when the wind comes through, and at night they make the water glow like a river of stars."

Azeria smiles softly, and it gives me the courage to go on.

"The markets are loud. Vendors shouting over each other, musicians playing their instruments, and storytellers sitting on crates, telling tales of heroes and monsters to passersby." My gaze falls to the polished table. "There’s always something happening."

I find myself smiling as I go on.

"And there’s this festival we celebrate once every year... the Festival of Light. Everyone takes part in it. We make lanterns from different colors of silk. They’re delicate, almost fragile in your hands but the moment you light them, they lift into the sky. We write little messages on them like the things we wish for... our hopes... and dreams. Sometimes, people write letters to loved ones far away, or for someone they’ve lost."

Azeria’s gaze softens.

"Once they’re lit," I continue. "They drift together, hundreds, thousands of them... floating across the night sky. Boats decorated with flowers drift alongside, and people sing songs that echo over the water and throughout the kingdom."

"That sounds so beautiful," Azeria says softly, her voice filled with awe. "I can almost see it."

The room falls quiet again, but this time... it’s oddly comforting.

For the first time since I was brought here, I feel a little lighter.

Azræl’s deep voice pulls my attention.

"Rhiannon."

I lift my eyes to meet his.

"You look beautiful tonight," he says. "Red suits you."

I just stare at him in response.

I feel nothing but bitterness and anger toward him.

He won’t get any gratitude from me. Not when he’s the reason I’m here in the first place. Not when the love of my life is dead because of him.

"Rhiannon," Seraphine speaks for the first time. "Do manners not exist in Astragarde?"

My brows pull together. "Excuse me?"

"My son just gave you a compliment and you can’t even thank him," she says calmly. "First you kill our servants, now this?" She gives a slow, disappointed shake of her head. "From everything you’ve described one would think your kingdom is civilized. Yet your behavior reminds me more of barbarians than royalty. It makes me question why my son even brought you here in the first place."

"Mother," Azræl says sharply.

"No," she hisses, snapping her head toward him. Then she turns back to me.

"Tell me, child. What did Azræl see in you that made him bring you into our kingdom?"

I lift my chin. "Azræl is sitting right next to you, isn’t he? So why don’t you go ahead and ask him yourself?"

Seraphine’s eyes widen and her lips part in shock.

Azeria gasps and her hands fly to cover her mouth as she looks between us.

And Azræl...

Even with the stoic look on his face, I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.

Seraphine’s stunned silence hangs in the air for only a heartbeat, and before anyone can say anything else, the doors open.

Maids pour into the room in a straight line, carrying golden platters, trays, polished cutlery, and wine glasses. The soft clinking of metal on porcelain fills the chamber as they begin setting the table, weaving around each other with practiced grace.

Seraphine’s eyes never leave mine, not even for a second. If looks could kill, her glare would have cut my throat open by now.

She keeps staring at me as if she’s fighting the urge to leap across the table or remain sitting right where she is. I keep my eyes forward, ignoring her completely.

A dish is placed before Azræl.

Then one before Seraphine.

Another before Azeria.

Then finally, mine is placed before me.

The moment the maid uncovers mine, steam washes over my face, carrying the scent of spices and herbs. The meal looks normal. Roasted vegetables glazed in honey, soft bread with a golden crust, and slices of seasoned meat that glisten beneath a thin sheen of oil.

My stomach growls, a painful reminder that I haven’t eaten since... I don’t even know when.

Then the maids begin to pour a dark red liquid in the glasses meant for Azræl and his family.

I assume it’s wine at first.

But the second that thick, metallic scent hits me, my eyes go wide.

Blood.

They’re drinking blood.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the maids uncover their dishes.

My entire body turns rigid, and my heart seems to stop beating.

On each plate... resting on fine porcelain... are hearts.

Fresh.

Red.

Wet.

I know what a heart looks like now because I saw Azræl rip Cyrus’s out of his chest.

Seraphine slices into hers with a fork and knife before taking a bite. Azeria cuts into hers too, slower, almost delicately. Azræl lifts a piece with his fork, his face unreadable as he brings it to his mouth.

I try to look away... but I can’t.

My own food sits untouched in front of me, and all I can focus on is what they’re eating. The wet sound of their knives piercing the flesh. The way they lick the blood from their lips like it’s nothing.

My stomach churns violently.

I grip the edge of the table so hard my nails dig into the wood.

I try to breathe but my chest feels too tight.

I try to remain calm but every part of me is already trembling, my heart pounding hard against my ribs.

My stomach lurches again and bile shoots up my throat, causing me to gag.

"Rhiannon, are you alright?" Azeria asks, a crease slowly forming between her brows.

I shake my head, covering my mouth as another heave forces itself up.

"I—" my throat bobs. "I’m all ri—"

Another gag cuts me off.

I push away from the table, stumbling to my feet so fast my chair crashes to the floor.

My stomach caves in so violently that my body jerks forward and I fall to my knees, vomiting all over the floor.

Tears sting my eyes as I choke and gasp for air, but before I can catch my breath, my stomach lurches so painfully that another gush rushes out of my mouth, splattering onto the ground.

When it finally ends, my body trembles, my breaths shuddering, spit and bile clinging to my lips.

I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand before lifting my head.

Azrael.

Azeria.

Seraphine.

The servants.

All of them stand frozen, staring at me.

My knees nearly give out as I stagger to my feet.

"I... I’m sorry," I manage, my voice small and hoarse. "I have to go."

Before anyone can move or say a word, I turn and run.

Out of the dining chamber.

Out of that nightmare of a meal.

And away from them.

I don’t stop for even a second.

I keep running.

And running.

Until I reach my chambers and slam the doors shut behind me.