Chapter Two
Azaria grinned at her daughter’s submission, guiding her out of the room without even a word of thanks toward the servants that had spent most of the evening slaving away to make sure Azurdee looked the part.
“Now, you remember what I’ve told you, correct?”
“Yes, mother.”
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me. You’re twenty-one years old. You must stop acting like a child. You’ll be a wife soon.”
Azurdee stopped in the middle of the hallway. They were outside a parlor, where her soon-to-be husband was patiently waiting for her. “Did you ever stop to ask if I wanted to be a wife?”
Her mother narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “Azurdee.” Her voice was icy.
Azurdee held her ground. “Why should I have to marry whoever is waiting beyond this door? Shouldn’t I have the right to choose the man I want to marry?”
There was a moment of deadly silence between the two women. “Say one more word and I’ll make sure you get nothing of your dowry. Fredrick will refuse to marry you and you’ll be forced to marry one of the lower class.” She spat out the last words as if they were an insult.
Azurdee ground her teeth, preparing her response when her mother pulled the doors open with such a flourish that it actually made her jump.
Inside, the man that had been waiting on the couch jumped to attention, bowing in respect toward the matriarch.
“Miss Azaria.”
“Oh, Fredrick, you flatter me with such formalities. We’re about to become part of the same family.” She held out her hand, waiting for him to kiss it.
He did so very delicately, his thin pink lips barely touching her skin.
After a moment, he looked up, making eye contact with his future wife. A bright smile painted his face. “And this must be the beautiful Azurdee.” He crossed the room, approaching the woman who still stood behind the threshold.
The moment she stepped over it, she would be accepting the terms of the marriage.
Fredrick held out his hand, waiting for her to take it.
Azurdee looked at her mother who nearly snarled at her, mouthing at her to take his hand or else.
Having no other choice, she placed her hand in his.
He gripped it, almost painfully, his long, thin fingers bony and cruel.
She instantly disliked him.
He looked like a crook. Just another noble vampire who thought he was better than everyone around him. Azurdee felt her skin crawl and she had to do everything in her power to stop herself from jerking her hand back and calling the whole thing off.
Even if she made a scene, would it really make a difference? Her mother would still force her into this marriage whether she liked it or not.
With her mouth tasting like bile, she followed the scrawny young man onto the couch where they both sat down. Their ceremonial blood tea had already been prepared for them, steam rolling off the liquid and disappearing into the air.
Fredrick finally let go of her hand and picked up the smaller teacup, handing it to his fiancée. With shaking fingers, Azurdee took it, her stomach churning with disgust.
The herb-infused blood, which on any other day was one of her favorite drinks, now smelled absolutely putrid. This couldn’t be happening.
There had to be a way to stop all this.
The cold gaze of her mother told her otherwise.
“Are you nervous, my dear?” Fredrick asked, his voice high-pitched and irritating. Azurdee flinched, her tea sloshing around in her cup, nearly dropping onto her gown. Such an event would immediately be proclaimed as a bad omen.
“No.” She managed to answer through gritted teeth. She held onto the teacup so hard that her knuckles turned white.
“Then, let us drink to our good health and happiness!” He said, his voice light and cheery. He didn’t seem to mind marrying a complete stranger.
Reaching forward, he tipped her teacup toward her lips, letting her take a sip. Some of the liquid spilled from her lips, as it was supposed to.
Fredrick allowed it to run down her chin and onto her neck before he leaned into her body, licking up the blood with his long, pointed tongue. He lingered on her neck, his lips dancing across her flesh, toying with her.
Azurdee thought she would vomit if he kept this up a moment longer.
To her relief, he pulled away, offering her a handkerchief.
All too quickly, she wiped up the residual blood. If only she could wipe away the feeling of his papery lips just as easily.
“In our bed chamber, I will not be so gentle…” He murmured, his hand on her knee, squeezing it tightly. His beady eyes were devoid of emotion.
She couldn’t marry a man like this. She had to find a way to get away.
“If you don’t mind, I’m not feeling well.” Azurdee excused herself, rushing out of the room before even her mother could respond.
The large doors slammed behind her and without stopping to think, she started running down the corridor. She barreled into one of the servants, knocking her down, along with all the dishware she was carrying.
It shattered, little pieces of glass littering the floor.
The servant looked horrified, her golden-colored eyes instantly turning bright red when she saw the blood spilling from a cut on Azurdee’s arm.
“Fuck…” She cursed under her breath, knowing she had little time before the lesser vampire’s bloodlust kicked in.
She scrambled to her feet, running down the corridor. The servant growled, bending over until she was almost on all fours. Her eyes glowed crimson, her small fangs bared and ready to sink into her flesh.
Azurdee turned the corner, breathing hard, her hand on her injury to prevent further bleeding.
She could hear the servant following her. The sound of footsteps echoed off the cavernous hallways, making Azurdee panic.
Sweat formed on her temples as she struggled to find an escape route.
Up ahead, she spotted the doors to the royal garden. Looking over her shoulder, the servant had yet to turn the corner. Picking up the pace, she rushed for the doors, opening them wide and slipping outside, just in time to lose the rabid girl.
She breathed in relief, a hand on her chest, trying to recuperate. But, she knew she wasn’t safe in the garden. Her mother would surely find her there. She needed to find somewhere else to hide for the time being.
Picking up her petticoats, she marched forward, heading for the mountainside.