Chapter 35

Thirty-Five

W hile Constance and Jevon helped Giselle create glitter bombs, Emrys and Quinn strolled through the palace in quiet. The only noise was the clicking of her heels against marble. But the prince's footfalls left no sound.

Eerie.

If the tension between the two were a noise, it would be a string quartet playing a somber melody at the climax of a ballet. A dark and bone-chilling song.

Emrys creaked open a door, the wood echoing old and forgotten tones. The ballroom was vastly different than the last time. Almost like the palace was sentient and in a terrible mood. There were seventeen well-known sentient buildings in New Swansea City. And given that when the Viridian's mirror was in a bad mood, the club's walls cried, Quinn was not counting against the possibility that the castle was alive.

Quinn's Mary Jane heels clicked against the marble floor as she glided through the room. The lights flickered in the wall sconces, singing a harmony of unease. The castle dimmed, and shadows danced with enchantment, some large and forbidding. Others were soft and small. And some a ghostly echo. The windows were covered in thick curtains, keeping out the light .

Whips of smoke lingered in the air like a myriad of candles had just blown out.

Emrys walked into the center of the room, but she didn't follow, preferring to stand at the edges of the darkness.

A chill licked Quinn's arms and down her spine. Eventually unable to wait any longer, she said, "What is it that we need to speak about?" Her chest rose with her deep breaths. "You look like you're leading me to my execution."

He chuckled. "I think it would be far more accurate to say it is my execution."

"Why?"

Emrys whipped around, and mist and shadows quickly engulfed him as he disappeared. A gust of wind stroked Quinn's skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. She reached out to the place he'd just been standing, and her fingers slid through thin air.

Vampire speed or something else?

Quinn pivoted, searching.

"Because you are going to hate me after I tell you," the shadows whispered. Emrys controlled them. They pulsed with each of his words. Was that a vampire power?

He appeared behind her, his breath mingling with her crimson hair. The distance between them felt like a physical, visceral thing.

It was a gnawing tension, begging to be released.

Quinn shivered, and her thoughts immediately drew to their kiss and how much she desperately wanted him to touch her like that again. Touch her with more than just his fingers.

"I had to mark you." His throat caught and brought her back to the moment.

She twisted around, placing a hand on his chest and digging her fingers into his cravat, keeping him from disappearing again. "Marked?"

He reached out and played with a single cinnamon curl, and she felt his body relax beneath her fingers. As if touching her in some way brought him peace—unlike every other time before when he'd winced.

Quinn gulped, dropped her hand, and averted her gaze. She was a coward. All she wanted was to kiss him again. Fuck him . . . possibly, but his reaction after their kiss scared her because she didn't know if she could handle simply fucking him. She'd want more, but he wouldn't be able to give it.

Quinn pulled away. She couldn't allow herself to want him. He was the Playboy Prince, and all he cared about was having a good time. And she wouldn't be one of his girls, not like that.

His kiss was . . . wonderful. But it would not happen again. Right?

Oh, fucking mirrors, it would probably happen again. Because the two sides of herself warred. The side that wanted to keep him at a distance and the side that desperately wanted to fuck him and experience the true pleasures in life. Ugh, she needed to think about something else, so she chose to focus on what he said.

"If I'm marked . . ." she started but didn't even understand enough to finish the sentence. "I need to know what that means."

"It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it." The words lingered in the air between them.

"When I found you dying, I had a choice." He paused, like he was trying to figure out how to give bad news. "Either I let you die or save you, but in doing so, I had to mark you. Vampire blood heals, but it has high consequences."

"Wha—"

"But it's even more complicated than that. Based on the Vampire Accords, if I marked you, I would be breaking the agreement, and I would die."

Die?

He'd risked his life to save her. What did that mean? Did that mean he cared about her . . . or even loved her?

"You marked me, knowing that you could die?" Her indifferent mask crumbled and flaked like cracks in the molding of a decaying house.

"No, don't look at me like that," he said, waving a hand at her face, his usual uncaring arrogance sliding back into place.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm your chivalrous, charming prince." He cocked his head, his eyes as fearsome as a tiger about to strike. "I was fairly sure that I was no longer bound by my accord oaths because my painting was in the mirror at The Royalle Ballet. Given that I am not dead, it would see that I was right."

Still . . . that was a huge gamble—for her.

Quinn bit her lip, unsure of what to do with that information. "Please, tell me what being marked means."

He tilted his head. A gesture of respect. "When you die, you will turn into a vampire, and you will be drawn to your creator by a nearly irresistible force," he continued as anxiety crawled up her throat. "They will have sway over you, and the bond will make it hard for you to disrespect or disobey them. It's not a compulsion, but it's strong and lasting."

Quinn tensed. She wouldn't be controlled. Or bound . . . to him. Control was all she had. "Can a mark be overridden?"

"It's—" His eyes shifted, and a cloud of discomfort settled over him.

"It's what? Undo it," she snapped, anger pooled in her stomach. She was sick of being controlled and used like a puppet. Sick of being lied to and protected. "I don't want to be yours. I won't be your belonging to play with . . ."

He flinched. "I would never. I don't enforce the bond or try to control the vampires I've created. But I can't control if the bond makes you more . . . amenable."

"You mean obedient." Embers sparked in her blood; she knew Emrys didn't want to mark her, he'd even asked for permission, but she couldn't get over the intense frustration because she already wanted to kiss him so damn much. He'd already broken through her deep defenses, and now, she was magically bound to him, and it wasn't fair. "I will not be obedient to you." She said it more like a prayer than a statement.

He let out a low chuckle. "Now that I can believe. If it makes you feel any better, the bond should already be created, so if you don't feel compliant, it's possible it won't be strong."

Given that her first urge was to throw something at him—again. There might be hope that he was telling the truth because, at this moment, Quinn wanted to scream. She wanted to hate him. Not serve him, but still, this couldn't be true. She didn't want to lose her freedom. "Undo it. I don't want to be . . ." A vampire .

"It can't be undone." Guilt snaked in his voice, twisting and consuming.

"But—"

"You cannot be unmarked. Once marked, it cannot be undone. That's why we don't do it. That's why we have rules about it." He tried to explain, but she wasn't ready to hear it. She was still processing that no matter what she did, no matter how she died, she was destined to become a vampire.

A monster.

"No. I won't." Her eyes stung from holding back tears. "I don't want it."

"I know." He steepled his fingers and averted his gaze. It was clear he hated this conversation just as much as she did.

A memory crept into her mind like a spider sliding down silk. His words before he marked her. "An eternity dealing with you."

A sad smile played on Emrys's lips. "Yes. But I'll never force you to be a part of our family."

"How can I trust you?"

Emrys fidgeted with a pocket watch, clicking it open and closing it over and over again. But his pattern had no rhythm to it like Jevon's mindless tapping. But the sound caused her to remember a question that nagged at the back of her throat. "Does touching me hurt you?"

"It used to." He tapped his fingers against the table. "I should probably explain. Being a council member is a protection. Touching you is like getting jolted by a volt of electricity. It's excruciating. But now that I've marked you, it no longer affects me. Although now, other vampires will be repulsed by you. Being near you will be like smelling rotten eggs. And drinking your blood will burn and feel like daggers slicing open a vampire's esophagus."

"Oh." She gulped. "That's both horrifying and comforting."

"Yes," he breathed, and his lips were so close to hers. Butterfly wings tickled her stomach.

"It hurt you when you kissed me?"

"Yes." His eyes moved to her lips. "But sometimes there is pleasure in pain."

She inhaled sharply. Fuck. Her face fell, and her bones grew uncomfortably heavy.

"What's wrong?" He tilted her chin up while simultaneously steadying her.

"It's all my fault."

His eyebrows creased. "I am not following, Quinnevere."

"Jane's death," she said, "I thought we were equally to blame because you wouldn't kiss me, and you kiss everyone." His furrow deepened, but she continued. "It's about my Age-of-Majority Mirror-Rite. To complete my deal, I had to passionately kiss you, and you wouldn't comply. And because I failed, Jane died."

"Oh, Quinn, that's not your fault," he said, pulling her into an embrace.

Her head rested on his chest. "It's all my fault."

"Jane was murdered. Mirrors can't just make people murder someone else because of your deal. It doesn't work like that."

"How do you know?" She sobbed into his shirt. "No one truly understands how the deals work."

"What if Jane's death was simply a terrible consequence of timing?"

"It's not."

"Right." He said it as if he knew it was a fruitless argument he'd never win. "Who did you bargain with?"

"Beautiful Decay."

"Oh, hmmm," he said, and she could almost hear the gears in his head churning. "Nightshade would never kill Jane. If he did, his lover would gut him like a fish and hang him out for the world to see. Harlowe Merriweather is not one to trifle with."

"But what if the mirror didn't intend it to be the consequence?" Quinn murmured into his chest.

"Then that's Nightshade's fault, not yours." Emrys tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. "I know you like to control everything, but Jane's murder was because she was involved with the Blood Mirrors, not because of your rite." He stroked a thumb along her chin without a flinch or any sign of pain. "I promise."

She sucked in a breath. Much of their bodies were touching. Even when she was entirely distraught, Emrys was an electrifying force. "You truly don't feel pain anymore touching me."

"No." His eyes sparkled with mischief and dirty promises. She imagined the things he could do to her now that he wasn't in pain.

And she wanted all of it.

Quinn bit her lip. His kisses were passion personified. And oh, how she wanted a chance to experiment again. This time, she wanted to feel his tongue on a different part of her flesh. But—

She couldn't.

Because if she did, she'd want him to care about her—to want her. Rogue princes didn't care about their conquests.

"You can't kiss me or do more." She coughed. "I am not one of your girls."

He cocked his head, a reel of expressions playing on his face. He stroked one finger along her chin. "No, you are not."

The response stung more than she wanted to admit. He would never see her as desirable or as someone he could love. Not that she wanted that. Of course, she didn't want that. But . . .

She did want to be desirable.

She wanted someone to look at her the way Emrys looked at his dalliances.

Emrys stepped back and slid his fingers into his pockets. The distance between them felt like a chasm, and she instantly regretted saying anything.

"What else would you like to know about me or vampires, Quinnevere?"

"Everything," she whispered. Before thinking, she blurted, "Can I study you?" She wished she could have taken the words back the second they left her tongue. "I mean . . . can I examine you? I would like to see how your . . . your body . . ." She gulped and bit the inside of her cheek. ". . . is different than ours. I just want to understand."

He didn't even flinch at the change in subject. Instead, he laughed softly. "And clearly, the only way to understand is to probe at it scientifically." It was a joke with the underlying message that I see you, and I understand you. And that act made her speechless. "I will let you study me if I can return the favor."

"What does that mean?"

"Everywhere you touch me, I get to touch you back."

Quinn's breath hitched, and wetness grew between her legs. Emrys was too talented at getting a reaction out of her body. It was utterly irritating and exhilarating. She ran her fingers along her lips as she thought and remembered the feel of him there . . . and in so many other places. But she had just promised herself she wouldn't be another one of his girls.

But did it count as being one of his girls if it were for science?

"Fine," she finally responded.

"Just fine?" he asked. "I would expect more excitement." She raised a rosewood eyebrow, and he chuckled. "Alright. I have a lab if you would like to do it now while we continue our conversation."

"Why do you have a lab?"

His cocky brow arched with amusement. "I enjoy science. Studying things and knowing how they tick. We're not so different, Miss Ashelle."