CHAPTER 2 - MEDRA

The castle was called the Black Keep. A rather uninspired name.

I heard the men whispering around me, speaking the words almost as if they were holy. Soldiers marched past to line up in formation and made sure to give me a wide berth, casting only curious glances my way.

Behind me, the prince rode calmly. Clearly he was not intimidated by the sight of the massive fortress we were approaching. He'd been here before.

We passed over the black iron bridge. I could feel it swaying slightly beneath us. Under our feet lay the open sea, rolling and churning as if it were angry at our presence.

Ahead of us, a gate stood open and beyond that, the doors leading into the keep.

One by one, the soldiers took up places on either side of the doors, until finally, it was just myself and the prince in the center of a long aisle of his followers. A quiet descended over the troops as we entered the courtyard.

Lucius stepped forward, bowing low. "I shall announce you to the hall, Prince Drakharrow."

The other man nodded. "Keep it brief. Skip the titles. Everyone in there knows me already, Lucius. The only time I'm called ‘prince' is outside of Bloodwing, after all. It's a stupid formality."

Lucius blanched a little. "But... protocol dictates..."

The prince suddenly snarled, his teeth biting forward and clamping down. Beside him, I gasped and flinched.

Lucius stumbled backwards. "The most meager of titles, my prince. The barest," he promised.

The secretary hurried ahead of us.

The prince's hand gripped my arm. "I'll take the chains off now. Don't get any ideas. There's nowhere to run."

I didn't reply, simply watched as he took a key from his pocket and unlocked my bindings.

As soon as I was free, he began to stalk towards the keep.

"Are you all vampires?" I hurried to keep up with him. I was tall for a woman, but he was much taller. He took long strides. "The soldiers, too?"

"Not all but some of them," he answered. "Lucius is, if that's what you're wondering. You should be silent now. You won't like what happens if you aren't."

"I'm surprised you don't wish to keep me on your leash, my lord," I muttered under my breath. "Like your other women."

He didn't take the bait.

As we passed through the huge ornate iron doors into the blackstone keep, our feet touched white marble floors. I glanced down at myself. My feet were bare and dirty. I wore trousers and a tunic a soldier close to my size had reluctantly donated. The cloak around my shoulders suddenly felt like a much-needed shield and I pulled it tight, resisting the urge to raise the hood over my tangled hair.

I sniffed myself gingerly, then wished I hadn't.

I stank like a rotting corpse.

We stepped into the heart of the chamber.

Above us, thousands of candles glowed in iron candelabras hung high overhead.

A vast platform stretched out at the far side of the room. A line of people stood upon it, mostly dressed in red or black. Many of their garments were trimmed with silver or gold. They looked regal and powerful.

A man sat in their center on an elegant chair of carved stone, striking in clothes of crimson velvet. There was no crown upon his head. Still, I was reminded of the throne room of the Rose Court back home.

Below the platform, the vast room was packed to the brim with a massive crowd. As we entered, the throng parted, letting us pass through the center.

Hushed murmurs rose from around us. I listened to the subdued chatter, catching a few insults cast my way.

Let them look. Let them stare. I had no intention of remaining in this place long.

I kept my head up, striving to match the prince's stride step for step, even though it meant taking two steps for each of his.

Abruptly, I was pulled to a halt.

I yelped before I could stop myself as a hand gripped my hair and yanked so hard I fell to my knees on the floor. A woman looked down at me, her face gloating as she wrapped her fingers around strands of the hair she had ripped from my head.

Instantly, the prince was by my side, snarling even more ferally than he had done at Lucius back in the courtyard. His cloak swept around me like a bat's wings as he pulled me to my feet.

"Hands off," he growled. "No one touches her."

His voice echoed loudly off the stone walls.

A hush descended over the crowd. I glanced at the raised dais. The people standing on it were observing us intently. No one seemed interested in intervening.

The woman who had yanked my hair was well-dressed. Gold rings covered her hands and rubies hung from her ears. For a moment, she looked taken aback. Then her expression turned peevish.

"A few strands of hair. I didn't harm her," she protested. "We all know the stories. You can't keep her all to yourself, my prince."

I watched as she tried to summon an obsequious smile and failed spectacularly.

I glared at her, furious. "Bitch," I whispered as I shook myself off.

"Give them to me. The hairs." The prince held out his hand to the woman. His voice was cold. "Now."

Muttering under her breath, the woman stretched her hand out and I saw some long strands of red disappear into his palm.

I watched as the prince pocketed my hair. I wondered what he'd do with them. Tie them to his bed as a keepsake perhaps? I would have snickered if the thought wasn't so abhorrent.

I looked around at the people gaping at me as if I were a menagerie animal and bared my teeth. The chattering resumed, even more loudly than before, but I didn't care.

I might not have fangs like they did, but that didn't mean I couldn't pretend to be the most dangerous thing they'd ever seen.

They were pathetic, I decided, staring at me. What did I have that they so badly wanted, anyhow? Why had the prince brought me here? Was it simply my hair?

Then I thought of Barnabas and my heart sank. Not hair.

Blood.

We reached the raised platform a few steps behind Lucius. The small man dropped to his knees on the red velvet carpet that spread out around the dais and began to rapidly intone, his voice carrying easily across the vast hall.

"Lords and ladies of the Blessed Blood, allow me to present one who is familiar to us all–the Scarlet Warden of the Red Keep, High Prince of Sangratha, Bloodlord of the Pure..."

The titles kept coming. On and on.

For a moment, the prince stood by my side, his teeth gritted. Then, abruptly, he leaned forward and delivered a swift kick to Lucius's ankle.

There was a yelp.

The secretary continued at a much quicker pace than before, "With absolutely no further adieu, I present Prince Blake Drakharrow, my lords and ladies."

A brief pause. "And by his side, stands a... female... most unusual for a blightborn."

I suppressed a snort.

"An unpolished treasure found amidst the muck and mire." Lucius seemed to be refinding his flow. "Saved by the Black Prince from the edge of death and despair."

I coughed loudly, and cast a pointed look at the prince who was still staring straight ahead like a statue. It was true that this man, Blake Drakharrow, had shot one of his own men to save me. But after chaining me like a beast, I wasn't planning to offer him a thank you anytime soon.

"You all see this creature's rare qualities," Lucius declared pompously to the crowd, gesturing to me. "Here she is, to be presented to the court, by my high and honorable lord, Prince Blake Drakharrow..."

"Yes, you've said that part once already," Blake interrupted. "That's quite enough, Lucius."

Lucius scurried off to one side before he could be kicked again.

For a moment, I felt sorry for him. Until I remembered he was also a vampire.

Blake's hand gripped my wrist, pulling me abruptly forward. He raised his voice so it carried throughout the hall.

"We found this woman in the burned out village just outside of Veilmar." Not for the first time, I wondered what had happened to that village. At first, I had assumed its devastation had been Blake's doing. Now I wondered if that was the case. "There should have been no one left alive, but somehow there she was. You can see for yourself her strange traits." He lifted a hand laconically to gesture at me, then dropped it with a shrug, as if he were already bored of looking at me. "I thought it best to bring her before you and the Council."

Oh, he did, did he? And just who is this Council? So very hastily assembled. The hall is full. All here for you, my pretty.

I jumped, my wrist suddenly twisting in Blake's grasp.

It was a woman's voice. Low and melodic. And inside my own head.

Who are you? Who said that? I demanded.

You should never have allowed yourself to be taken. Really, girl, have you no pride? the woman's voice chided.

Pride? I have plenty of pride. Pride didn't arm me. Pride didn't give me a blade with which to slit his throat, I retorted.

Ah, but you wished to. That is something at least. Good. Hold on to that. Hold on to your rage.

There was something imperious about the woman's tone, despite her bloodthirsty nature.

Who the hell are you? I demanded again. Get out of my head.

You're right. We should cease this chatter and listen. You must see what these people want with you. There was a pause and I could almost picture the unseen woman tapping her finger against her well-formed chin. From the look of it, they aren't complete and utter savages. They possess a sense of decorum. And taste.

Taste? Is that what you call it? They drink blood . I felt hysteria bubbling up in my throat and quickly suppressed it. Decorum? Is that what you'd call it when they chain me up and rip my hair out?

There was no reply. The woman's voice was gone.

If it had ever been anything except my imagination in the first place.

A chill went through me.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps I was dead. Perhaps I was in some twisted afterlife. Insanity might have been part and parcel with death. Maybe I was going insane. If that was the case, I hoped the madness would descend quickly and that I'd soon have no thoughts left in my mind at all.

But in the meantime, I looked at the people standing and staring down at me from the platform. And I stared right back.

My eyes went from one to the other, keeping my lips pressed together. Did I look hostile? Threatening? I hoped so.

Because they certainly did.

The man seated on the black stone chair leaned forward slightly. His eyes were a deep, unsettling red and he held a staff topped with a gleaming, scarlet gem. I looked away from him quickly, unnerved by his expression. He eyed me with the same keen interest one might give to a horse or some other piece of livestock one contemplates purchasing.

Next my eyes fell on the man to his left. He was younger, clad in black leather armor accented in gold. His eyes weren't gray like Blake's though; they were a pale blue, but shaped the same. In fact, he resembled Blake in many ways, though his build was a little shorter and stockier.

I glanced at Blake, who still held me by the wrist, then back again. Yes, the two might have been cousins. Even brothers.

A movement caught my eye. A young woman had folded and unfolded her arms restlessly. She stood further down the row of nobles. She was lovely, with pink lips and shimmering pale blonde hair. Her gown was a cascade of sheer violet over black silk. A diadem of silver embedded with purple gems sat on her brow. She tapped her foot as if impatient or annoyed, yet when she caught me staring, she looked back at me. There was something in her gaze beyond mere curiosity or even hostility. I saw naked hate. And past that, perhaps something like fear.

There was more to all of this. More to these strange and foreign people in this strange and foreign land. I scanned the line of noble folk. A thread of commonality stretched between all of the figures on the dais, linking them together.

Their hair, I realized. If hair was what made me stand out, it was what united all of them.

From the man seated in the chair to the younger man beside him to the woman looking at me with such cold fury. While their skin tones were a range of shades, they were unified by the lightness of their hair. Hues ranging from silvery white to golden blonde to silvery gray. Not a glimpse of brown or black or even red amongst them.

I cast my gaze out over the crowd and it was the same. While there had been some chestnut, brown, and black colored hair amongst the soldiers who had escorted me, I saw no glimmer of any shade beyond snowy pale or faint gold in this hall.

I looked at the man on the black chair, his hair as white as freshly fallen snow, cut to shoulder-length, sleek and straight, framing a bearded face, hard and cold.

The younger man beside him had hair of ashy blond, cropped short in a military style that emphasized the strong, angular lines of his face.

I glanced at the man by my side, the man Lucius had named Blake Drakharrow. His hair hung around his face, nearly chin-length. The strands were very pale gold. Blond in some lights, almost white in others.

I stood out amongst these people like a flaming coal.

Just barely I resisted the impulse to touch a hand to my head self-consciously.

I glanced away, avoiding the feeling, and my eyes rested on a girl I had not noticed before.

A child.

No more than nine or ten, she sat on the edge of the platform. Her long blonde hair had been braided with red ribbons and a few rebellious strands had escaped to fall in a frame around her pale, porcelain face. Now she slouched forward, her chin resting heavily in her hands, propped up by slender arms. Looking bored and disinterested in the proceedings, she kicked her feet absently against the dais.

I nearly smiled, watching her. I wondered who she could be. Someone important enough to be included amongst the powerful people on the platform but not important enough to be made to stand beside them. Or perhaps they had given up trying to make her stand nicely. Children were children anywhere. Even among vampires.

The man seated on the black chair was rising.

He held his staff as a symbol of strength, not as a crutch like a truly elderly man might. I got the sense of an ancient power. He loomed over the whole assembly like a dark shadow and something about the way he looked down at me made me weak in the knees. Not in a good way.

Blake's hand gripped my wrist more tightly. To hurt me or to steady me, I wasn't sure which.

Either way it worked. I stood up a little straighter, lifted my chin a little higher.

"A rare find indeed," the older man agreed, as he stepped to the edge of the platform. "You were right to bring her to us, Blake." His eyes honed in on mine, glowing faintly. "What is your name, child? Where do you come from?"

I had the impression he was doing his best to speak kindly. Yet I knew beyond a doubt there was nothing truly kind about this man.

Nevertheless, a warmth flooded through me and I found my lips parting before I could stop myself.

"My name is Medra Pendragon, my lord."

A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd. I did my best to ignore them.

"As for where I come from..." I cleared my throat. "You would not believe me if I told you."

Another ripple went through the crowd and I saw the older man frown as if I had said something inadvertently defiant.

"You have no knowledge of Sangratha? Of the Thralldom?"

I shook my head. "I don't even know what those words mean."

Though "thralldom" was pretty clear. I disliked the implications. Was this vampire kingdom based entirely upon slavery or some form of it?

"All I ask, my lord," I said, continuing onwards as carefully as I could. "Is for your forbearance and mercy. I may have been found in your land, yes, but I had no intention of being here. I did not mean to trespass. I wish only to return home."

The man was silent for a long moment.

Then, "Tell me, Medra Pendragon, how does one find oneself in a strange land as you did? And having no knowledge of how you found yourself here, how could you possibly return home? Where is home?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. He was right. I had no idea how to traverse worlds as I had apparently done purely by accident. I had been snatched somehow from the jaws of death but not by my doing or my choice.

"Your silence speaks volumes. You do not speak of your home. Therefore, are you a spy?"

"I've forgotten it," I blurted out. "I've forgotten my home. If I'm a spy, I've forgotten that, too. But I know I don't belong here."

"How convenient," the man said softly. "And yet perhaps this is precisely where you belong. Now tell me, what other dangerous information have you forgotten?"

I lifted my chin. "I said I've lost my memories. Not that I mean you any harm. There's no need for you all to be so suspicious. Why do you stare at me? Because of my hair? Red hair is not so rare where I come from. I remember that much. Is this realm so weak that you see me as a threat?"

The room erupted with noise.

"Silence!" the other man on the platform, the one who resembled Blake, bellowed. "We will have order here or the hall shall be cleared."

Quiet descended immediately. Around me people shifted uncomfortably, no one daring to look up at the man on the platform.

"If I may, Lord Drakharrow."

It was the young woman in the violet dress. She stepped forward, her hands clasped modestly together.

So, the man who would deal my fate was related to Blake Drakharrow. Was this his father?

"Miss Pansera." Lord Drakharrow smiled indulgently. "Do you have wisdom to impart to the court?"

The young woman gave a simpering smile. "To believe I had any wisdom to impart to you , Lord Drakharrow, would be the utmost presumption."

A titter of laughter came from the crowd. But the laughter was gentle. She was one of them, after all.

The young woman took a small step forward, her eyes coming to rest on me.

"No, no wisdom, my lord. Simply anger."

"Anger, Miss Pansera?" Lord Drakharrow's eyebrows rose.

"Anger at this creature."

I bristled.

"At this female's defiance," she continued. "Anger at her disrespect for your house, for this court, for our sacred traditions."

"I know nothing about your traditions," I said loudly. "And I meant no disrespect."

The young woman's face took on an expression of disgust. "Even now she speaks to me as if she had a place here. As if she had a right to speak among the Pure of Blood. But she was found on a heap of dirt. She reeks of the grave and I cannot help but hope you send her back to it, my lord. You do not deserve to be spoken to with such disdain."

Lord Drakharrow tilted his head thoughtfully. "What of the marks she bears, Miss Pansera? Would you have me kill her or allow her to depart despite that?"

The girl in the violet gown shrugged. "What does it matter if she bears a rider's marks when there is nothing to ride?"

I glanced quickly at the prince, confused by the words, but he would not meet my eyes. His lips were pressed together in a thin line. Was he displeased with Miss Pansera's speech? Or was he simply annoyed at having to be there at all?

Miss Pansera was stepping back demurely, taking up her place amongst the other nobles on the platform, her head bowed respectfully.

But though her head was tilted downwards, her eyes remained on me.

It was clear she wanted Lord Drakharrow to kill me here today. What had I done to make her my enemy? Or was it simply that I was not a vampire?

"Regan Pansera speaks true," Lord Drakharrow admitted to the crowd. "There have not been dragons in our lands in more than one hundred years."

My heart leaped at the word. Dragons.

"The last riders died out long before that." Lord Drakharrow scanned the crowd. "And we–the Chosen, the Pure, the Blessed Blood–are sadly the weaker for it. Are we not?"

A subdued murmur of agreement.

He raised his voice a little. "This girl, wherever she really comes from, bears the unmistakable marks of a rider. See the color of her hair. The pointed tips of her ears. Look at how her fingers and toes are elongated, just as the riders of old."

I glanced down at my hands self-consciously, curling them into fists. But my feet were bare. There was nothing I could do to hide them. All around me, everyone stared and murmured.

Beads of sweat prickled the back of my neck. I tried to remain calm. My hands and feet were like any fae's back in Aercanum. Elongated? I was half-fae, so I supposed they were. More than a full human's. There was nothing unusual about that where I came from.

"Her build," Lord Drakharrow continued, raising both hands and then lowering them to gesture to my body. "A lean, streamlined physique, optimized for balance and agility." He eyed me. "Her bones. Were we to conduct experiments, no doubt we would find them to be denser, reinforced. Reducing her risk of injury from maneuvers and impacts."

I swallowed hard. "Experiments" sounded ominous.

"I have no idea what you are even talking about," I announced. "The only thing I've ever ridden is a horse. Certainly not a dragon."

The crowd laughed. At me. Not with me as they had done with the perfect Miss Pansera.

"Do they not have dragons where you come from, Miss Pendragon?" Lord Drakharrow inquired. "Your name would suggest they do. What land is this you hail from? I would very much like to visit it one day."

I shook my head. "It's a name, nothing more. I cannot even recall the name of my land," I lied. "Perhaps there were dragons there once, long ago, but no one alive has ever seen them. Not where I come from. It's just a name."

It was, in fact, the name of kings and queens. The Pendragons were an ancient line. And thanks to my mother's poor choice of men, I was a part of it through my father's side.

Poor choice? Or careful plotting?

The voice in my head was back again.

Get out, I hissed at her. You have no right to be here.

A tinkling laugh. You have no idea how wrong you are.

But she was silent after that.

"I see." A thin smile. Lord Drakharrow thought I was lying through my teeth. "Well, this land did have dragons, Medra Pendragon. They were not simply names. They existed. And they had riders."

"And you think... what? That I'm one of them?" I stared up at him in disbelief. "You've already established there are no dragons anymore, right? So why does it matter?" I glanced at Regan Pansera, as if expecting commiseration–after all, we agreed about this, didn't we? But her eyes remained dagger-like.

"It was an ancient lineage," Lord Drakharrow was musing. "And your appearance, here, today could be seen as almost prophetic..."

"If I may, Lord Drakharrow." A woman's voice. Soft but regal. She stood on the other side of the platform, draped in red silk. She looked older than most of the nobles around her–though not as old as Lord Drakharrow. "As you know, House Avari prided itself on our dragon riders. This girl's appearance might be nothing. Or..." She hesitated, stealing a quick glance down at me. I got the impression this was a woman of great authority and power–but not as much power as Lord Drakharrow wielded. I sensed she would defer to him.

"Yes, Lady Avari?" Lord Drakharrow pressed. "Or?"

The older silver haired woman bit her lip. "Or it might be an omen. A sign from the Bloodmaiden herself."

A stir went through the hall.

A heavyset man in silver brocade stepped forward, his steel armored boots clanking against the platform. "House Mortis concurs with House Avari. The girl's arrival should not be underestimated. She is significant. She must not be permitted to leave."

"Interesting," Lord Drakharrow mused. "And the options as you see them, Lord Mortis, are?"

Lord Mortis glared down at me, his face stern. "Test her blood. Either offer her to the goddess should her blood be worthy or destroy her as if she never were. Or..."

Lord Drakharrow's eyebrows rose again. "Or? Is there yet a third option? Fascinating."

"Or mate with her," Lord Mortis growled. I flinched. "Preserve the rider's bloodline now that it has been found. The riders were all lost. Her blood seems..." He hesitated. I suspected he did not wish to use the word "pure" to describe me. "Strong," he settled on. "Her features are distinct. Prominent. That bodes well."

He stepped back amongst the other nobles on the dais.

Evidently those standing up on the platform were the ultimate elite. I saw nods of agreement from some of the lords and ladies around him. But to what part of what he'd just said? The part about killing me? Or offering my blood to some goddess?

Or perhaps worst of all–mating with me. Who was to do the honor? Lord Drakharrow?

A shudder went through me. No. Decidedly no.

I started eyeing the tall arched glass windows that lined the walls of the hall. How fast could I get to one? Would they be quick enough to stop me? If I did manage to dive through one would I fall onto a cobblestone walkway? Or sharp rocks along the cliffside? Or the turbulent waves below?

Best case scenario, I decided, I'd be cut and bleeding from the broken window and forced to swim out to sea as Blake's archers shot at me.

"A mating," Lord Drakharrow murmured. He raised a hand to his chin, stroking his silver beard. "Binding her to us. Continuing the lineage. Strengthening it. I cannot deny, it is an interesting idea."

He looked down at where I stood. "Of course, by rights only one man should be bound to her."

A stir went through the audience.

I looked around at the nobles, my face flushing hot with anger. "I wouldn't mind having a say in all of this, Lord Drakharrow."

"Oh? But you do not get a say, Medra Pendragon. Perhaps it has not been clear to you yet, but People of the Pure Blood stand here deciding your fate and your fate has come very close to death today."

I let out a hiss between my teeth. "But it won't be death, will it?"

He smiled, his fangs dropping, lethal and white. I flinched. "No?"

I shook my head, purposely making my hair fly out around my head in a curly cloud. I heard gasps as the mane of red fluttered in the air, then settled against my shoulders.

This was about my survival now. And to my surprise, I found I did wish to survive. I was not dead. I had not died. I rather wanted to keep it that way. At least, for now.

"No," I said emphatically. "I'm too valuable to be killed. You've all decided that already. As Lady Avari already mentioned, I could be an omen." What was it he'd already said? That I had a dragon rider's physique. "Look at me. I'm a Pendragon. The only Pendragon. For all you know, the power lies in my blood. Maybe I can bring back the dragons."

A wave of gasps went up around me.

Had I really just said that?

Mentally, I shrugged. Who cared? I wasn't actually going to do it. I knew that, but they didn't need to. Perhaps I'd started off on the wrong foot. I should have been bluffing all along. Evidently the only thing these people recognized and respected was power as brutal as their own.

I was buying myself time. Time to get in amongst these coldblooded, fanged monsters. Time to find a weapon and cut some pureblood vampire throats, then escape with not just my life but perhaps a little bit more. Maybe some coin to get me out of this cursed kingdom. Maybe a map. Maybe a ship.

"Getting a memory or two back, are we now?" Lord Drakharrow's smile was slit-like, predatory.

"Maybe," I said blasély. "Who knows what I'll remember given enough time? It could be something useful."

"Perhaps the goddess sent her. Perhaps she's a gift from the Bloodmaiden," a woman near me whispered to her neighbor excitedly.

Lord Drakharrow's eyes shot towards her and the woman squeaked, then fell silent.

But it was too late. I smiled triumphantly. He couldn't kill me now. Not now that hope was spreading.

"Very well, Medra Pendragon," Lord Drakharrow said slowly. "Live you shall. But in bondage to the Pure, as are all blightborn. Such is your debt. Your value lives in your blood and your blood must be shared."

I took a step backward, my face falling, and tried to wrench my hand away from Blake's grasp. But the bastard held tight, jerking me back beside him with a savage twist.

Lord Drakharrow smiled at us. "You see? Already you are bound to my nephew. He found you. He saved you. You owe him a debt of life. A debt that can never be repaid."

"He stole me! He chained me, dragged me here," I protested heatedly. "I owe him nothing. What I wish for is to be free."

"Freedom within the Thralldom is of the purest sort," Lord Drakharrow assured me. I felt a prickle of unease go down my spine. "Bondage is freedom. The sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be."

He rose to his feet suddenly. "Today your life changes. Medra Pendragon, today you take up your place in the Thralldom. Today I lift you up from the murk and mire. I name you Dragon Rider of Sangratha. Let the one who found you be your guide in this new world."

Blake's hand jerked around mine. "Uncle..."

"Silence, Nephew." Lord Drakharrow warned. "I honor you both, here in this hall today. Make no mistake about it."

The vampire lord waved a hand and I felt power go through me, winding itself around me like an icy ribbon.

There was a sharp pulling sensation and I found my hand not simply being gripped by Blake's but actually clasping his back as if I wanted to.

There came the sound of tearing flesh.

I screamed, my eyes darting downward.

My wrist had been torn open. Blood dripped onto the marble floor beneath.

But not just mine. Blake's wrist was pressed against my own, and it was bleeding, too.

Lord Drakharrow was smiling down at us, his red eyes glowing.

"Let it be known that this bond is unbreakable, as enduring as the strength of our realm. By my will and the power of our ancient rites, Blake Drakharrow and Medra Pendragon are now bound together in fate and duty, forever unyielding, irrevocably united. As the dragon flies and the blood endures, so shall your destinies be intertwined. Your bond is forged. Through fire and shadows, you shall be one. What is spoken is unbroken. What is bound cannot be unbound."

I gasped aloud as our linked hands flew above our heads. Our blood, mixed together, trickled down my arm, warm and sticky.

Lord Drakharrow flicked his wrist and our hands dropped.

I let go of Blake's as fast as I could, stepping away from him as if I'd been branded.

Which I had.

I looked at my wrist. Already the gash was healing. But a mark remained. A teardrop shape. Bright red like a drop of blood. I rubbed at it and it stayed in place, even as the pain faded.

"This is but the first step in your binding," Lord Drakharrow said, watching me as I took in the mark. "Blood is the beginning just as blood is the end. Blood will have blood. Your essence has not been shared completely. The mark is the first stage."

I glanced around and suddenly realized how still the hall had become. Many of the vampires around me were licking their lips. Some were sniffing the air hungrily like Barnabas had.

I shivered. They smelled me. Smelled my blood. And they hungered for it.

I glanced at Blake, expecting to see the same bloodlust on his face. But to my surprise, he was as stoic as before. If anything, his jaw was clenched a little tighter, his lips pressed together even harder. He refused to meet my gaze.

"Medra Pendragon is hereby declared the Second Betrothed Consort of Prince Blake Drakharrow," Lord Drakharrow was decreeing to the crowd. "She is not to be touched. If she is fed upon, there will be slaughter. All in this hall have been warned."

The vampire's voice was cold. Yet for once, I was grateful for the power that lay behind it. Only a fool would have messed with that terrifying old man. I hoped none of the people licking their lips at the sight of my wet blood would be that stupid.

Then it dawned on me. The word he had used.

Second Betrothed.

Who was the first?

Then our eyes met.

A trickle of blood ran down her chin where she had bitten her lip clean through in silent fury. As I watched, she lifted a hand and wiped away the red streak, never taking her eyes from my face.

There was no doubt in my mind who Blake Drakharrow's First Betrothed was.

Regan Pansera.