Prologue

PROLOGUE

DAPHNE

January 17, 1765

Paris

I watched him, patiently, from behind my carved ivory fan. He appeared to be a capable servant—unobtrusive, almost preternaturally aware of the needs of the duc's guests, and just on the attractive side of plain in his dark gray livery. When he finally flicked his gaze to me, I lowered my lashes flirtatiously and drew my fan across my lips—an open invitation for a clandestine dalliance. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

From the edge of the stifling ballroom, a gong sounded, announcing dinner. Gentlemen paired off with ladies, making their way into the dining room.

"Madame, shall we go in?"

The fat, thick-headed, wealthy lout at my elbow held out his arm. He'd been trying to monopolize my attentions all evening, despite my thinly concealed distaste. He reminded me of an overfed leech, pawing at me with his slimy, limp appendages and grinning with his yellow, toothy mouth. I covered my grimace with a wan smile.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," I answered. "Please, do go in and find your seat. I need a moment to refresh myself. I'll be along shortly."

The leech eyed me up and down, offering a prurient wink. Unable to suppress my disgust much longer, I turned from him before he could see my expression.

The smell of food wafted in through the open doors. I hadn't eaten all day, but truthfully, I was not hungry—for dinner .

I left the gilt opulence of the ballroom and made my way down a candlelit corridor, discreetly checking the rooms for errant partygoers and trysting courtiers. I required absolute solitude, and fortune appeared to be on my side tonight. The duc's Parisian townhouse was impressive—if a little dated with all its baroque enthusiasm—and seldom in use. Like some members of court, he lived almost year-round at Versailles. Years before, King Louis XIV's paranoia had set that precedent for the aristocracy. If you wish to feel the warmth of the Sun King, you must remain within his orbit.

How suffocating. I was almost glad my husband had fled to Italy in disgrace, despite him leaving me to the absent mercy of the wolves of Versailles. At least I was free to maintain my own residence—and more importantly, I was free of him. The thought of my vile, abusive husband soured my stomach.

It seemed that King Louis XV, the Beloved, had a more relaxed view of things. But for how long, I wondered. France was changing at the speed of infection. The king could not continue to ignore la peste du sang that was starting to seep through the streets of Paris. The blood plague was upon us and I feared what was happening to the people of France.

Several doors down, I found what I was looking for—the duc's empty study. A few candles flickered inside, casting dancing shadows upon the gold brocade of the walls. Hopefully, young Giles had accepted my invitation and I wouldn't have to wait long.

I perched on the edge of the large desk, careful not to bend my panniers, and adjusted my navy skirts around me. The dark color was somewhat unfashionable this season, but I wasn't at Versailles and tonight I favored a gown that was a touch more utilitarian. The pastel palette of the court was hellacious for us more active members of the nobility. The stains could be murder.

Movement outside caught my eye, and I went to the window to observe. Snow had started to fall in soft, downy clumps. I watched the flakes drift gently onto the balcony terrace and smiled to myself. I flung the doors open, letting in a flurry of frigid air.

I almost didn't hear the soft click of the door closing behind me, but I'd been waiting.

Without turning, I spoke out to the snowy balcony.

"I'm so glad you came, darling Giles. I've been waiting all evening to get you alone."

Strong arms circled my waist, turning me to him and pulling me back inside the study. His eyes glittered fiercely, hungrily.

Without a word, he crushed his mouth to mine. His hands roamed my body, seeking the softness of skin beneath the silken layers of my gown.

"I don't have long," he grunted. He pushed me roughly against the wall, attempting to lift my heavy skirts.

"Oui, I know, ma cher. Neither do I," I murmured. He'd found my legs beneath the copious underskirts and ran a cold hand up my thigh. I grabbed him by the shoulders and reversed our positions, pressing his body to the wall with my hips. He gasped in excitement and fumbled for the buttons of his breeches. I kissed him softly.

Dispassionately .

With him distracted, it was almost too easy for me to stab him through the heart.

He pushed me away—bewildered, pained—as smoke curled from the small wound in his chest. I slid the thin wooden stake out, wiped the blood on his livery, and tucked it back in my garter for my next assignment.

Only then did his fangs distend.

"Putain de salope," he hissed. His skin turned a mottled grey and he slumped to the floor.

I tsked . "Oh, Giles. How long did you think you could carry on like this—feeding your way through the duc's housemaids? Six young girls are dead already, Giles. Six! Did you think we wouldn't notice a rotten little sanguisuge in our midst?"

He groaned in pain and glared at me.

"You're with them, then. The Order. Didn't think they allowed women in."

"Yes, well, what a lesson for you to learn today. We are everywhere. Too bad you won't be able to share that news with your filthy parasite friends, eh?"

The dying footman rasped a laugh, coughing up a trickle of black blood that steamed in the cold room.

"It won't matter if you're everywhere . It won't matter how many you are, how much money the aristocracy has or how good The Order's spies are. None of it will save you from what's coming."

A chill went up my spine that had nothing to do with the snow blowing in through the open terrace doors.

"What's coming?" I demanded, leaning in.

"La mort."

His eyes dulled on a final exhale, and the young vampire Giles sagged against the wall. I dragged his body to the balcony and heaved it over, leaving it in the snow-dusted bushes for another agent to find and dispose of. I never asked anyone at The Order what they did with the bodies of all the vampires we dispatched. Truthfully, I couldn't bring myself to care.

After setting the room and my gown to rights, I exited the study and made my way to the dining room. I passed a note to a footman—a coded message for The Order that read assignment complete, target retrieval requested —and sat next to the Leech, who would no doubt boast about spending the entirety of the evening flirting with the Duchesse de Duras, thus providing me with an unattractive, dim-witted, but unquestionable alibi.

The remainder of the evening passed as planned. Giles likely wouldn't be discovered missing until the morning and, even then, people would suspect he'd run off with one of the "missing" housemaids. Even though the job was done, a whisper of unease went through me at his dying words. I tried to dismiss it as a final attempt to frighten me, or swear some kind of undead vengeance, but I didn't really believe that. Giles knew something.

Death. Death was coming.

éTIENNE

That Same Evening

Palace of Versailles

Just before her pleasure crested, my fangs lengthened and I nipped firmly at her thigh, drawing the blood I needed to survive. I'd waited too long to feed again, and the hunger clawed at my insides. I forced myself to take only what she could give without suffering. Fortunately, it was enough. Barely.

"Très magnifique," she panted, reaching for me. "Now I understand what Yvette meant when she said you were a delightful beast."

The marquise giggled and sighed. I lifted my head from beneath her hideous orange skirts and grinned wolfishly at her, but the words had stung.

A delightful beast.

"What would the marquis say if he found you in bed with such a beast?"

The marquise snorted and stood from the chaise we'd been enjoying. She adjusted the bodice of her unfashionable gown and straightened the powdered mass of curls atop her head.

"He stupidly thinks I don't know about his penchant for the servant girls. If I were interested in catching his eye, I'd just have to don some depressing brown wool and bow gracelessly before bringing him dinner."

The Marquise de Balay was a dangerous conquest. She was fiercely intelligent, wealthy as sin, and, because she was a distant relation to the king, her witless husband enjoyed an impressive set of privileges at court. Her opinions formed his, and so if I needed help to sway the king's mind, I needed her manipulations at my disposal. Despite her unfortunate taste in clothing, the marquise was a powerful influence.

"He wouldn't be offended to find his wife fraternizing with a vampire?" I pressed.

She cut me a disdainful look and arched a supercilious brow.

"Possibly. But you're not like the rest of them, are you? Your father was the former Vicomte de Noailles. Even if he was disgraced, you come from noble blood. The rest of those plague bloodsuckers are all peasants, aren't they? Farmers. The poor. You're the king's appointed emissary and advisor on how to deal with the sanguisuge menace. You aren't really one of them," she sniffed.

She left off, you aren't really one of us, either, but the words seemed to hang in the air, nonetheless.

Anger burned through me at her distaste toward my family and my kind. With a flare of disappointment, I realized she wouldn't be willing to join my cause. Vampire rights were a joke to the over-primped peacocks mincing through the halls of Versailles. She didn't see the tension stretching between the classes—the danger we were all in as the impoverished vampire populace grew. She, like the rest of the court, was blind to the true threats to France. Terror would not come from the battles fought on foreign soil. It would come from within.

And nobody would heed my warnings.

"Besides, The Order will certainly stop them," she offered casually. She was replacing her diamond chandelier earrings—fat, colorless stones that winked in the candlelight.

I stilled.

"What do you know of The Order? I always heard they were a myth." I laughed. I knew they were not a myth, but it surprised me to hear the marquise discuss them so openly.

She shrugged. "Only the gossip, I suppose. Surely you've heard?"

"I haven't." I had. They'd sent two assassins after me already—one disguised as a cut-purse, and the other masquerading as a drunken brawler in one of my favorite taverns. I'd smelled the lies on their clothes before they'd had the chance to stake me. At least their blood had sustained me for a while. The intervening years of poverty between my father's disgrace and my royal appointment had taught me that much— waste not, want not .

The marquise waved her hand dismissively. "You know, they've finally gotten sensible about the plague and excommunicated the members of The Order from the lower classes. I mean, if it's only the weakest peasants that suffer the infection, it's right that the stronger elites should decide what to do about it. We have the intelligence, the funds, the breeding. Don't expect me to listen to some dirt farmer about how to save my noble soul."

She giggled venomously. My stomach churned with her snobbish blood. I swallowed my disgust and nodded.

"We should return to the party," I said. "I believe I'm wanted for a card game."

The marquise smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Thank you for the distraction," she said as she turned for the door. "It was rather… animal ."

Instead of following her back to the party, I summoned my carriage and returned to my chateau. Only when I was safely ensconced in my familial home did I allow myself the pleasure of venting my rage by smashing my fist through the wall.

She didn't care. None of them did. Despite my attempts to stop it—to prevent it from happening, nobody else could see what was coming. And many of them would pay with their lives.