15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Wilder

Idon't know if I am being paranoid, but it seems as if Bronwyn is avoiding me. Well, perhaps not avoiding me, but she is focused on her daily tasks of attending her classes, studying in whichever library I happen to not be in, and eating her lunch with some caretaker.

She acts as if we are not currently in a fake relationship.

How can I convince Morozov that I'm madly in love with her if she and I are never around each other?

I glance down at my drink, swirling the red liquid in my chalice. My friends think that it is wine. I like to pretend that it is wine because the truth is far more gruesome.

It's blood. I brought vials of the loathsome liquid with me, taken from slaughtered livestock, because I cannot go more than a few days without sating my thirst.

My father said that I would be gaining great power when he made me become a vampire. When in reality all I got from it was an addiction.

I hate this part of me so much that the only way I can choke down the vile substance is by pouring it into a glass and turning it into a social event. I will talk with my friends and try to fool myself into not paying attention as I take a few sips.

Try to pretend that I'm drinking wine the same as the rest of them.

I grimace and tilt my cup to my lips, forcing down a swallow. It slides down my throat, sweet as honey with an almost fruity flavoring. I think the worst part is that it actually tastes wonderful.

"Where is Gregos?" I ask as I lean back, resting my hip against my desk. We are currently in my room, a spacious area with plenty of room to throw a little soiree in privacy as I spend time with my closest fellows.

Not that I can stand Asimov and Gregos, but they are the only people here who are actually my peers. Sure, there are plenty of wealthy individuals and there are plenty of students skilled in magic.

But these two are the only ones with all the right breeding and talent. They hale from both wealthy families and ones that have a long line of powerful magic wielders. They are my equals.

Well, other than a few Lower elf students, but they consider it beneath their notice to associate with humans. And they certainly wouldn't be caught dead near me given my mixed heritage. I'm part Higher Elf, and there is enough bad blood between the two elven races to fill this whole valley and drown us all.

So, whether I can stand them or not Asimov and Gregos are the only friends I'm permitted to have.

"Would you believe it, he is sick," Asimov replies with a snide sneer. "Maybe this will teach him to not turn up his nose at the healing charms class I'm taking."

I snort. "That's unlikely. You're assuming Gregos is capable of learning, which I believe the prerequisite for him to do that is to have a brain."

Asimov raises his glass giving me that point before he takes a gulp of his drink. Actual wine. I watch him my stomach twisting in knots of envy as I raise my own glass to my lips.

"Also, you would never believe the rumor I heard some of the students saying," Asimov continues, completely oblivious to my moral turmoil. "They said that you were engaged to Bronwyn the Eel." He laughs as he rests his glass on the mantel before he waves his arm at me. "Don't worry, I told them that I'd incinerate them from the inside out if I heard anyone else spreading that disgusting rumor."

I'm not entirely sure how the rumor could have spread. It was supposed to be between Bronwyn, Morozov, and me.

I didn't tell anyone. I'm sure Bronwyn didn't. Which means that either someone saw us walking while holding hands that one time or… Morozov has been asking some students about it because he still hasn't completely bought our story.

I take a sip of my glass to hide my expression, but the blood goes sour against my tongue. For a second, I consider how to respond to that. Here in the safety of my own rooms, I'm tempted to set the record straight. Especially to one of my only friends, despise him as I may. But I can't risk this getting back to Morozov. If Bronwyn and I are to be in a fake relationship, then I must go the whole way. Including admitting it to my peers.

"Actually, that is more than a rumor. It is indeed a fact," I reply.

"What?" Asimov chokes on the swallow he started to take. His wine goes flying all over him but he only stares at me in disbelief. "Surely you jest."

"I'm afraid not. My father arranged it."

Asimov pulls out a handkerchief and begins dabbing at the wine stain on his tunic. "What could have possessed him to do that?"

"It turns out that her father is quite a wealthy merchant. Influential too."

"You're his only son; surely, he could find a better match for you. There are plenty of wealthy influential people out there. Nobles."

"Nobles don't control shipping routes."

"Since when has your father been interested in shipping?"

That's a fair question. Asimov has met my father; he knows what sort of man he is. I can't just give him a half-baked excuse; I need to actually make it sound like him. "There is too much new money," I say, quoting something I've actually heard him say. He feels very strongly on this topic, it's his favorite thing to rage about when he has had a little too much to drink. "Too many no accounts are out there making their fortunes, and those who have had money for generations are no longer the wealthiest. That leaves a power imbalance, one that if left unchecked will render family names like ours worthless."

I draw in a deep breath and shrug. "And so, my father decided that if he cannot defeat them then he must join them. So, ours would be a joining of old money and new." That is not actually something my father would ever say, but I'm hoping that mixed in with direct quotes from him it will be enough to convince Asimov.

Asimov shakes his head with a sigh. "Well, he had one thing right. This will render your family name worthless. First, your father having an illegitimate child with a serving maid. Now, you are marrying a merchant's daughter with no noble heritage? Doesn't he realize your bloodline is already diluted without him adding Bronwyn the Eel into the mix?"

"I'd kindly ask you not to bring my mother into the mix," I reply coldly. I don't care that she is a servant girl, she was the only decent parent I had, and she loved me even though I was fathered by a monster.

"Of course, what a friend I am," Asimov says with a shake of his head. "Here I am stating everything wrong with this when you already know that. I should be consoling you instead." He exhales loudly before he takes a gulp. "I may need another glass for this though. I'm jetting awful at consoling."

"It's fine—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"It most certainly is not fine. Tell me truly, how are you holding up?"

I open my mouth to reply but whatever I was about to say dies on an exhale. I reach up rubbing the back of my neck. "Not as bad as I thought it would be…" I admit. As far as fake relationships go, this is the best one I've been in.

Not that it is saying much. But there's a part of me that almost wishes it wasn't all a lie. What would it be like if I married Bronwyn?

Frustrating.

But also amusing.

Thrilling?

Yes, that's a word for how she makes me feel.

"What do you mean?" Asimov demands his face twisting in disgust.

"She's not half bad at kissing."

Asimov gags at this, and I feel my eyebrows rise as he rests his hand on the mantel and makes a grand and hopefully forced display of his disgust. "Please don't make a mess on my floors."

I hope he doesn't pay too much attention to my floor. There's a bloodstain from where I spilled a vial that I haven't managed to get up.

"You've kissed the Eel?" he demands.

I shrug.

"Why?"

"I was… curious. Really, I don't see why you're making such a big deal about this."

"You despise her," Asimov counters. "She is disgustingly beneath you."

While it's true that I used to despise her, I wonder how much of that stemmed from true feelings of hate and which were from wanting to get her to notice me. I roll my tongue in my mouth as I consider that.

Gods, that's an unsettling thought.

I quickly shutter it and determine to never think of it again. Because that would force me to admit that I always felt this strange draw to Bronwyn the Eel. Even when she was an insufferable first year with no friends save for the dozens of books she buried herself under. It's fine if I'm intrigued by her now, she is intriguing and clever and a mysterious enigma.

But the Bronwyn I knew last year was not deserving of that interest and the Wilder of last year was an entirely not monstrous person, and he was above needing to be interested in her. That Wilder had prospects, pride, ambition. He wasn't forced to resort to drinking blood and pretending that it is wine.

I reach up, running my hand down my face. "You're right," I mutter in surprise. "I can't believe I kissed her."

Asimov shakes his head slowly, his disbelief clearly written across his face. "Let's hope her father is very wealthy to make this pain of yours worth it."

I hold up my glass as if a toast, but I find myself wondering what sort of man Bronwyn's father is. I know who my father is, but I presume that not every man who is unlucky enough to father a child is as powerful, ambitious, and egotistical as him. Some of them have to be decent, right?

Maybe Bronwyn's father is one of those rare ones. It makes me wonder what meeting her family would be like… if we were actually engaged, that is.

The thought is honestly too much to handle, and it leaves me wondering why I even entertained the notion even for a second. I toss back my glass, draining the rest of it in one gulp and resolutely remind myself that this is my future.

Not the one I saw with Bronwyn.

The one spent choking down blood and plotting to make more like me.