There would be no wedding. Nothing like what had been thrown for Ceaser and I. Especially not after the last led to such an unforgettable tragedy.
As I stumble through the halls of Castle Ivashkov, flanked by guards, my fingers bound and a gag ripped into my lips to stop me from screaming, I swear the marbled floors are still stained red.
My chest rises and falls in growing panic and I turn to flee, only to be shoved forward by the Vampyr Royal Guards that had come to collect me in Prince Ruin's stead, because he could not be bothered with coming to acknowledge his bride.
It was the only thing that kept me from falling apart completely. It was good if he was ignoring me. It was fine that he had no interest in me. Because I couldn't stomach being touched by another man, couldn't climb a bed and become reduced to the level of a breeder to be ridden whenever he so wished.
This union was to be a silent agreement sealed in blood. Slit wrists, fangs in my neck to mark me and a kiss to the mouth.
My body locks down with the idea of it. Of being owned by someone other than Ceaser. A year ago, I had been frightened by the idea of remotely being owned. But it is a completely different conversation when said man in question is your mate and loves you to death.
But Prince Ruin is a far cry from the man Ceaser was.
There is, after all, a reason why he is called Ruin.
Even his father deemed him an abomination from birth, after he came forth from his mother's womb, clutching her entrails in his fist and tearing it out of her, bleeding her to death. It was one thing to have a difficult birth. It was another for your child to be born with enough sentience to kill you.
His father didn't name him.
And as he grew into a man who continued to ruin everything he touched, he came to bear the name Ruin. He killed everything. He slept with everything with a hole and ate their hearts after he was through. He engorged himself in the blood of humans and Vampyrs alike, and he had no care in the world if it was his family. He would tear them apart. He had no affiliations. He had not a single iota of a soul inside him. He was the devil.
And I am getting bound to him.
I begin to hyperventilate as we cross the halls, undead eyes in too-pale flesh following my every step. Judgement. Hatred. It was easier to ignore it when Ceaser was with me, because he was all I could see. But now, it is so stark, so pungent, it makes me want to vomit.
They look like they want to tear into my vein and suck me dry.
The throne room appears around the corner and I am led inside the room already filled with a score of people dressed in silk and diamonds and corsets. I never could understand why the Vampyrs preferred to adopt bits of the old ways to their lifestyle.
It became a pandemic shortly after they forcefully incorporated themselves into our society. Everyone wanted to wear corsets and socks and wigs. They wanted to have fangs, even if the Vampyrs spent the first few years here eating people with them. Every one wanted pale skin and went through no small amount of pain to achieve the absurd beauty standard with powders seven to ten shades lighter. And it still wouldn't be enough.
And then, there was their eyes. When they fed, it turned a burning crimson from the fiery pits of hell. Now, there were contacts everywhere, trying for mimicry, but when you're in the presence of a real Vampyr, you know.
It's grown so terrible that they've begun to smuggle pheromones and drugs that can replicate its effects. Because being bitten brings the highest form of pleasure bordering on sin.
The second my heels skim against the threshold, my body tightens. With lust and fear. It is the aura they exude. The kind that promises you death and pleasure in the same breath.
Sweat breaks on my forehead as I fight the thrall, biting into my cheek until I draw blood like Ceaser taught me to. Pain grounds you in the present. Pain gives you an inch over their compulsion and the false promises their aura whispers in your ears before they ever come close enough to touch you.
I am brought to a halt before the dias and the oppressive air in the room triples before the seat of King Oberon.
My body trembles violently and my eyes water for no reason.
"Look at me, child."
I don't want to.
But my head snaps up anyway, gaze lifting to his black ones. They are large, like a pot of glossy ink. He has no pupils. His face is a sickly pallor of white, giving a shine that comes from being ill enough to abdicate.
He was going to abdicate to Ceaser before the incident.
But he has no more heirs left. And Prince Ruin is out of question to make King. He can bear no more sons in his state. Which is why I am important. Vampyrs have difficulty procreating within their race. With the years that passed it became harder and impossible to conceive. They call it a curse from the gods. They are typically impotent with humans. Werewolves have always been known for being extremely fertile. My pregnancy with Ceaser proved just as much when I took in once after the first time.
If I bear a child with Prince Ruin, the child can be made heir over the monster I am about to be leashed to.
King Beron would need, however, to live long enough to put the crown on the child's head. And that was a dangerous gamble, considering how he looks one step away from the grave.
But it doesn't dampen his strength. Rumors have it King Beron is as old as dust. Far older than our ancestors. Some history texts even mention that he'd been alive in the time of gods and goddesses. Lies, obviously, but those were all a measure of telling how old he really is.
And now, he regards me with utter disdain. "Why are you bound?"
The gag is pulled from my mouth and though my limbs quake with fear, I clench my jaw. "I do not consent to this marriage. I'd sooner die--"
It happens faster than my eyes can follow. A thin hand closes around my neck.
And snaps it.
I die for all of five minutes. For what feels like an eternity, before my body heals, like a curse. I come back to life on the ground with a gasp, clutching my throat as my wolf heals my cracked neck. I scramble back, only to hit the feet of a guard behind me.
The Vampyr King watches me with a dark expression. "That can very well be arranged." He leans forward, his hulking frame encompassing the entire hall. "We will kill you and feed our blood to you. You will awaken an undead. You will long for warmth. You will hunger. You will want for death but your body will refuse to let you have it. Do you know," he croons. "That our kind is known to be so evil, there is no place in Heaven or Hell to welcome us when we die?"
My eyes widen and he chuckles softly. "You delude yourself with hopes of reuniting with Ceaser in the After your Goddess has created for you, but..." He scoffs. "There is no After for us Vampyrs. Only darkness. We simply cease."
He thrums his fingers on the throne. "You will never see Caesar again. Not in this life or the next, so I suggest you rid yourself of that notion. And if you still wish to die, I may very well grant that to you. But it is nothing you imagine it to be, girl. Choose now. Die or spread your thighs for Ruin and give us heirs. That is all you and your kind is useful for anyway. Repopulation."
Breeder.
Breeder.
Breeder.
That is all I hear.
The insult slaps me in the face. My fingers clench tight into fists.
Just part your legs. Just bear him sons. I hated being told what to do. I despised it. That is why I kept away from Court and stayed in the kitchens. That is why I hid and refused to become a part of all of this. Because in the end, princesses weren't special. We are always going to be slaves to our kingdoms, our fathers, our spouses.
Heavy footfalls draw our attention to the entrance where Prince Ruin is being dragged in by the guards.
He looks half-asleep, high and drunk out of his mind. There's blood on his fangs and dribbling down his chin. When the guards leave him, he can barely stand on his own weight and bumps into a maid holding up a tray.
She gasps as the contents spill against his shirt and her eyes widen with fear as he blinks away the haze of his high enough to note the stain. "Oh. Well. I suppose it was ruined anyway."
The girl begins to cry and beg.
Prince Ruin's black brows pull together in irritation.
And the entire hall watches, enraptured, breaths held, as he rips the shirt clean off, grabs the back of her head and stuffs it into her mouth until it becomes one with her throat. Until she begins to choke. And choke on it. And then she gags, but there is nowhere for the vomit to go.
So she begins to choke on her vomit.
The Prince's face twists with disgust when it spills from her nostrils, and he abandons her, staggering to find the nearest tray of alcohol.
No one helps her. I am held in place and forced to watch it. The sound of her choking plays high over the music before the guards eventually take her out of the hall.
That is the man I am going to marry.