Page 17 of Their Blood Queen
But this time, I’m not sleeping.
Leave it to my brother to make my night terrors evolve into something new entirely.
Yep. I definitely hate men.
Cain’s portrait flashes through my mind.
He’s no man, I decide. He’s a monster. One who hasn’t the faintest idea that I exist.
I know one thing for certain. Cain is no God, no matter how much he pretends to be. He might have the other Elites fooled, but not me.
“Why am I even wasting my time on you?” I ponder aloud, then inch open the door to my bedroom. The icy chill in the hall seems to follow me, flinging my hair over my shoulder with a wind I definitely am not imagining.
“Lady Scarlett?” a bleary-eyed maidservant asks, stumbling from my writing desk she has clearly been sleeping on.
I immediately deflate because I hate that she’s been waiting for me. “Sorry, Rosie. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
There’s enough light from the magicked fixtures for me to see Rosie blanch. Her brown curls have flattened on one side, but her green eyes are still as bright as ever even in the low light. Her concern seems to chase away the cold sensation of my impending episode, making me grateful for her presence.
“Oh, no!” she says as she fluffs her hair. “Don’t apologize! I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” She immediately swings the door open the rest of the way and hides behind it, only peeking enough to make sure I’m going to come inside. “Please, Lady Scarlett. I’ll draw you another bath if you like. I made one, but it’s cold now and?—”
“No bath,” I insist, even though I feel like I could use one. My brother’s slimy words still seem to cling to me, and the blood contract makes me feel itchy just under my skin. I want nothing more than to scrub myself raw.
But a bath means being naked. And right now, I can’t shake the sensation that I’m being watched.
An asinine idea. No one is watching me.
Then why does it feel that way?
I shake my head, rationalizing instead that I will have to be up in a few short hours for my duties as Lady of the house and I’m just exhausted. It’s making everything worse, including my penchant for night terrors.
No one cares what time I retire or how bad my nightmares get. The morning will come after a few short blinks, demanding that I play host for a scheduled breakfast.
A breakfast with none other than Duchess Rinhold herself.
Now I know why my father set up the meeting for me with a Duchess—and why she agreed to it.
She already knew I would have no choice but to sign my name on her son’s contract.
In blood.
She’s probably coming to gloat. That, or lord over me with not-so-subtle reminders of my place, even if I do marry her son.
The wife of an Earl doesn’t have much more power than the daughter of a Duke.
The only difference is I’ll be a trophy, not an asset.
Won at auction…
Rosie’s gaze drops to the slashes on my arm as I enter the room. She scampers to the nightlights and grabs one, then brings it to me. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” I tell her as shock settles on her features. “My courtship begins in three days.”
Instead of looking as upset as I feel, Rosie’s eyes light up and she covers her mouth, which has tilted into a smile. “Courtship! Oh, my lady! Which family is it?” She immediately waves her question away. “Forget I asked. That was rude of me. I’m just so terribly excited for you after you’ve turned down so many suitors and?—”
“It’s Earl Rinhold,” I say, interrupting her.
I know that Rosie thinks marrying an Earl is the epitome of a Lady’s existence, but it’s really not.