Page 2 of Their Blood Queen
But, just in case, my father had the painting commissioned after selling my mother’s last jewels to pay for it.
I find myself staring up at the monstrosity, mostly because I hadn’t seen it since it was installed, along with the broken mirror shards that make up its border. With all of the perfection of the room, the fractured shards add a refreshing touch.
Within them, a perfect male oversees the drawing room, and his depiction is not the creature one might expect of the Godlike ruler of the Elite City. It seems rude to paint him in his human form, but no one has ever seen his monster one.
Maybe it only exists in dreams.
That thought should give me the chills, but I find it an intriguing distraction from my current state of panic.
His human form is striking, of course. Most monsters are beautiful when they want to be. He has piercing blue eyes that are so light I toy with the idea that they might be mirrors, too. His hair is composed of sleek, midnight locks and he has a sinfully beautiful face made of dreams.
There are different monster classifications, but Cain is the ruler of our city for a reason. There aren’t others like him that I have ever heard of. Most worship him, and those who have disappointed him, well, they don’t live very long to talk about it.
But long enough for the entire city to give his monster side a name.
Cain is a Dream Eater.
Dream Eater, huh? Maybe he can eat me before Earl Rinhold does.
The absurd thought comes out of nowhere, and a nervous laugh bubbles in the back of my throat.
Because, for some reason, the idea of Cain eating me inspires very different images than the Earl.
“Scarlett,” my father says, jolting me from my thoughts.
My father looks nothing like Cain’s portrait. He’s attractive for a man of his age, but he’s growing older. Shadows sink under his eyes, and a new wrinkle has appeared across his forehead. His dark hair is usually styled, but tonight a curl just above his brow has become undone, probably because he’s been sweeping his fingers through it. His prized pocket watch makes a circular outline in his vest, leaving a recently cleaned chain to loop down to a golden button on his tailored ensemble.
“Finished?” he asks, likely referring to the letter, not my gawking at Cain’s portrait.
His tone isn’t unkind, but it holds a warning, probably because I’ve been gripping the letter too hard and it looks like it’s about to tear.
I catch my older brother staring at me from his lounged position behind my father. He looks irritated as he flips a coin over his fingers, but he’s not saying anything.
However, I can read the truth under his mask all the same.
Her pretty little red head probably has no idea what that letter said. It doesn’t matter. The only requirement was that she read it. Hopefully she signs it and we can get on with this nonsense.
I realize that it’s entirely possible my father wouldn’t have allowed me to read the letter had it not been a binding blood contract.
Which meant there was magic involved, requiring me to read it for the agreement to be legal.
Where there’s magic… there are monsters.
My gaze briefly flicks to Cain’s portrait, making me frown.
Did his eyes just blink?
Shaking my head, I give my father a small nod. He reaches over and tugs at the top until I will my fingers to release the parchment. It slides through my grip, leaving a sting when he plucks it from my grasp a little too quickly.
I curl my fingers into fists before any of my blood can get on the blasted letter.
I am not signing that.
I don’t care what they’re offering.
My father might have sold everything in our estate that wasn’t nailed down to bring us this far, but he can’t sell me.
Staring at him, I hope to see some sense. Instead, I see the desperate truth in my father’s dark eyes, which have grown harder over the years. No matter how much I wish he wouldn’t do this, I know he will. I’ve always been able to read others, and my father is no exception.