Red As Blood

Chapter Eleven

Red as Blood 11

            It wasn’t love. Aryan knew that he couldn’t feel love for a person, especially not a girl so glaringly human. She wasn’t capable of it either. Probably the girl hadn’t yet even thought of anything amorous. After all, her only suitor had been someone akin to a grandfather. She was a beautiful young girl, clueless regarding everything she normally would know and frighteningly knowledgeable about subjects too gory for her age or position.

            He was fascinated by her mind, by her cunning. Especially when her mind was such a contrast to her hapless exterior. Sim thought without emotion. Unlike Morgan, the princess had to try to achieve that kind of coldness. It took her visible effort to separate her emotions from her plan, although she tried to hide it.

            He saw the way she dissected her plans, step by step, tearing emotions away from action in each and every phase. She hid behind a mask of neutrality almost every second of the time that she spent with other people.

            Most of the servants of the castle adored her because of the memories they had of her when she was a child. She no longer interacted with any of them on a personal level. Aryan saw their hurt, but more than that he saw Sim’s own reluctance.

            People close to her got hurt. It might not have been her fault, but it happened nonetheless. Her parents, her nurse, they left lasting impressions on her. She was a bad luck charm. He knew she was smarter than to consciously believe that, but she wouldn’t take the risk.

            That was another thing about her. The girl took absolutely no risks, stepped back the second her own neck was brought within a mile of a chopping block. Humans would think that a negative trait, that Sim was a coward. He had a broader viewpoint. Sim was a survivor. She was aware of the fact and embraced it, did anything possible to prolong her young life.

            Mari served him his breakfast and the usual goblet of blood. He gulped it down at one go and set on the rest of the meal. It was the day they planned to collect Morgan’s blood, and every tendon in his body was humming. An irritating light-headedness, fluttering in his stomach, nothing in his life had ever been so exciting. Or terrifying. Morgan was calculating in her lucid moments, but when incensed she lost all reason.

            “Are you sure you want to do this?” Mari asked. “There must be another solution.”

            “All riskier than this, Mari. Anything to avoid the altar.”

            He smiled wanly at his little joke and set downstairs towards the small parlor where the queen had invited him to tea. Awain for some reason had not yet left the castle. There were the explanations of preparations for leaving and untoward weather, but it was finally becoming clear that Awain was no longer staying in the castle of his own free will.

            Awain was a political prisoner, only he was not yet aware of it. Aryan had to be impressed by Morgan’s idea. The alliance had fallen through, but Awain still had value to her. He imagined she would use the ransom to cover the expenses of the wedding.

            Mari carried the pouch of silver out of the room, careful to maintain as far a distance as possible from Aryan. The silver made him shudder. It was his parents’ favorite form of torture. His mother said it was an instrument of equality, the weapon they handed out to humans wronged by vampires.

            Hara was in the kitchens, pretending to be occupied with a giant kettle. The pouch of silver passed discreetly from one hand to the next, hidden behind Hara’s skirt as she resumed stirring. The batter for the pineapple cakes was almost finished on the other side of the kitchens. Most of the servants didn’t notice her, or else they pretended not to.