House of Kings (House of Royals Book 3)

  THERE’S A GIANT LAKE SPREAD before us. It must be miles wide and half a mile across. The stars and crescent moon reflect brightly off the perfectly still water. Lights of houses and buildings dot the horizon beyond the lake. I think that’s what they are. It’s difficult to make out the details from this distance.

  The valley is completely surrounded by mountains. And it’s obvious: the only road into or out of Roter Himmel is this one we are on.

  We descend into the valley and the scent of pine and rain grows thick. Nightfall here is grand, like anything in the world could happen. This is a town of secrets and magic. Of blood and curses.

  The road nearly levels out and then curves around the edge of the lake, hugging the base of the mountain. It’s narrow, only two lanes. No highways here.

  “How many people live here?” I ask in wonder as I take it all in.

  “There are four hundred thirty-something Court members in Roter Himmel,” the woman says. “And roughly five hundred humans. They feed us, take care of the farming and animals. And they’re paid greatly. The King takes care of everyone in the valley.”

  “It’s amazing,” I say as I shake my head. “An entire town, centered around the vampires, and no one knows about it.”

  “It’s not been an easy thing, keeping it hidden,” she says as she raises an eyebrow. “Plenty of blood has been spilt in keeping our secret.”

  I can only imagine.

  We continue the drive around the lake, which takes fifteen minutes. We crest around the west edge, and houses begin to crop up from the ground. They’re old. Most of them stone. The coloring is weathered, as if they have been here for centuries.

  Farms stretch out around the houses. I see barns off in the distance, housing sheep, cows, even yaks.

  The further we drive, the closer together the houses become. Some newer structures crop up, here and there. Small shops indicate this is indeed the main road. There’s a small commerce that exists here.

  And then, the houses drop away. Fields of grass take over, but only for a few minutes.

  And suddenly, there’s the palace.

  It rises up, the road’s elevation climbing quickly. The side of the mountain holds it close, promising an impossible to take location. A stone wall surrounds it, difficult to follow as the trees swallow it over and over again. Great spiraling towers are scattered on the corners. Tall poles rise above them with flags that wave in the night.

  Black with a red crown in the center.

  I thought the Conrath Plantation was old. That it had history.

  But it is an infant, barely taken its first breath, compared to Cyrus’ castle.

  “Wow,” the word leaks out from Trinity.

  Flames in giant bowls line the road leading up to the castle. Abruptly, we come to a bridge, and off to the west, I see a waterfall cascading from the mountain. It runs down a seam in the mountain side before rushing beneath the bridge. Light and flames dance around the castle walls, and through the dark, I see black, hooded figures walking the walls, each holding crossbows, rifles—an assortment of deadly weapons.

  Before us, a giant set of gates swing open, allowing the first of the limousines through and into the courtyard.

  Our car rolls through, and once again I am struck with wonder.

  The mountain hides the true size of the castle. The courtyard alone feels as big as the Conrath property. Cobblestones line the entire area, branching off into two roads, one headed north east, the other north west. And in the center is a giant garden area. Grass just showing signs of life. A fountain at its center. Bushes, and the beginnings of flowers.

  Towers rise from the ground, stair stepping up and up, the castle climbing the mountain.

  But I only get a few seconds to take it all in before the cars branch off onto the north west road, and we disappear into a tunnel. Narrow walls hug around us, and I am instantly more claustrophobic. The walls are only inches away from the sides of the vehicle. We wind and wind, up and up, climbing up into the belly of the beast.

  Suddenly, we break into a huge cavernous space. The ceiling must be twelve feet tall, and it alone must cover an acre of space. Great, stone pillars support the ceiling here and there, gigantic things that must be twenty feet around.

  The space is filled with all kinds of vehicles. Fast sports cars, barely an inch off the ground. Huge SUVs and trucks. There must be over fifty vehicles.

  “Let’s go,” the woman says, nodding her chin for the door. We climb out and she instantly stops me. “Just to be safe.”

  She binds my hands, and Trinity’s, with some kind of flowing silver cord. I want to test it, surely I could break it with my strength. But that wouldn’t look good when I am the prisoner.

  “Welcome to Roter Himmel,” Cyrus says as he climbs from the vehicle, spreading his arms wide. “I hope you find your visit here…pleasant.”

  The smile on his face says it will be anything but.

  Movement catches my eye, and I look to find Raheem climbing from one of the vehicles. “I can take the prisoners from here,” he says as he crosses to us, his eyes fixed on me.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Cyrus counters, closing in on us. “It has become quite apparent things have been happening and I can’t go having you aid in an escape plan.”

  “I would never,” Raheem challenges as he looks down his nose at Cyrus.

  “Do not test me, young pup,” Cyrus growls.

  “Stop,” I say, directing it at Raheem. “It’s okay. We will do as the King says.”

  He turns to look at me, and the look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t like this. There’s a fear there that drops a piece of ice in my own heart.

  “Wonderful,” Cyrus says, clasping his hands together. “Now that we’ve got that squared away, let’s retire to the castle for dinner, shall we?”

  He turns without another word and the entire group makes their way to the far wall. Raheem walks just to my side, the woman following closely behind Trinity and me.

  A man presses a button on the wall and I realize the giant set of ornate doors are the opening to an elevator. It dings a few moments later, and the doors slide open to reveal a giant lift.

  Marble floors, mirror walls. A chandelier hangs above our heads. The space is large enough to accommodate all eleven of us. Up we rise. Up and up and up, and it feels that surely we’ve risen to the top of the mountain before the doors slide open with a ding.

  The doors let us out into a great hall. Huge ceilings rise above us, twenty feet high, at least. Stone walls rise and rise, wooden beams stretching overhead in every direction. Flames glow from the walls here and there, casting the passageway in shadows that dance and flicker like ghosts.

  Beautiful rugs chase around the stone floor. Tapestries hang along the walls. Paintings are scattered about. The space is littered with iron and gold.

  It’s beautiful, ancient, and grand. But there are no rivers of blood seeping into the stone floor as I imagined. No skeletons hidden in corners. No rats and wild dogs as pets of princes and princesses.

  It’s a historical castle.

  Down the hall we walk and finally, we take a turn into a massive room.

  A gigantic table dominates the space and sitting atop it, is a spectacular feast. Servants usher us inside, and one by one, we are seated. And as the chaos of the seating takes place, I notice others joining the table. Soon there are a dozen other Royals seated. There is no speech made, no grand words. They simply dig in.

  These people are familiar with one another. They’ve dined together for centuries. They do not need introduction. They don’t need to hear big words spoken. They are comfortable around one another.

  “You should eat as much as you can,” Raheem says as he leans in towards me. He begins dishing food onto my plate, which is difficult to do myself, with my hands still bound together in front of me. “It may be some time before you are given the opportunity again.”

  My eyes widen as I meet his gaze. And I am beginning to see w
hat may be coming.

  “Eat,” he quietly commands again.

  And so, I do. But everything sits in the bottom of my stomach like a wet lump of coal. The food, though I’m sure spectacular, is tasteless to me.

  Whispers here and there ask who I am. Simple explanations of a Conrath Royal are given.

  How soon until Cyrus tells them all what he thinks I have done?

  Anticipation creeps up my veins. Through my toes. Up my calves. Through my back muscles. Over my shoulders. Twisting around my arms, and down to the very tips of my fingers.

  Like a ticking bomb that’s about to explode right beneath me.

  Cyrus bursts into laughter, along with a few others, and I jump. Hard. But not a head turns in my direction. Raheem grabs my hand, holding it firmly.

  “Why did you come with me?” I suddenly ask Trinity, because I have to change the subject. Right this very moment.

  She licks some kind of sauce from her fingers. And I feel all of her defenses rising, scared. Unsure. “Because I have a debt to you to repay.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

  She glances over at me, her eyes open, timid. She grabs another chicken leg, holding it poised, ready to bite into. “Because when you opened your eyes and saw me and the Sheriff sitting in front of you, you should have assumed it was me who betrayed you. I helped Jasmine do terrible things to you. You had to know you didn’t have my loyalty and that out of the two of us, I was the most likely to have betrayed you. I thought for sure I was dead.”

  She blinks, letting her eyes drop away. She bites her lower lip and shakes her head. “But you didn’t. You didn’t kill me. And you didn’t believe that it was me. I don’t get you. Not even a little bit. But I intend to pay that back.”

  She takes a bite out of her chicken, not looking at me, and the message is clear: she’s done talking about this. I study her for a few moments, trying to understand her, as well.

  She’s acted like she hated me from the first moment she laid eyes on me. I’ve been met with nothing but disdain and disinterest from the beginning. But when it came down to the wire, when it was time to see who really remained loyal and who would doubt me at the first obstacle in my reign, here is the last person I ever expected at my side.

  “Thank you,” I finally say, far too late to flow smoothly as a conversation.

  But she simply nods her head.

  A sharp slap and ringing sound suddenly makes everyone at the table jump harshly.

  I squint my eyes back open to see the cause. And find Cyrus has smacked one of the snake branding irons down on the middle of the table. The rounded end has embedded deep into the wood, permanently damaging the beautiful, enormous table.

  “Onto the reason our new guests are here,” he says, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine from beneath his dark lashes. The wicked smile grows on his lips.

  “There has been a bit of an insurrection growing in the United States for some months now,” he says as he stands. And slowly, he begins walking around the table, his fingertips pressed together. “See, leadership was just being restored there, so we did not hear about it here in Roter Himmel. And I am deeply saddened to hear that this betrayal has come from one of our very own Royals.”

  I expect a deep gasp from everyone around the table. But their expressions only grow grimmer. These Court members around the table are after all centuries, if not thousands of years old. Surely, this isn’t the first plot of treason they’ve been witness to.

  “I am afraid I have brought the dear Alivia Ryan Conrath here to stand trial,” Cyrus says, looking over his shoulder at me. “And the evidence is quite damning.”

  A set of hands suddenly grabs me from behind, pulling me back. My chair tips backwards, my boot kicking the table as I tumble back. A surprised scream rips from my throat and we’re moving so quickly. In just a moment, the table, with Raheem and Trinity, my only allies in a very dangerous place, are disappearing down the hall.

  I see as Raheem jumps to his feet, but before he can make a move for me, three other vampires have jumped on him, pinning his face to the ground, his arms wrenched behind him.

  “Just do as they say!” he yells to me, his voice frantic, his eyes wide and terrified.

  “Don’t fight them!” I scream back, so very afraid they will hurt him for his willingness to jump to my aid. “Please! Not for me!”

  My captors turn down a hall, and my view of Raheem is suddenly cut.

  DOWN A SET OF STAIRS. Past so many rooms. Around a turn. Down again. Turn. Cut. Straight. Turn. Down. Down.

  There’s no possible way I could ever find my way back. No way I could find my way out should I escape.

  But I can feel it in my gut. In that instinctual third eye we all have—I will not escape. That will be made sure of.

  The air grows colder as we descend into the belly of the castle and mountain. Moisture coats the walls, hangs in the air like a disease, waiting to leach into my lungs and poison me from the inside out.

  Further still, we travel down. Not a ray of light could ever penetrate down this far.

  Finally, we tumble out into a narrow passageway. Torches line the walls, licking so close to us, I’m sure my hair will catch fire. Doorways open here and there, most of them shut and locked secure.

  I realize: this is a prison.

  Steel walls a foot thick separate the cells, and secure, steel doors slide closed. We go down past five cells before I am roughly thrown into an open door. I fly through the air before crashing into a stone wall.

  The sound of metal on stone screeches through the air as the door is slid closed and the lock secured. There is the sound of footsteps retreating, and then it’s quiet save for the faint sounds of breathing from random cells.

  I right myself as fear leaks into my brain. I look around me, and there isn’t much to see. Stone floor, three steel walls, one stone one that I’m guessing is an outside one. A board is attached to one wall, held up with cinder blocks. It’s a bed, but there’s no padding, no pillow, no blanket. Not that we sleep much.

  In the steel door, there is a small sliding window. I hope that’s where they deliver food and—since I’m a vampire now—blood.

  But as I notice the very dim, very faint glow that begins to spread from the ceiling, I look up.

  A small cylinder rises up in the ceiling. The reflective quality to the inside of it confuses me at first. But then I realize it’s covered in mirrors.

  And the top of it opens out into the pre-dawn sky.

  Second by second, the dim glow begins to intensify. And the realization hits me: we are just minutes away from dawn. That tube lets out into the outside. And those mirrors are there to reflect the brightness of the sun back into my cell.

  “No,” I breathe in a whimper. “No.” I shake my head, backing away from it, toward the door. In just a few minutes, I’m going to be in agony, my fully dilated eyes unable to handle the blinding sunlight that is about to arrive.

  I turn and smack my palms against the door. “You can’t do this!” I scream. “This is torture! You can’t! I didn’t do anything! It wasn’t me!”

  “Pipe down!” someone yells from another cell with a thick Hispanic accent. “Screaming won’t do you any good.”

  Another yells at me in what must be German.

  “Liv?”

  It’s little more than a whisper. Quiet. Unsure. Hopeful. Coming from the cell right next to me. “Liv? Is that…is that you?”

  And my heart explodes into a million pieces. “Ian?” I gasp.

  I place my hands on the wall that connects the two cells, leaning in close as if I can will myself to melt right through the steel.

  “Liv!” he says loudly. “What…what are you doing here?”

  Tears instantly spill down my face, rolling down my cheeks in fat beads. Just the sound of his voice instantly brings every feeling and every emotion rushing back. “I’m going to be put on trial. The Court, they think I did something awful.
”

  I hear movement on the other side, and I can just imagine it: Ian placing his hands on the steel, mirroring my position. His forehead touching the wall. “This has something to do with the Bitten attacks, doesn’t it?”

  I nod, even though he can’t see it. He’s so engrained in this world. He understands so much. That it only takes him moments to figure everything out. “Yes,” I whisper.

  He lets out a breath, slow. Low. And he doesn’t have any words of comfort for me.

  “Ian, why are you here?” I ask, so afraid of the answer.

  “I think you know why,” he says quietly. He taps his forehead against the wall. Not gently. “Lovers quarrels are never quiet, and that’s what the King saw this as.”

  Tears rush down my face all the faster. I take a hard sniff, trying to reign in my emotions and utterly failing. “They told me you left me. Just walked away. That you’d taken Elle and Lula and left for forever.”

  “How long has it been?” Ian asks, his voice low and intimate. “It’s easy to lose track of the days in here.”

  “A month,” I respond as I let my hands slide down the smooth surface.

  “A month,” he says. I hear the grief, the sadness. The anguish he’s been through in that month. “That’s how long I’ve been here.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing more tears out. I wipe at them, taking a deep, calming breath. “I’m going to get you out of here, Ian. It’s my fault you’re in here. I promise. I’ll get you out.”

  And that heightened sense, the one that is always aware of exactly where the sun is, the one that warns of pain to come, goes crazy in me. The glow in the mirrors intensifies and I can’t seem to help it as I look.

  My eyes sear in pain. Like a hot poker jabbed into my eyeball, continuing on through as it sinks into my brain. A scream rips through my throat as I drop to the floor. And I’m not the only one. Five others bellow and scream in pain. Hands smack the walls, feet kick at the doors. We are a pack of caged wolves who rage and fight to free ourselves from a death trap.