Chapter 9: Am I Not the Prince?

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Prince Leonidas

Sound, touch, smell, taste, and sight rouse as I stir into consciousness while Alec scurries around my bedroom lighting the candles on my dresser, nightstands, and desk.

I lie with my back to the bed shirtless with silk sheets bunching up at the waist of my trousers. With a low groan, my fingers tug at the corners of my eyes before dragging down my cheeks.

Hunger claws the walls of my stomach while my fangs and gums ache to embed warm flesh.

Alec doesn't speak as I rise, placing my bare feet on the cold, stone floor. He knows I'm not typically social before breakfast. In fact, I can be quite petulant. So, grabbing a cotton shirt off the nightstand, I pull it over my head and follow the lingering scent of a human.

The halls along the northeast of the castle are long and void of windows or even the light of candles this early in the night. In a room, three doors down from my own, the Keeper waits with a warden and female prisoner whose blood carries a pungent, yet aromatic scent like a field of flowers; Cadaekin.

"Your Grace, I have brought you a--" his voice booms, but the young woman's heart pounding is enough to drown him out. The small office-like room is dark, but I see she sits on a wood chair in the center wearing a loose blue gown and pair of long, dingy white socks.

They've got her hands in leather cuffs, brown hair cut just under her ears to expose the cream colored skin of her neck. Once I catch a glimpse of her pulsing artery, the skin under my eyes tickles as it withers.

"Get out."

"Prince Leonidas, the Queen insisted that we stay with the prisoner in case-"

"Keeper, this is the second time you have decided to challenge my authority this week."

Nodding, he ushers the warden ahead murmuring, "As you wish."

The door seals with a low thud, and the woman who appears about my age releases a soft sob. Frightening a prisoner only makes them scream and fight which brings guilt as the defensive response entices my aggression and their pain.

"Tell me your name."

She squirms in her chair, making the legs scrape against the floor.

"Ophelia," her voice is soft and frail, as she trembles. I move like a blur to her chair, holding it down by the back to prevent it from wobbling. She cringes and leans forward in her seat trying to tuck herself into a ball.

Our prisoners aren't usually so timid.

"When were you brought here?"

"Yesterday."

That must be what the Keeper was rambling on about when I wasn't paying attention.

I strike flint against kindling to light a candle on the desk to help her see. Then, I return before her, squatting and using a small key the warden left behind to release her cuffs. As I slip them from her bruised wrists, I feel her wide eyes ogling my appearance. Perhaps trying to catch a glimpse of my fangs since this will be the first time she experiences a bite.

The cuffs clatter to the floor as I glance up meeting her green orbs, and a crimson tint surfaces upon her pudgy cheeks. A deep, growl-like sound, rumbles from the depths of my chest, and she averts her eyes to the floor.

"You don't need to be afraid," is the closest thing to an apology I offer for the carnivorous sound I lack the ability to suppress. "I have no intention of killing you."

Her heart rate slows marginally and hesitant eyes return to my own.

"But, y-you're a vampire Prince," she stammers. "They say your thirst can't be quenched. They say you can't control yourself. That you kill those you feed from."

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