A Royal Apology

POV: Astrid

"I’m not thrilled to see you again either," the thin, tall vampire says dryly, his glowing green eyes flicking from my face down to my side.

Panic spikes in my chest, sharp and agonizing. My grip tightens on the carved wood of the recurve bow. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. In a split-second decision driven by pure adrenaline, I shift my weight, swinging my arm back to toss the illegal wooden bow behind the door frame. It lands with a muted thud on the floorboards, sliding just out of sight. I am almost certain he saw the movement. There is no way a vampire's enhanced vision missed the blatant weapon in my hand. In this wretched town, holding a hunting weapon means a public flogging or a swift execution at the hands of the royal guards. I brace myself for the violence, waiting for him to grab me by the throat and drag me to the town square.

Surprisingly, he doesn't seem to care or comment on it. He stands on the sagging porch, projecting an air of immense boredom that contradicts every terrifying rumor I’ve ever heard about his predatory kind.

"Astrid, invite our guest in," my mother says from behind me. Her voice is clipped, trembling through a terrified, fake smile. A harsh, wet cough rattles her chest, breaking her fragile facade for a second before she forces the smile back into place. She grips the arms of her rocking chair, her knuckles turning white.

I shoot a pointed, urgent look over my shoulder at my younger siblings. Taran and Fiona freeze in the dim hallway, their eyes wide with fear as they stare at the towering monster standing in our doorway. I widen my eyes, silently sending them scurrying into my parents’ room to hide. Only when their bedroom door clicks shut do I look back at the vampire.

Before I can officially invite our dangerous visitor inside to fulfill the ancient laws of hospitality, he steps over the threshold anyway. The cold wind howls through the open door, swirling dead leaves across the floor, but he doesn't even flinch. Behind him steps a smaller, quieter guard wearing a dark, tailored uniform. The guard carries a massive, woven basket in his arms.

My breath catches in my throat. The container is practically overflowing with thick cuts of cured meat, heavy wheels of pale cheese, and glorious, freshly baked bread. The rich, intoxicating aroma hits my lungs instantly. It smells like salvation. It smells like a life we used to live before the vampires took over our lands. My mouth begins to water uncontrollably, and a sharp, painful hunger pang twists my empty stomach. I have to clench my jaw tight to keep from drooling in front of the enemy.

"His Majesty sent this over to make up for the bread you dropped in the mud," the tall vampire announces. He sounds like a man reciting a dull script he despises, his tone dripping with profound exhaustion.

My mother gasps for air in pure shock. She grips the armrests of her chair to keep from collapsing, staring at the impossible feast with tears welling in her exhausted eyes. Leaving her to hyperventilate over the delivery, the tall vampire turns swiftly on his heel and heads for the door to leave.

I stare at the basket. The guard sets it down on our battered wooden table, the wood groaning under the sheer weight of the luxury food. While I am intensely thankful for the food—knowing it is enough to keep my starving family alive for weeks—my pride is deeply offended by his phrasing.

*Dropped it.*

I spin around and chase after him, my boots hitting the porch and splashing straight out into the muddy, freezing road.

"I didn’t drop it," I snap to his retreating back, the cold mud soaking through my thin soles. "He knocked it out of my hand, remember?"

He stops in his tracks. The morning mist swirls around his expensive dark coat. He drops his head back in profound exhaustion, letting out a long, dramatic sigh that tells me I am nothing more than a pest to him.

"It doesn’t matter," he says, his voice carrying clearly over the whistling wind. He turns to face me, his expression flat. "Why can’t you just graciously accept His Majesty’s gift and get on with your day?"

I step closer, ignoring the rational voice in my head screaming at me to run back inside the safety of my home. I stare directly into his unsettling, glowing green eyes. The question has been bothering me since he spoke inside my house.

"His Majesty who?" I demand, refusing to back down. "The king isn’t in town. We haven't seen the king in this sector for years."

He snickers darkly, a cruel, grating sound that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. He looks at me as if I’m an utter idiot, his glowing gaze raking over my worn clothes and dirty boots. "Go back into your little hut, eat the fucking food, and stop complaining all the time. I really don’t get you people."

My eyes bulge with indignation. My blood runs hot, burning away the bitter winter chill. *You people.* The sheer, unabashed arrogance radiates off him in waves. We are starving, bleeding, and dying for their comfort, and he stands there acting like our suffering is just an annoyance to his day.

"Us people do an awful lot for you people, you know?" I argue, stepping further into the mud, my fists clenching at my sides.

He waves a hand dismissively, turning to walk away again. I match his pace, moving beside him, refusing to let him have the last word.

"We work in the mines," I tell him, my voice rising over the wind. "We dig in the dark to provide precious metals to make the weapons you use to destroy your enemies. The same weapons you use to keep us in line."

"We don’t need weapons to destroy you," he scoffs viciously. He stops and turns his head. His sharp fangs elongate visibly over his bottom lip, gleaming stark white in the gray overcast light. The monstrous display is a clear, lethal warning meant to put me in my place.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as dust. The primal instinct to fight surges fiercely in my chest. I desperately wish I could shift into my wolf form, to let fur and claws tear into his smug face. But the magic in our blood is dormant, suppressed by generations of starvation and fear.

"That might be true now," I say, keeping my ground even as my heart hammers against my ribs. "But we used to be strong. Now, we’re all starving to death."

He throws his arms out in exasperation, his patience clearly thinning. "Then go get a job!" he shouts. His loud voice echoes off the dilapidated houses lining the muddy street. "You whine and complain about not having enough to eat. Go work on one of the farms or a ranch. Do something! Stop sitting around like a lazy little bitch."

For the second time today, I lose my mind. The insult hits me like a physical blow. The willful ignorance of this privileged bloodsucker shatters whatever restraint I have left.

"We are not lazy!" I scream at him, the sound tearing from my throat. "It’s your restrictions that prevent us from doing those things! Do you not even know your own laws?"

He blinks, his glowing eyes narrowing, but I don't give him a chance to speak. The dam has broken, and I am tired of holding my tongue.

"We want to grow more food!" I continue passionately, gesturing wildly to the barren, frozen fields beyond the town borders. "We want to harvest it, to turn it into things we need to survive, but we’re not allowed to. Your kind made it illegal for shifters to own farmland. We are banned from the ranches. You think we want to live like this?"

He stands there in silence, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his pale features. I press the advantage, letting all the bitterness and suffering pour out of my soul.

"My stepfather works fifteen grueling hours a day in the pitch-black mines," I tell him, my voice shaking with raw emotion. "He breaks his back breathing in toxic dust just to afford three loaves of stale bread a week. Three loaves! Once a week they give him scraps of meat so he doesn't drop dead in the tunnels. That is his reward for keeping your empire rich."

I step closer, pointing an accusing finger at his immaculate coat. "And me? I give more blood at the clinic than any living creature should ever part with. They drain me until I pass out, over and over again, just to get a few extra coins to keep my family alive."

"Why can’t your mother work?" he asks, rolling his eyes, devoid of empathy. He looks at me like I am just making excuses for a pathetic existence.

"Did you not hear her coughing up a lung in there?" I demand, pointing back toward my house. "Half the town is sick! No one can afford medicine. There are no doctors left for us, only the techs at the clinic who want to drain our veins. My mother is dying, my siblings are starving, and you stand here calling us lazy!"

His expression hardens instantly. The brief flash of confusion is gone, replaced by predatory rage. "I’m not going to waste another minute talking to you, filth," he snarls.

His patience snaps. Without warning, he lunges directly at me.

He moves with unnatural, blinding speed. The air displacement whips my hair across my face. I hurriedly back up, scrambling backward in the slick mud to escape his terrifying reach. My boots slide, and sheer panic seizes my throat. I throw my hands up to protect my face, bracing for the tearing of claws and teeth.

Instead, I slam hard into a solid brick wall.

The heavy impact knocks the breath right out of my lungs. Pain flares in my shoulder blades. I gasp, my eyes flying open, realizing that a brick wall definitely shouldn’t be resting in the middle of the street.

The tall vampire stops his lunge inches from my face. He looks at my panicked, scrambling state, his fangs retracting as he laughs cruelly. It is a harsh, mocking sound that grates against my ears. He doesn't bother to strike me. The stark terror he inflicted is enough of a victory for his twisted ego. Still chuckling to himself, he turns his back on me and walks away, his tall figure dissolving into the thick, rolling mist.

I stare after him for a long moment. My chest heaves as I struggle to pull freezing air into my burning lungs. My heart beats a frantic, agonizing rhythm against my ribs.

Then, the physical realization sets in.

The object I crashed into isn't cold like stone. It radiates a strange, unnatural heat against my back. It is firm, unyielding, but covered in smooth fabric, not rough brick. It is a chest.

Slowly, dread pooling deep in my stomach, I turn around.

I encounter yet another vampire standing directly behind me.

But this one is smiling.