I clear my throat and direct Drake away from my bloodbag. “Drake, please put the work down for an evening. It’ll be there when you get back.”
“... the speed at which the heart rate increased is greater than that of…”
“Drake, my friend.” I take his shoulders to gently ease him out of his obsessive trance. “You’re doing that mumbling thing again.”
He looks at me without reallylookingat me. “... concluding that there was no emotion.”
“The bloodbag corner is freshly stocked. A new rotation will be provided each hour. Engorge yourself for once.”
He nods. “Then, if you count the slowed years, the sped-up healing process, the transference between kingdoms, the change in diet, which puts…”
With such extensive hearing range, I’m listening to his madman rant while he wanders through the thick crowd. Amber stands in the midst of a rather invasive inspection with two visiting royals standing so close to her that it forces me to growl.
I dash to her side. “Tertius, Octavius—just what do you think you’redoing?”
The twins stand simultaneously, pale lips moving in tandem, “The stitches are perfect!”
Amber blushes and bows her head, closing her eyes as a silent form of gratitude. Two of my fingers to her chin has her speaking. The rushedthanksare met by equally baffled stares from the twins.
“Amber, may I present to you the twins from our sibling kingdom in New York, Noctis.”
“Noctis,” she repeats in a muffled voice. She folds her hands together and states rigidly, “Lovely to meet you both.”
“So... untrained,” Tertius whispers to Octavius who responds with lightning speed to his twin, “But well-groomed.”
“My bloodbag isn’t a purebred Pomeranian at a show, dear cousins,” I snap, to which they stand at attention. “Where’s Lolita?”
“Having a fashion emergency in the powder room,” they respond while pointing to the doors.
Amber perks up. “What kind of emergency?”
We’re off before I can convince any of them that fashion isneveran emergency but an art form waiting to be transformed.
I discover my cousin crying rivers of mascara as she claws lightly at her torn blouse. “Youridiotuncle decided he didn’t like the color pink anymore.”
My throat clicks open, releasing a thousand years of frustration in one staged sigh. “Which uncle?”
“Vernox.”
“Was he even invited?”
Lolita shrugs, plucks a compact from her lavish salmon pink bag, and starts patting her face. Spelled makeup dissolves the tears and reduces the redness of her cheeks. “I look like that bitch Brenda from that ball your father threw back in the `70s. Remember her? All those tears in her dress. She called itpunk.”
Amber chortles beside me. The twins spare her a warning glare. She coughs, to my relief, and covers her little slip. Otherwise, Lolita would have had her up the wall.
My bloodbag excuses herself for a moment. When she returns, she holds an armful of extra fabric, a miniature sewing machine, and a few tiny bottles of booze. She offers Lolita the bottles. “My apologies, ma’am. I wasn’t sure what to tell Drake when I told him I needed help getting these items.”
Lolita snatches the bottles. “Doesn’t matter. It’s all alcohol.” She taps her blouse. “Do whatever you can. I know it’s a lost cause.”
Amber looks amused for once. As she passes me, she whispers, “You owe Drake a book.”
“Is that really how you got him to do your bidding?”
I should be furious. I should be raging like the royal I am. Yet I can’t bring myself to chide her for her delightful intelligence. She could have run up the stairs herself, but she knew keeping Lolita waiting would only worsen the situation. She managed to barter with a vampire she hardly knew.
Brilliant and rude all the same. I would have to talk to her about it later.
But first—