Sleeping Beauty (8 page)

“Madam,” the general said, “with all due respect, how dare you question my loyalty? I was serving this kingdom—under both your husband and his father—when you were still human.”

“But now you side with these very humans of Xandra and their
murderous slayers?” She shook a finger in his direction and displayed her most indignant expression. “For shame.” Natasha scanned the rest of the generals and guessed, based on their expressions, that only two of the thirteen sided with her. Not enough.

“Your Highness,” General Adanthas said, “the slayers are merely defending the humans against vampires, citizens of your kingdom, who threaten the long-held peace between our nations by drinking from their necks.”

A few grunts of agreement rose from around the table and anger rose in Natasha's throat, but she choked it back. Acting now, killing Adanthas, would provide only momentary satisfaction. She had her eyes on a longer-term prize.

“Once again, General Adanthas”—she tried to look sad and disappointed—“I find you siding with the Xandrans against your own kind. These vampires merely take a few sips of blood, something we all require to sustain life, and King Stefan's answer is murderous slayers?” She shook her head. “You forget, I grew up in Xandra. I know firsthand the prejudice against vampires. Our citizens will not be safe until we invade and crush—” She stopped herself and drew a deep breath, then said in a calm voice, “Only under our rule will the humans understand vampire nature, and how peacefully we can coexist.”

Three of the generals nodded in approval as she sat. Yes, the humans would be peaceful once she ruled Xandra, because they'd be tamed as blood slaves, farmed for sustenance, or hunted for sport.

But the potential for human bloodshed would be greater if
all
the vampires of Sanguinia were on her side. Persuasion took time.

She'd plucked the wings of sixteen fairies—one for each year they'd delayed her curse—but she now wondered if they'd done her a favor.
With more time, she'd have more vampires behind her before the princess was plunged into darkness, and more willing volunteers to terrorize the child and teach her parents a lesson.

Oh, how Stefan and Catia would pay for what they'd done. As soon as the royal family of Xandra was dead, the Sanguinian armies would march across the border and she'd have what she'd always wanted—the throne of Xandra.

Lucette leaped from the high platform and thrust her stake into the vampire—well, a straw dummy vampire—then, after hitting her mark, she landed on the gymnasium floor and rolled.

“Forget something?” Tristan stared down at her. She'd been training with him five days a week for almost eighteen months now, and he still took her breath away every time she laid eyes on him.

She rose to her feet. “What?” She'd drawn her arm back fully to maximize her forward thrust. She'd hit the vamp's heart. She'd rolled through her landing. She'd done everything he'd taught her.

He grabbed her in a tight hold from behind and pressed his teeth to her neck. Every nerve in her body tingled. Trapped in Tristan's arms, her knees grew weak. Not minding that he'd demonstrated the potential implications of her mistake, she stretched her neck and sighed.

He dropped her and she fell a few feet before he grabbed her arm to let her hit the floor softly. “You left your stake in the dummy. What if there'd been a second attacker?” His scolding voice reminded her that he was her coach, not her boyfriend. Of course, in her nightly dreams, things were different.

Cheeks burning, she sprang to her feet. “But I hit the right spot, didn't I? Straight through the heart?”

He nodded, and what looked like pride flashed on his face. Just six months from her fifteenth birthday, she still hadn't gathered the courage to tell Tristan how she felt. She ran her fingers through the loose, dark curls that had regrown since she'd chopped them off, and wondered if he thought she was pretty.

“You did hit the right spot,” Tristan said. “And hard enough, too. But think about it, Lucy. What did you do wrong?” He backed up a few feet, and she moved forward, not wanting to lose the sensations she felt when he was close.

Thinking about Tristan more than his lessons, a tiny thrill raced through her. Then, remembering some of Miss Eleanor's silly flirting lessons, she traced her finger through one of her curls, tipped her head to the side, and cast her eyes slightly down. She might have purposefully failed her flirting exam in protest, but it didn't mean she hadn't been paying attention in class.

Looking uncomfortable, Tristan stepped back again and said, “Your hair.”

He'd noticed. She took another step toward him. “What about my hair?” Would he compliment its sheen? Its soft texture? Its springy curls?

Surely, what she was feeling couldn't be one-sided. The boys her father forced her to meet every week had started looking at her differently the past few months. She was getting prettier, more feminine—finally. Surely Tristan's taste in girls couldn't be all that different from that of all those other boys who seemed to like what they saw. Tristan liked her. He must. After all, he had just been hugging her and pressing his lips into her neck.

He looked at her intently, but then quickly averted his gaze. “You should cut it again.” His voice was gruff. “Or at least tie it back. Now that your hair's grown past your chin, it's becoming a liability.” He lunged forward, grabbed a handful of her hair, and pulled back. Not so hard that it hurt, but hard enough that she had to bend. “Don't give the vampires anything to grab on to. You need to get them before they get you.”

He let go of her hair and she staggered back. Her cheeks burned, and her breaths quickened as if she'd run laps, but she refused to take this as a rejection. Maybe he'd just used the insult as an excuse to touch her hair? To get close to her again? She would not give up. She smiled softly and touched her hair the way she'd learned to in class, marveling at how natural the gesture felt in front of Tristan. She wondered if this proved she was in love.

“Would you like my hair better if I cut it really short, like yours?” Her voice came out lower and more breathy than normal.

“If it keeps you safer against a vamp, sure.”

A rush of happiness flowed through her. He wanted to protect her. How sweet. She stepped forward slowly, wondering what the skin on his chest would feel like under her palm.

Without thinking, she reached forward and pressed her hand against his chest muscles just below his shoulder.

He yanked back. “What are you doing?”

She felt embarrassed, yet bold. This was her time. This was her chance. If she proved her love, she'd save everyone. “Tristan.” Even her voice was not her own. “Are you going to the ball?”

Tristan took a step back and looked at her quizzically. “Sure. Probably.”

She sucked in a ragged breath, closed her eyes, and blurted out, “Will you take me?” Her throat closed.

“Take
you
?” He stared at her, almost as if he didn't understand her question.

“Yes.” She bit her lip and gathered her courage.

“You're not graduating,” he said.

Her heart thumped, and her mouth went dry. “I thought I could go with you, as—as your date.”

He staggered back a few steps, his eyes opening wide. Then a smile flashed on his face, flooding her chest with a second of hope before she recognized the type of smile—a patronizing smile. The kind of smile her father used when he treated her like a child.

“Lucy,” Tristan said as he lifted a hand toward her, then dropped it and put it behind his back.“I'm seventeen, almost eighteen.”

“So?” She stepped forward, suddenly more sure of herself. Her father was nearly fifteen years older than her mother. The three years that separated her from Tristan were nothing.

He frowned. “You're fourteen.”

“I'm almost fifteen,” she boasted. “And who cares? True love is all I care about, and you're the first boy I've ever—” She stopped herself, not knowing how to complete her sentence, not knowing how to describe the emotions bubbling inside her. And she hated the idea that he might not feel the same way.

“Lucy”—Tristan's patronizing smile turned to something more like pity—“I don't even live in Xandra. I came here from Judra to train, in case the vampires attack our kingdom, too.”

“I know, but you could stay here.” Her voice sounded thin and tiny, but she had to make him understand. She wished she could tell him
who she really was, and how he could help lift her curse—maybe even prevent it—but she couldn't. She closed her eyes and said, “If I don't find true love, I'll die.”

“You'll die?” He took a deep breath and the pity came back to his expression. “Isn't that a tad dramatic, Lucy? Everyone wants to find true love, but not finding it isn't going to kill you.”

She felt on the verge of telling him everything—about the curse, about finding true love—everything. He was hiding his feelings, denying them, and if only he knew the truth . . .

“Will you take me to the dance or not?” she blurted.

“Lucy, you're just a kid.” He shook his head, clearly trying not to laugh.

Her chest caved, and she fought to draw air. “I am not a kid! I'm almost fifteen! I've been going on dates since I was thirteen. I am
not
a kid!” Her words came out in short, loud bursts and she fought tears. She would not cry.

He reached forward as if he was going to touch her, but he didn't. “Lucy, I only wanted to help you train, because I knew how frustrated you were and could see you had talent and potential. I didn't mean—” He shook his head and backed away. “I'm really sorry.” His cheeks grew red, and he turned and walked away.

As soon as Tristan left the gymnasium, Lucette ran into the far corner and curled up into a tight ball, trying to crush the pain inside her. Even being left alone in the darkness to fight vampires would be easier than this.

The next year, three days before her sixteenth birthday, Lucette tied her hair back, wrapping it in a tight bun. She might not have earned a place among the boys who were graduating today to become real slayers, but she'd accomplished what she came to the academy to do. With Tristan's help, she'd learned to fight and to defend herself.

And now she felt somewhat prepared, should the worst happen. After Tristan left, it had been difficult to convince any of the other boys to challenge her—especially after her body developed—but following Tristan's example, a few had trained with her after classes. She'd continued to improve and now was as good and strong as at least half of the boys graduating today. But most didn't know it.

She looked into the mirror at her body, dressed in the clingy black uniform worn by the female students at the academy. Her breasts had taken their time getting here, but now that they had arrived, they filled out the low-cut uniform well. She still felt embarrassed, but at least this would be the last time she had to wear the hideous outfit. She had no intention of actually serving as part of the slayer army, and had stayed in school only for the easy access to the weapons and gymnasium. It had been nearly three years, and her father hadn't found out. At least after today, she and her mother could stop lying to him about “charm school.”

Twisting to the side, she studied herself. Her body was still long and lean, and she was still taller and broader in the shoulders than any of the other girls. Now that she'd developed breasts and a waist, however, she kind of wanted her old body back. What was the point of looking like a girl, if Tristan—the only boy she had ever liked—was so far away in Judra?

Setting her graduation cap on her head, Lucette moved from the
mirror to join the rest of the girls in her class, all of whom seemed very proud of their uniforms and wore enough makeup to put Miss Eleanor to shame.