THE CRIMSON GUARD
“What an effulgent city.”
Sarcasm is more Caz’s thing, but after what feels like hours of ambling through this bloodless wasteland that our history books call Gravenburg, I almost can’t help myself.
Before we left Neveridge, I’d heard the rumors of the deterioration of the realm, of course. That the human population was dwindling at alarming rates, thanks to the overpopulation of ghouls, and that if something wasn’t done soon to replenish them—humans, not ghouls—the noctis race would follow suit. It was a difficult concept to believe for someone who’s spent most of the last decade chugging blood by the goblet-full. Part of me merely assumed those rumors had been started by the humans themselves, meant to scare us into thinking that we should back off and find a new source of food.
I’d neither blame nor disagree with them.
But seeing as I’ve rarely ventured outside Neveridge these past few years, I hadn’t quite fully understood the dire circumstances my people discussed in the banquet halls of the castle. After all, we keep blood on tap where I come from. The most decadent wines, as well. Every hallway of the castle is decorated with humans in chains so that our esteemed guests can snack as they please.
Their dying screams claw at the walls of my mind in every waking moment, as well as the dreaming ones. The wastefulness of killing them just because we can, instead of preserving their life, our source of nourishment, grinds against every nerve in my being.
When I’m king, it’s one of the many changes I’ll enact.
If I’m ever allowed to ascend.
My tongue pricks at the thought of tasting human blood—anything red and fluid, really. I’m not accustomed to skipping meals for so long, so my restraint is like the last cord holding onto a frayed rope.
Beside me, Caz throws his head back laughing. “You poor, overprivileged bastard. Prince Malachi, having to leave the comforts of his plush, goose feather bed to be here with us today, witnessing Gravenburg and all hereffulgence. What a crime against humanity, but perhaps mostly against your fragile ego.”
“Careful, careful.” I flash him a crooked smile. “You mention my fragile ego again and you might do irreparable damage.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want that. Now, would we?”
If he were anyone else, this would be the end of our playful bantering. He would smile and we’d continue our search through the quiet town, our conversation shifting to that of politics and courts.
Caz, however, has never allowed my royal standing to stand in between him and a good time.
Like a lion cub preparing to pounce, Caz crouches low. Something primal awakens within me, and I find myself mimicking his stance, my best pair of leather boots sliding in mud to lower my center of gravity as I contemplate exactly how I’ll incapacitate him.
Two sharp fangs poke through his smile. “Who knew a prince could be so delicate? No wonder the king is disappointed with you so often.”
Anyone else would lose their head for making such a remark, especially on a topic so personal, so tender.
But this isn’t personal. This is just Caz goading me.
I should ignore the bait.
But where’s the fun in that?
“You son of a—”
I lunge, but before I reach him, Caz is thrown across the alleyway by a blurred curtain of red. His back slams against the bricks, knocking a few of them loose. The woman standing before him, clutching his throat between long nails like fangs, kicks the debris aside with her crimson, satin heel.
“Honestly, you two. Do you ever think about anything other than messing around?”
Renee Vanderbilt, Caz’s older sister, tosses waves of hair as thick and silken as orange marmalade over her shoulder and scowls at me. But even in her most infuriated states, hardly a wrinkle ever presses into her flawless, near-immortal flesh.
“I’d expect better from you, my prince.”
Caz wriggles out of her grasp, brandishing a boyish grin as he reties the dark hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah,my prince.”
“Oh, shut up.” Renee’s fist cracks his shoulder.
He hunches over, cradling the poor thing, though I suspect it’s all an act.
When Renee returns her expectant gaze on me, I bow as deep as I can. The garnet amulet around my neck dangles past my cheeks, and I wonder which one is a brighter hue of red right now. Chastisement, no matter how warranted or not, always has this effect on me. It must be the way I was raised.
