their ladies.
At length, after what felt like an interminable trek across the span of the throne room, he arrived before Lady Ilona and Sonja. Only with effort did he refrain from gawking at the princess, who now stood mere feet away from him. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed respectfully on the floor.
The lady looked down on him from the dais. “Lucian, sworn vassal of my own noble husband, Viktor, your brethren have testified to your quick thinking and resourcefulness during the recent strife. Therefore, in grateful appreciation of your valor, I am pleased to present you with a small token of our esteem.”
She extended her open palm to Sonja, who dutifully placed a shining object in her mothers hand.
Lady Ilona stepped forward and held out the token, which Lucian saw to be a burnished steel dagger with a polished ebony hilt whose pommel had been carved into the semblance of a wolfs head.
“To replace the blade you sacrificed in our defense,” the lady explained, although the finely crafted knife was infinitely superior to the simple iron blade he had hurled unsuccessfully at Brother Ambrose. Lucian had never possessed an object so exquisite, nor had any other lycan he had ever known.
“Many thanks, milady,” he said, reaching up to accept the dagger. “I am greatly honored.”
“Indeed you are,” Lady Ilona agreed readily, “but not without reason. Your conduct during the battle was remarkable, especially for a lycan. Would that the rest of your breed were half as trustworthy and intelligent.”
Lucian bristled slightly at the lady’s condescending tone, yet he held his tongue. After all, he was already being accorded greater respect than any lycan had reason to expect.
“Your kind words overwhelm me, milady. I only wish that I had succeeded in slaying the black-robed monk I believe to have incited the mortals.” Having the lady’s ear, if only for the moment, he chose to take advantage of the opportunity. “I must warn you, milady, that I fear we have not heard the last of this Brother Ambrose and his murderous designs. In truth, the danger may be far from past.”
A derisive snort came from the front row of the seated vampires. Lucian turned to see Soren rise from his bench to approach the dais. The bearded overseer bore a scornful expression.
“Begging your pardon, Lady Ilona,” Soren said gruffly. “I would not trouble yourself with the baseless worries of a mere lycan. By the sentries’ own admission, the mob that attacked the castle was composed of peasants and shopkeepers, not actual warriors. Hell, they were scared away by a flock of harmless bats! I doubt they have spine enough to mount a second attack after being repelled so easily before.”
Easily? Indignation flared within Lucian’s breast. He had not seen Soren upon the battlements, risking life and limb in the Elders’ names. How dare he dismiss my comrades’ heroism so cavalierly?
Still, he knew better than to challenge a vampire directly, even if Soren had left his silver whips behind on this occasion. “But what of Brother Ambrose?” he asked, taking care to keep his tone suitably deferential. “The monk struck me as a true fanatic, whose zeal will surely compel him to continue his murderous crusade against our kind.”
Soren sneered at the notion. “This Brother Ambrose is probably halfway to Cyprus by now.
Still,” he added with a shrug, “if you desire it, milady, I will post a reward for the monk’s head.”
That will not be enough, Lucian thought. He doubted that the humans would willingly turn over one of their holy men to the hated immortals, regardless of whatever bounty Soren offered. “If I may be so bold, milady, mayhap you should delay embarking for Buda until we can be certain the danger has passed.”
He feared to think of Sonja traveling outside the castle while Brother Ambrose still lived to foment violence against the coven. The image of her lovely form transfixed by a bloody stake haunted his
At length, after what felt like an interminable trek across the span of the throne room, he arrived before Lady Ilona and Sonja. Only with effort did he refrain from gawking at the princess, who now stood mere feet away from him. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed respectfully on the floor.
The lady looked down on him from the dais. “Lucian, sworn vassal of my own noble husband, Viktor, your brethren have testified to your quick thinking and resourcefulness during the recent strife. Therefore, in grateful appreciation of your valor, I am pleased to present you with a small token of our esteem.”
She extended her open palm to Sonja, who dutifully placed a shining object in her mothers hand.
Lady Ilona stepped forward and held out the token, which Lucian saw to be a burnished steel dagger with a polished ebony hilt whose pommel had been carved into the semblance of a wolfs head.
“To replace the blade you sacrificed in our defense,” the lady explained, although the finely crafted knife was infinitely superior to the simple iron blade he had hurled unsuccessfully at Brother Ambrose. Lucian had never possessed an object so exquisite, nor had any other lycan he had ever known.
“Many thanks, milady,” he said, reaching up to accept the dagger. “I am greatly honored.”
“Indeed you are,” Lady Ilona agreed readily, “but not without reason. Your conduct during the battle was remarkable, especially for a lycan. Would that the rest of your breed were half as trustworthy and intelligent.”
Lucian bristled slightly at the lady’s condescending tone, yet he held his tongue. After all, he was already being accorded greater respect than any lycan had reason to expect.
“Your kind words overwhelm me, milady. I only wish that I had succeeded in slaying the black-robed monk I believe to have incited the mortals.” Having the lady’s ear, if only for the moment, he chose to take advantage of the opportunity. “I must warn you, milady, that I fear we have not heard the last of this Brother Ambrose and his murderous designs. In truth, the danger may be far from past.”
A derisive snort came from the front row of the seated vampires. Lucian turned to see Soren rise from his bench to approach the dais. The bearded overseer bore a scornful expression.
“Begging your pardon, Lady Ilona,” Soren said gruffly. “I would not trouble yourself with the baseless worries of a mere lycan. By the sentries’ own admission, the mob that attacked the castle was composed of peasants and shopkeepers, not actual warriors. Hell, they were scared away by a flock of harmless bats! I doubt they have spine enough to mount a second attack after being repelled so easily before.”
Easily? Indignation flared within Lucian’s breast. He had not seen Soren upon the battlements, risking life and limb in the Elders’ names. How dare he dismiss my comrades’ heroism so cavalierly?
Still, he knew better than to challenge a vampire directly, even if Soren had left his silver whips behind on this occasion. “But what of Brother Ambrose?” he asked, taking care to keep his tone suitably deferential. “The monk struck me as a true fanatic, whose zeal will surely compel him to continue his murderous crusade against our kind.”
Soren sneered at the notion. “This Brother Ambrose is probably halfway to Cyprus by now.
Still,” he added with a shrug, “if you desire it, milady, I will post a reward for the monk’s head.”
That will not be enough, Lucian thought. He doubted that the humans would willingly turn over one of their holy men to the hated immortals, regardless of whatever bounty Soren offered. “If I may be so bold, milady, mayhap you should delay embarking for Buda until we can be certain the danger has passed.”
He feared to think of Sonja traveling outside the castle while Brother Ambrose still lived to foment violence against the coven. The image of her lovely form transfixed by a bloody stake haunted his
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