Another curse.
“It looks like a mirror curse,” Jacks said.
Evangeline tried not to panic again, but her nerves were fraying at the edges. If she were a book, she would have felt as if her pages were slowly being torn free of the spine. She was bruised, she was bleeding, her husband was cursed, now she seemed to be cursed. And Jacks was still holding her hand.
She pulled free of Jacks’s icy grip, but she didn’t feel any better. If anything, a fresh chill coated her skin.
Jacks spoke, his voice eerily calm and deliberate. “As long as this mirror curse is in play, Apollo will share any injuries you receive, and you’ll share any injuries he receives. But it’s his death you need to worry about. If he dies, you die.” Jacks’s eyes cut back to the handkerchief he’d wrapped around her hand. For a second, he looked entirely inhuman. The calm fled his expression, turning his face vengeful and unholy.
Another day and it might have pleased Evangeline to see the Prince of Hearts so affected. But she wasn’t sure she really believed his reaction. Not after he’d just warned her that she had one night left to make a deal with him or else.
“Did you do this?” she asked.
Jacks glared at her.
“Don’t pretend you’d never hurt me in order to manipulate me. You just said that if I didn’t agree to open your Valory Arch, I’d really start to hate you.”
“I hurt everyone, Little Fox. But you have to be alive to hate me.” His eyes iced over. “I do not want you dead, and I’ll kill anyone who tries.”
He stalked from the room.
The guards at the foot of the stairs unfroze, instantly released from the Prince of Hearts’ control. A rush of words and movement followed as both took in the altered scene.
“What’s going on—is that—blood?”
The soldiers rapidly converged on Evangeline, restored to their wits and duties just in time to block her from rushing up the stairs after Jacks to demand more answers.
She held up her hand, showing both guards her bandaged wound as she quickly came up with a lie. “I was attempting something new to wake Apollo, but it didn’t work. I’ll explain more later, but I have to go now.”
She needed to follow Jacks. The way he rushed from the room made her suspect that he knew who’d placed this new curse on her and Apollo, or that he thought he knew. “Both of you, please stay with the prince—and attend to his wounded hand. He needs more protection than I do.”
Havelock looked as if he wanted to argue, but Evangeline didn’t give him the chance. She darted up the stairs, rabbit quick.
She was halfway up the stairs when: Dah-dah-dah-daaaaaah!
Trumpets, an entire host of them, loud and celebratory, filled the castle with music.
Evangeline’s steps faltered. Why were trumpets sounding? She should have brushed it aside; she didn’t have much time if she wanted to trail Jacks. But then she heard the giggling. A few feet down the hall, a pair of young maids were huddled together. “Do either of you know what that music was all about?”
The taller of the girls looked at Evangeline askance, but the shorter one was politer. She answered with an apologetic smile, “I think it’s part of the welcome ceremony for Prince Lucien. He surprised everyone by arriving early.”
The hallway started to spin. Why had no one told her he’d arrived early? She’d been busy, but someone should have found her.
“I’m sure someone would have informed you,” the petite maid blurted as if guessing her thoughts. “But I heard Prince Lucien was worried it would be insensitive to make you watch the event where he replaced your beloved as heir. That’s why he rushed up the ceremony.”
“So thoughtful,” the taller maid said dreamily.
“I like him already,” the short maid agreed.
I want to punch him, Evangeline thought.
It wasn’t just that the new heir had arrived early, it was the underhanded nature of it. She should have been invited to the ceremony.
Why had Lucien left her out? She didn’t believe for a second that it was to spare her feelings. Of course, she didn’t have time to worry about that now. She needed to follow Jacks.
“Princess Evangeline,” intoned a voice from behind her.
It was tempting not to turn, but then two soldiers appeared by her side. Both were dressed in the Acadian royal colors—bronze, gold, and maroon—but she did not recognize either one.
“You’ve been summoned to the receiving solarium,” said the one on her right. “Prince Lucien has requested your immediate presence.”
Evangeline tried to muster her optimism as she followed these unknown guards. But all she felt was a growing pit inside her. It was unnerving that she had not been invited to Lucien’s coronation, yet she was practically being dragged to meet him now.
As she neared her destination, the air warmed and sweetened with the scent of mulled wine and poorly timed celebrations. The solarium was rarely used for evening meetings. With stretching walls of windows that invited in the light, it was meant for daylight hours or the occasional sunset soirée. But the new heir must not have known that. Tonight, the waiting hall outside it was full of life and light, candles dripping from chandeliers, chatting guests with painted cheeks, and loud laughs that edged on drunken.
It seemed she was not the only one who’d been invited to meet Lucien. But apparently, she was meant to be seen first. The soldiers directed her past all the others, to another pair of guards who immediately parted the arched solarium doors.
Evangeline painted on a smile, hid her bandaged hand behind her skirts, and stepped forward gamely. She did not expect to find the saint the papers had described, but she was ready to feign the required pleasure at meeting the young man who was taking Apollo’s place on the throne.
Lucien kept the solarium darker than the lively outer hall. The moon spied through the towering windows, a waning crescent that added atmosphere but no illumination. Candles burned in sconces, but they brought more smoke than light, varnishing the room in haze that might have intrigued others but made Evangeline slow her steps. All was dim, save for the area directly in front of the blazing fire, where the heir sat sprawled in a wingback chair, twirling a golden crown.
“Good evening,” she forced out cheerfully, taking another step closer to the amber firelight. But as soon as she reached it, her limbs refused to move.
This young man was not the heir—or even truly a young man anymore. He was too unnaturally handsome, his eyes were too luminous, his jaw could slice a diamond, and his golden-brown skin actually glowed.
He was a vampire.
And the first boy she had ever loved.
