Chapter 20: Hollow Throats - Hunger & Harmony

The sweet laughter of a child pulls me through darkness. When my bare feet settle onto jagged rock, I recognize this secluded bluff off Mount Umbra. I look behind me, and the mouth of the cave I’ve just left. That’s the way back home.

“Why is Father closing this cave?” I hear myself ask.

Only, it isn’t me.

I glance back over, and my throat catches.

A woman sits on the cliff’s edge, her legs dangling precariously. With raven hair and eyes of silver starlight, she’s strikingly beautiful. Long bell sleeves drape over her lap, with golden trim embellishing her red dress. Her attire is regal, though her demeanor is anything but.

Her smile invites me closer, and I bound towards her with no hesitation or fear of the steep drop.

“Doesn’t that mean we cannot come here?” I continue, once snuggled into her side.

Tucked under her arm, not one thing can go wrong. A dry breeze runs through my dark hair, and my eyes scan over the silhouettes of cragged peaks. Clouds above us block the moon and blanket of stars.

“It does,” she says, voice like a bell, clear and soothing. “You mustn’t harbor anger towards your father, Alaric. He tries to do right by you.”

I feel my lips form a frown.

“He only cares for the Court’s favor,” I huff, feet kicking as I hold her side tighter. “I don’t want to be king. That means I won’t care about anyone. Only . . .”

It’s lost on me what kings care about.

She hums thoughtfully, like she knows‌ more than I could imagine.

“You will always have your heart,” she says, squeezing me briefly into her side. “When the time comes, you shall know better how to walk your path.”

“Can you not just tell me?” I mumble, and she chuckles.

“Now, now,” she says. “There is a gift in the unknown.”

“What gift?” I ask, perked up as I stare at her.

“Endless possibilities.”

Laughter sounds again when I pout, and her fingers grasp my cheek sweetly.

“That doesn’t sound all too exciting,” I mumble.

“In due time.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes anymore. “In due time . . .”

The clouds give way, and I point excitedly at a constellation I recognize. She taught me how to find it from the Scorpius’ curved hook.

“Look! The Satyr and his bow!”

“Yes,” she says, following my finger. “Good job, darling.”

An ache blooms in my chest. Because I will never see these stars again. Because as the sky fades and I’m swallowed by darkness again, I know I will never hope this sincerely again.

I startle awake. My hand reaches for him, even though I know he’s gone. I let my fingers curl where Niko once was, and catch my breath.

Minutes pass before I find the courage to open my eyes. Regret hits like a tidal wave when I do, and my hands fly up to my neck.

A thirst like no other weakens me; my throat thick with desperation. I recognize now that it isn’t my own. Much like the dream showed me, this bond isn’t only physical. The archives of his being thread with mine, and I tug and thrash against these red strings.

We can’t. We can’t.

I shakily reach for the carafe, swearing when all I accomplish is fumbling the glass. While it doesn’t shatter, it tumbles onto the rug, and spilled water deepens the rich hue.

“Shit,” I croak out as I stretch my arm out for it.

There’s a quick knock on the door as I nearly slide off the bed. Before I can react, it’s already opening.

“Cadence,” Selene murmurs, striding across the room to my side.

She helps me back onto the bed properly and bends to get the empty glass.

“I’ll call for a refill.”

I nod weakly, and she hesitates.

“Is it . . .His Majesty?”

When I nod again, she bows her head.

“Apologies, Lady Cadence,” she says. “I shouldn’t overstep.”

Through the haze of my thirst, I furrow my brows at her.

“No formalities,” I whisper. “You’re supposed to be my boss.”

She shakes her head, shoulders tense in her white blouse. Come to think of it, she hasn’t dressed like herself since we’ve been here. She’s traded in rock glam for a medieval wardrobe. No eyeliner, no killer boots . . .I guess we’re all feeling the pressure here. It deepens my guilt, though maybe that’s also borrowed from Niko.

“You are His Majesty’s future Queen Consort. I would never dare boss you.”

I frown, and she dips her head lower.

“I’ll return with water soon.”

As the door clicks shut behind her, I find my cravings aren’t only for water. I hate how everything has changed.

It’s not just Sancte Noctis. Can’t we get back on the road? I long for those sold-out shows. To be coughing on rosin dust and feeling the beat pound against my ribs. Everything was alive. Not this illusion of it. Real feelings.

Messy, and fun, and free.

* * *

Fingers snap in front of my face.

“Are you paying attention?”

I only register Lorelai’s frown after blinking a couple of times.

“Sorry, uh . . .” I swallow hard. “It’s hard to focus.”

Throughout getting cleaned up and attempting breakfast, it wasn’t pain, but the sheer weight of this thirst. It’s all-consuming, and when laced with shame, I can’t fight the waves of frenzy that wrack my body.

Niko hasn’t fed properly. I knew that before, but now I breathe every agonizing moment without nourishment. It’s been longer than we’ve known each other, but I know how much worse I made it. With this bond, his restraint is tightening like a vice, and the hunger swells back like angry barbs wrapped around our necks.

Lorelai sighs when my eyes fall to the plate in front of me. This somewhat human dish of eggs and spinach remains largely untouched. I can’t bear more than a few bites, even with my stomach rumbling in protest.

“The show must go on, you know.”

She stands, grabbing our plates before dumping them onto the serving cart to our right. This dining hall is expansive, but empty. I guess there aren’t many vampires that need a table for their meals.

“His Majesty needs to keep up appearances. Arteria, too.” She places her hands on her hips. “We won’t be able to damage control with you both in a stupor.”

Guilt pulses in my temples, and I wince. My forehead hits the wooden table. It’s cool, but not enough to soothe my fever. What else can I do with Lorelai scoffing at me?

“Oh!” Lorelai exclaims before she reins in her voice. “G-Good evening, Your Grace.”

I raise my head enough to see who stands in the doorway.

Archduchess Imara stares back, her gaze staking icicles through me. I shiver, too weak to properly stand and address her.

“What brings you to⁠—”

“Her Grace is here to speak with Lady Cadence,” a woman cloaked in red to the Archduchess’s left says. “Alone.”

Lorelai sputters quietly.

“Alone?” She shuffles on her feet, ridiculously polite as she says, “I would never dare question you, Your Grace, b-but . . .”

“There is no rebuttal,” the lady’s maid replies coolly.

She gestures for Lorelai to follow her. It’s only when she looks back at me in quiet panic that I realize her pink hair is tucked under a blonde wig. Why is she wearing such a gaudy thing? If I didn’t know her voice, I’d hardly recognize her. Am I truly that out of it?

I can’t speak up; I'm only able to watch as Lorelai is escorted from the dining hall.

Archduchess Imara steps in. I’m so dazed, I’m seeing double, her unyielding aura surrounding me as she lifts her chin.

“Death is not an option for those who exceed it.”

My stomach twists. I’m panting from thirst.

“You spend three days in agony.” Her voice cuts through me as she says, “A pathetic comparison to the time my nephew has spent.”

I whimper, knowing she tells the truth, agreeing with every word.

The click of her heels echoes around me. She approaches slowly, and I know I’m inadequate to even be prey in her eyes. I’m a nuisance. A disturbance to her spider’s web.

“While I seek to undo your hold on him, there is one thing you’re useful for.”

A yelp sounds, and I only register it’s me when I feel nails digging into my shoulder. She grasps me with so little effort, yet the force of it breaks skin.

I collapse onto my chair again, clutching the table and heaving on oxygen. Out of the corner of my eye, the Archduchess observes the droplets of red rolling down her fingers.

My blood. Not just mine anymore.

The blood that changed everything.

“The Dissonant Queen rises in silence.”

Brows furrowing, I continue to shake as she speaks.

“To strike down the impure King’s song.”

Her eyes slide over to mine, her irises burning crimson.

“And set fire to the Crown with no violence,

As the treasonous bard sang all along.”

The prophecy. Its rhythm seeps under my skin, familiar like wrong notes. My fate was sealed from the start. I tremble from a lot more than pain, and I crumple in on myself.

“I’m . . .” I croak out. “I’m sorry . . .”

“Your apologies hold no value to me.” She points her blood-soaked nail at me. “Only your blood does.”

Clarity sharpens in my mind, and I slowly sit up.

“How?” I whisper.

The doors fly open again, and I see why the fog lifted.

“You wish to part ways with your hand?”

“Niko!” I gasp, mustering the strength to stand when he’s suddenly in front of his aunt.

A sickening crack sounds as I stumble towards them. The Archduchess remains silent, eerily calm as Niko gets in her face. He possesses a death grip on her bloodied wrist, bruising into her very bone.

“You don’t have a second chance. If you look at her wrong, I shall have your head.”

His threat doesn’t visibly unnerve her.

“Am I not allowed to look out for you?” she asks, as if he isn’t fracturing her wrist with little effort. “You wish not to disturb her, so I took matters into my own hands.”

“It isn’t your place,” he growls, and I place my hands on his back.

“N-No,” I whisper, tugging at his shirt. “Don’t . . .”

Niko hesitates, and I feel him lean into my touch.

“That won’t solve it,” I say.

Slowly, he relaxes his grip. The Archduchess steps away from him, her back to the wall as she cradles her crumpled wrist.

When he turns, I search his eyes. The fury dissolves from his irises, back to burgundy, before he averts his face.

Regret pulses between us, and I drop my gaze, too. I see my blood on his palm. It still smears across the Archduchess’s hand, too.

“All you need is to feed from her.”

The quiet of the moment snaps. I hold my hands out to Niko as his anguish radiates in waves.

“I refuse,” he says, so low, I barely hear him.

“She is bonded to you,” she retorts. “Your future Queen⁠—”

“I don’t want a queen!”

My eyes widen. He turns his back to me, whipping around to snarl at his aunt.

“I don’t even want a throne.”

I clutch my heart. It aches, it burns, it beats so hard I’m scared it’s breaking apart.

More than even yesterday, I understand. I am ruining him, and it’s unraveling me faster than I can handle.

“Resistance is futile,” she says. “You delay the inevitable.”

The inevitable.

Shaking my head, I stumble back. When my hip bumps the table, their attention turns to me.

So, I run.

I run, and run, and run.

I let the tears flow, each hiccup and sniffle and pathetic sob celebrated in the solace of my room.

Because it’s noise.

And I won’t let my silence strike him down.