Ghosti's Vampire Story - Prologue (Patreon)

This is a vampire story I've had written for a while, and I've never had anywhere to post it. Following a recent anon on Tumblr, I realised I now have the perfect place to post it! I hope you enjoy it.

Prologue

The crowd parted when he entered, clearing a path from the door to the throne. Long dresses rustled, and the click of hard soles shuffling apprehensively drew a smile to his face. They were nervous. He could taste it. And well they should be.

A voice boomed from the far end of the chamber, and heads turned. “My son. So kind of you to grace us with your presence…”

“Father,” he said, striding down the clear path towards them. His long black hair flowed behind him like a banner, and without a hint of colour on him, from the creaseless white shirt and smooth black waistcoat, to the black trousers and shiny black shoes, he looked as soulless as they all assumed he was. He kept his eyelids firmly shut as he stalked down the hall, which did nothing to set the gathering of nobles at ease.

He heard the sharp intake of breath from a female half way down the hall. Her eyes had lingered too long on his face, no doubt drinking in the sharp lines, high cheekbones, and brows knitted in an expression of sour wrath. Beautiful and terrible as the ocean, the crown prince was not someone to be caught staring at. All he did was incline his head in her direction as he passed, and he heard her take another step backwards, shrinking into the figure beside her. His lips twitched, but he strode on past, heading for the throne.

Thirty paces down the room, he came to an elegant halt and dropped to one knee. The entire room, not wishing to give offence, now that their prince bowed lower than them, began exposing their necks as the prince drew his long black hair back and bared his carotid to his father.

“I didn’t think you were going to attend,” the king said stiffly.

“Trust me,” he spat, “I’d rather be anywhere else. I need to talk to you. Something’s happened.”

The king frowned. It was not like his son to seek him out, and there was a high note of concern in his voice that the king rarely heard there. It must be important. His guests could wait.

Standing, the king looked down at his son from the dais. The prince moved his head, listening subtly to the room around him as though someone were going to spring at him with a knife at any moment. Tall, lean, and strong as a bar of steel, the prince was not to be crossed. The moment the king moved down the three stairs from the platform where his throne sat beside the queen’s empty throne, he knew his eyes would be level with the prince’s chin. “I will attend you then,” the king said, sweeping down and past the prince, his black clothes barely whispering as he moved.

Turning on his heel, the prince followed his father from the chamber, feeling, instead of seeing, the astonished gazes of the attendants boring into him. Curse every one of them, he thought, feeling a wave of disgust and anger welling up inside him. His canines throbbed, but he bit the anger down.

The heavy doors to the council chamber slammed shut behind the exiting royals, and the king turned to his son. “What is the meaning of this?” he hissed, seizing hold of his son’s forearm. “Summoning me from my own hall like I’m some dhampir servant!”

“Forgive me, father,” the prince said. His voice, deep and lyrical still rang in the marble-clad antechamber. He did actually manage to sound at least a little penitent. “I cannot speak of it where others will hear.”

The king gave a growl and with a flick of his hand, dismissed the dhampir servants who stood watch at the doors.

The prince was shaking his head. “No father, not even then. We must go to the privy council chamber. The brothers are there. They have grave news.”

Grinding his jaw, the king nodded curtly, and then, when his son remained motionless, he added, “Alright.”

The smell of blood reached his nostrils long before the door to the council chamber was opened.

“Son,” the king gasped in alarm, grabbing the prince by his muscled forearm once more.

The prince ripped his arm free and continued down the corridor.

Something about his silent anger kept the king from rebuking him for the insult.

The blood in the air was not human, and as they neared the privy council chambers, the king caught the distinct scent of charred flesh.

Inside, the burned, flayed remains of a noble vampire lay on the central, marble table in a grim effigy.

The king inhaled deeply, eyes unable to recognise the figure. “Who…?” he began, but his son spat out the name.