A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,88

heir, some sort of political riot. My eyes scan the tops of my brows, across the way. Similarly dressed supply units—though different in veil and cloth color—are also bowed. Amethyst, gold, emerald, and sapphire surround our ruby. My eyes scan a bit too high and suddenly I am met with a pair of light, caramel eyes. He has a head of short, ash blond hair, but that’s all I can tell thanks to the yellow—more masculine—veil that is tied around the back of his head. One of Marina’s supply units.

One out of a dozen forward facing guards turns his head down to me and fear immediately streaks through my veins—a reminder of the one who saw me as we were arriving in the chariot.

“What’s wrong?” Narref whispers from behind me.

Damn their ability to scent fear.

“Nothing. I thought I saw a wasp,” I say, making up the best excuse I can on the spot.

I can feel his eyes roll as he steps back in line.

The masked soldier returns to his about-face position as trumpets sound, signifying the arrival of Cain’s regal rulers. The crowd surrounding the canopy-covered Basilica don cloaks of black, holding tight to open umbrellas—to purge the sunlight—while diluting their chatter to respectful silence. Calming, yet sinister, a row of string instruments play as Amaorin steps out of a Basten-drawn carriage, garnering hundreds of thousands of bows from the vampires that he rules. Reginald Amaorin is tall with thick, though tame, muddy hair. His sharp, golden eyes reflect the burning, enchanted blue lanterns beneath the canopy as he passes through the entranceway. A sapphire-encrusted shawl drapes the length of his back. The sapphire supply units and respected advisors rise to follow Amaorin, seamlessly.

Next is Marina Schovir who walks more nobly, her gaze trotting around to take in her subjects with a practiced smile. She is beautiful. A dark, blemish-free face, like a doll, with long legs and a thin—though muscular—build. Her wavy, auburn hair jots back and forth across her lower back as she walks upon heeled boots higher than mine. The golden shawl upon her shoulders shimmers with specks of glittery gold, while her armored body glints blue upon immaculate white. Her supply units and advisors also rise to follow when she passes. The boy from before stands to walk into the lustrous castle, offering me one last glance. And something in that glance sends my heart through my rib cage, but I can’t quite place it. A melancholic knife pierces my gut for a second, sending a wave of sadness through me. Tsala passes through my line of sight and I quickly return my gaze to the ground.

Trovier Tsala is an interesting individual, and rather round for most vampires. A bit older, he walks in behind Marina prestigiously with his hands locked behind his back, nose in the air, and bothering to glance toward his people only once or twice. His white slacks glimmer purely beneath black leather straps and belts. A creamy vest covering a hunter green collared shirt is nearly hidden by the emerald shawl. As he strides past, the green vassals stand in pursuit.

When Amethyst bearing, tattooed and disheveled, Hox Giomar comes strutting down the lane proudly, I throw a hand out to grab Savvy’s. As I suspected, she’s shaking. If vampires didn’t have such phenomenal hearing I would whisper, “Dodged a bullet with that lard.” Despite my history of idiotic comments, I keep quiet and console my friend with a light squeeze. Giomar glances down at me but makes no indication of recognition. That doesn’t fool me, though. He is probably furious and that brings me so much raw happiness.

Narref, having noticed my following eyes, reprimands me with a tap on the shoulder. I drop my head back down as Zein appears. His gaze is solid—aimed straight ahead—until he gets to me. He offers one look in my direction before his eyes shift back to the soldiers and castle doors ahead of him. My tired heart throbs for this man against half of my will. As I get up with the rest of Zein’s assembly to follow him, I curse beneath my breath. I curse because everything about him—his stride, his elegance, his very nature—all invite me in, even though all I’ve ever wanted—until now—is out.

chapter 16

As soon as we get inside, we are immediately separated from royalty, as well as most of the advisor vampires. I suppose all that nonsense at the Basilica was for show. Ceti now leads us—adjacent to the