I might not have fangs like they did, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t pretend to be the most dangerous thing they’d ever seen.

They were pathetic, I decided, staring at me. What did I have that they so badly wanted, anyhow? Why had the prince brought me here? Was it simply my hair?

Then I thought of Barnabas and my heart sank. Not hair.

Blood.

We reached the raised platform a few steps behind Lucius. The small man dropped to his knees on the red velvet carpet that spread out around the dais and began to rapidly intone, his voice carrying easily across the vast hall.

“Lords and ladies of the Blessed Blood, allow me to present one who is familiar to us all–the Scarlet Warden of the Red Keep, High Prince of Sangratha, Bloodlord of the Pure...”

The titles kept coming. On and on.

For a moment, the prince stood by my side, his teeth gritted. Then, abruptly, he leaned forward and delivered a swift kick to Lucius’s ankle.

There was a yelp.

The secretary continued at a much quicker pace than before, “With absolutely no further adieu, I present Prince Blake Drakharrow, my lords and ladies.”

A brief pause. “And by his side, stands a... female... most unusual for a blightborn.”

I suppressed a snort.

“An unpolished treasure found amidst the muck and mire.” Lucius seemed to be refinding his flow. “Saved by the Black Prince from the edge of death and despair.”

I coughed loudly, and cast a pointed look at the prince who was still staring straight ahead like a statue. It was true that this man, Blake Drakharrow, had shot one of his own men to save me. But after chaining me like a beast, I wasn’t planning to offer him a thank you anytime soon.

“You all see this creature’s rare qualities,” Lucius declared pompously to the crowd, gesturing to me. “Here she is, to be presented to the court, by my high and honorable lord, Prince Blake Drakharrow...”

“Yes, you’ve said that part once already,” Blake interrupted. “That’s quite enough, Lucius.”

Lucius scurried off to one side before he could be kicked again.

For a moment, I felt sorry for him. Until I remembered he was also a vampire.

Blake’s hand gripped my wrist, pulling me abruptly forward. He raised his voice so it carried throughout the hall.

“We found this woman in the burned out village just outside of Veilmar.” Not for the first time, I wondered what had happened to that village. At first, I had assumed its devastation had been Blake’s doing. Now I wondered if that was the case. “There should have been no one left alive, but somehow there she was. You can see for yourself her strange traits.” He lifted a hand laconically to gesture at me, then dropped it with a shrug, as if he were already bored of looking at me. “I thought it best to bring her before you and the Council.”

Oh, he did, did he? And just who is this Council? So very hastily assembled. The hall is full. All here for you, my pretty.

I jumped, my wrist suddenly twisting in Blake’s grasp.

It was a woman’s voice. Low and melodic. And inside my own head.

Who are you? Who said that? I demanded.

You should never have allowed yourself to be taken. Really, girl, have you no pride? the woman’s voice chided.

Pride? I have plenty of pride. Pride didn’t arm me. Pride didn’t give me a blade with which to slit his throat, I retorted.

Ah, but you wished to. That is something at least. Good. Hold on to that. Hold on to your rage.

There was something imperious about the woman’s tone, despite her bloodthirsty nature.

Who the hell are you? I demanded again. Get out of my head.

You’re right. We should cease this chatter and listen. You must see what these people want with you. There was a pause and I could almost picture the unseen woman tapping her finger against her well-formed chin. From the look of it, they aren’t complete and utter savages. They possess a sense of decorum. And taste.

Taste? Is that what you call it? They drink blood. I felt hysteria bubbling up in my throat and quickly suppressed it. Decorum? Is that what you’d call it when they chain me up and rip my hair out?

There was no reply. The woman’s voice was gone.

If it had ever been anything except my imagination in the first place.

A chill went through me.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps I was dead. Perhaps I was in some twisted afterlife. Insanity might have been part and parcel with death. Maybe I was going insane. If that was the case, I hoped the madness would descend quickly and that I’d soon have no thoughts left in my mind at all.

But in the meantime, I looked at the people standing and staring down at me from the platform. And I stared right back.

My eyes went from one to the other, keeping my lips pressed together. Did I look hostile? Threatening? I hoped so.

Because they certainly did.

The man seated on the black stone chair leaned forward slightly.  His eyes were a deep, unsettling red and he held a staff topped with a gleaming, scarlet gem. I looked away from him quickly, unnerved by his expression. He eyed me with the same keen interest one might give to a horse or some other piece of livestock one contemplates purchasing.

Next my eyes fell on the man to his left. He was younger, clad in black leather armor accented in gold. His eyes weren’t gray like Blake’s though; they were a pale blue, but shaped the same. In fact, he resembled Blake in many ways, though his build was a little shorter and stockier.

I glanced at Blake, who still held me by the wrist, then back again. Yes, the two might have been cousins. Even brothers.

A movement caught my eye. A young woman had folded and unfolded her arms restlessly. She stood further down the row of nobles. She was lovely, with pink lips and shimmering pale blonde hair. Her gown was a cascade of sheer violet over black silk. A diadem of silver embedded with purple gems sat on her brow. She tapped her foot as if impatient or annoyed, yet when she caught me staring, she looked back at me. There was something in her gaze beyond mere curiosity or even hostility. I saw naked hate. And past that, perhaps something like fear.

There was more to all of this. More to these strange and foreign people in this strange and foreign land. I scanned the line of noble folk. A thread of commonality stretched between all of the figures on the dais, linking them together.

Their hair, I realized. If hair was what made me stand out, it was what united all of them.

From the man seated in the chair to the younger man beside him to the woman looking at me with such cold fury. While their skin tones were a range of shades, they were unified by the lightness of their hair. Hues ranging from silvery white to golden blonde to silvery gray. Not a glimpse of brown or black or even red amongst them.

I cast my gaze out over the crowd and it was the same. While there had been some chestnut, brown, and black colored hair amongst the soldiers who had escorted me, I saw no glimmer of any shade beyond snowy pale or faint gold in this hall.

I looked at the man on the black chair, his hair as white as freshly fallen snow, cut to shoulder-length, sleek and straight, framing a bearded face, hard and cold.

The younger man beside him had hair of ashy blond, cropped short in a military style that emphasized the strong, angular lines of his face.

I glanced at the man by my side, the man Lucius had named Blake Drakharrow. His hair hung around his face, nearly chin-length. The strands were very pale gold. Blond in some lights, almost white in others.

I stood out amongst these people like a flaming coal.

Just barely I resisted the impulse to touch a hand to my head self-consciously.

I glanced away, avoiding the feeling, and my eyes rested on a girl I had not noticed before.