“Love the new get up, Em,” I whispered.
“I know.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Wait ‘til you see Mike.”
The five men turned to one as they filed into a line and marched down the centre of the aisle. Blade came first; his head held high, his face straight—for once—one arm by his side and the other resting over the hilt of his sword. I just wanted to leap out of my seat and jump around, telling them all how great they looked.
As Blade moved to one side, Quaid, Ryder and Falcon came up the step, forming a straight line in front of the throne. Then, Mike came into view. My heart skipped audibly in my chest and melted all over the floor. Time slowed down, making everything spin as he took the last step toward me. He looked so…debonair, so strong, so—knightly. His sandy hair was brushed back, revealing most of his face—the scruffy, half-shaven look he usually sports was gone, giving way to the smooth, square shape of his jaw. He looked right at me, a bright smile lighting up the spirit behind those caramel eyes, but absent on his lips.
As I walked toward them, each knight dropped to one knee, his head lowered.
I’d been given a few options on the knighting ceremony, told that, traditionally, the knights were slapped hard with a glove or a hand to make them remember their oath. But I didn't like the idea of that, or the whole tapping the shoulder with a sword thing. We opted for a different method. Although, if Blade continued to look up and grin, I might consider slapping him.
“You have sworn your promise in blood.” I spoke loud so the whole Court would hear. “You are bound to the throne for eternity, to serve with your honour.” I touched Mike. “Your strength.” I touched Falcon. “Your blood, your soul.” I touched Ryder and Quaid. “And with your heart.” I touched Blade, and he smiled up at me. That slap tingled in my fingertips. He looked down instantly when I scowled at him.
“For eternity, you will serve your queen and your people with these gifts you possess. Today, you kneel before me as men.” I touched Mike on the shoulder again. “But arise as knights. Sir Michael Christopher White.” Mike stood as I moved on to Falcon, kinda nervous about coming into physical contact with him. My hand shook a little as I rested it to his shoulder again. “Sir Brett Wesley Falcon.” He stood too, and I touched Ryder’s shoulder. “Sir Zeidyn Gable Ryder. Sir Shamus Arian Quaid, and—” My hand warmed as it fell on Blade and the sudden jump to his heart made me smile. “Sir Thomas James Blade.”
He looked up at me, eyes wide, lips parted into a half smile.
“New life, new surname,” I whispered, but most of the court, being vampires, would have heard it anyway.
Blade rose to his feet as the others had done, and they all turned on their heels to face the crowd; their hands behind their backs, chins high. I straightened my spine to feel taller beside them.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Court, I present to you—” I held my hand out. “The Queen’s Guard.”
As the joyous applause unified the court with warmth again, they took off on their right foot and marched down the red carpet. I sat back down in my chair—throne—whatever they want to call it—it was a giant, overgrown cushion as far as I was concerned—and slumped lazily on the arm. But the knights broke apart suddenly and a few gasps came from the back of the room as the doors burst open again.
“Your majesty,” Orion called, appearing from within the crowd, hauling a man by the arm. “We have a messenger.”
He thrust the man forward, who fell to his knees, then stood up, straightening his clothes. “How dare you treat me in such a manner.”
I walked over and stood on the edge of the step above him. “You say you have a message.”
He dusted himself off again, melodramatically, and glared at Orion. “I do. It is from his majesty, King Drake.”
Everyone laughed.
“There is no Blood King,” Walter said. “Only a queen.”
The uniformed man scoffed. “I know of no queen. Now, read the message. I must be on my way.”
Walter took an envelope from the man. “Would you like to read it, Majesty, or shall I do the honours?”
I hadn’t noticed my knights stayed in the room until Mike stepped up from behind me and held his hand out. “I’ll read it.”
“Very well.” Walter passed him the letter.
He cleared his throat, holding it up. “Dearest Niece, it saddens me that we have come to war after centuries of peace. If you turn yourself over and hand back the manor and the throne, I will be merciful.” His voice slowed a little; he looked at the crowd then continued reading; “Your death will be quick, as will that of your people. You have until sunset, a month from today, to turn yourself over, or I will attack and forcefully take back what is rightfully mine. Sincerely, Uncle Drake.”
Everyone laughed, even me.
Mike refolded the letter and looked down at the messenger. “Tell your king he will have word in a fortnight.”
The messenger nodded and spun on his heel, then walked down the aisle, with Orion behind him. I looked around for Arthur then, to see what he thought, but he was gone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Walter said. “I announce this session of Court closed.” He banged his stick three times and the crowd turned away, quiet chatters of both joy and fear among them.
I spun around to look at my knights. “Is he serious? Drake?”
Walter came up and took the note from Mike then laid it out on the House table so the others could paw over it. We watched for a second.
“Sounded pretty serious,” Eric said, popping up beside me.
“It sounded like an unreasonable demand,” Mike said, wrapping his arm over Emily as she came up and hugged him. “I think it’s a distraction from the truth. He wants something else.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
“Think about it.” Mike moved away from Em so he could pace. Walter and the others looked up with interest. “He knows his opponent. He knows you won’t accept those terms. You might sacrifice yourself, but never your people.”
I smiled; it was nice that Mike, for all his opinions on me, actually knew that one truth.
“I agree,” Falcon said. “He’s up to something. He wants us focusing on an attack—it’s a trick of the hand.”
“I concur,” Walter said, turning back to us, with the letter in hand. “Question is, what doesn't he want us focusing on?”