Section 1
CURSED
Lucette woke in the middle of the night to the sound of shouting. She slipped out of the golden four-poster canopy bed she shared with her mother, Queen Catia, and tiptoed to the dark window of her castle bedroom. Pushing aside the heavy brocade curtains, her reflection confronted her in the glass, and she crossed her arms over her tall, skinny form.
Her mother had insisted that her thirteen-year-old body would soon sport womanly curves, but that was difficult to imagine. She might be ahead of her classmates Gloria and Heather in their studies, but the daughters of her ladies-in-waiting were far ahead in bodily development. Their figures seemed to change daily.
Lucette had long ago shed her resentment over the fact that her teachers could sit close and help Gloria and Heather with their work, and actually touch them. Or that they got to write with pencils and beautiful quill pens, while she was permitted only wax crayons and chalk. Now, however, she couldn’t help but resent her classmates’ curves. Lucette’s body had merely stretched up—she was five foot seven . . . and counting—and her height exaggerated her flat chest, slim hips, gangly limbs, and lack of a defined waist.
But her body wasn’t the worst of it. Everyone said she took after her handsome father, but she’d trade her big blue eyes, bony cheeks, heavy lashes, and stark black hair for her mother’s softer, prettier blonde features any day. As far as she could tell, the main way in which she took after her father was that, if it weren’t for her long hair, she’d look like a boy.
The winter chill penetrated the stone floor in her room. Putting one of her cold feet on top of the other, Lucette scolded herself for not grabbing her slippers or throwing on a warm robe over her long flannel nightdress. And if her father knew she had gotten out of bed without her gloves on, he’d confine her to her bedchamber for weeks. He didn’t even know her mother let her sleep without them. But the noise she heard in the courtyard held priority, and it had seemed close.
Her breath fogged the window as she leaned to press her forehead against the cold glass and shield her view with her hands.
Through the window, she saw vampires. Three big ones. But they were outnumbered by the team of six slayers dropping down from the edges of the courtyard.
A tall slayer—dressed in black from head to toe, and barely visible in the moonlight—pulled out a long stake, spun around, and thrust it through the heart of the tallest vampire. Shocked, the vile bloodsucker staggered back and fell to the ground, convulsing in his death throes. Good riddance, thought Lucette. Like her mother always said, the only good vampire is a dead vampire.
Although rare in Xandra before her birth, vampire attacks were now common. Still, her father refused to declare war on Sanguinia—which was another source of conflict between her parents. Her mother wanted Sanguinia crushed.
Outside, another slayer leaped through the air to plant his heavy boot in the chest of a vampire, and Lucette turned from the window to mimic the kick. She fantasized about how amazing it would be to be a slayer, to kill the evil beasts, but then she shook her head to bring herself back to reality. Her parents would never allow it—even her mother, who wanted every last vampire dead.
She searched the courtyard and saw that the remaining vampire and the slayer pursuing him had climbed to the top of the opposite roof. The vampire lifted the slayer and tossed him from the side of the building.
Lucette gasped, but as the slayer fell, he shot a grappling hook from a crossbow and it snagged a window ledge. He swung back and slammed into the stone wall, then dropped gracefully to the courtyard.
Back on the roof, more slayers arrived from inside the building and cornered the remaining vampire, who sprang forward. The group of slayers parted to reveal another slayer crouched down in the middle, holding out a stake. He braced himself as the leaping vampire impaled himself on the stake and writhed in agony.
Slayers never failed to impress Lucette with their skill and courage. They were so cool and powerful. Mimicking their motions, she leaped up and kicked to strike an imaginary vampire. Empowered, she twisted to kick behind her, and then dropped to the carpet, rolled to the side, and jumped up to deliver a series of chops and punches. Attempting to replicate another move, she jumped and twisted, but her foot accidentally connected with the edge of her vanity table, and a gold candlestick fell, clattering and shattering the silence.
“Lucette!” Her mother sprang out of the bed and strode over, her long nightdress shining in the moonlight.“ What was that noise? What are you doing out of bed?” The queen, nearly five inches shorter than her daughter, grabbed the young girl’s shoulders.
The door to their room slammed open and in strode King Stefan, followed by six royal guardsmen. “Catia, what is going on in here?” he demanded.
“Nothing, Dad,” Lucette answered, before her mother could. She hid her hands behind her back. “It’s not Mom’s fault. I just knocked something over.”
“Catia,” Stefan yelled, “ how could you let this happen?”
Her mother pulled her long blonde braid to the side and reached for her robe. “Will you please ask the guards to leave my daughter’s bedroom?”
Stefan nodded to the guards and they stepped back into the hall.
While her father’s attention was focused on her mother and the guards, Lucette grabbed her gloves from atop the vanity table and slipped them on before her father could notice her bare hands.
“Dad.” Lucette walked up to her father, took his hand, and looked up into his eyes, wishing she were still small enough to jump into his arms. “It’s no big deal, really.”
He pressed a kiss into her forehead, then turned back toward her mother. “If you can’t handle the responsibility of keeping our daughter safe at night—” He paused and rubbed his stubbled chin.
“Stefan,” said her mother, her voice calm but stern, “she’s perfectly safe.”
Her father dropped her hand and stepped toward her mother. Lucette’s chest tightened. Don’t fight. Don’t fight. Please don’t fight.
“Catia,” her father said, “it’s bad enough you don’t enforce the safety rules when I’m not around—don’t think I don’t hear about it—but I can’t believe you let her leap about the room at all hours of the night. There are dangers everywhere in the dark.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you can’t handle it, we’ll hire someone to watch our daughter while she sleeps.”
Lucette felt sick. Her father wanted to hire strangers to watch her sleep? This was over the top. “No, Dad! Please! Mom keeps me really safe at night. She’d never let anything happen.”
“Your mother proved to me long ago that she can’t be trusted.”
“Stefan.” Catia’s cheeks burned red and Lucette fought back tears. “Your extreme measures are highly unnecessary. Until she’s sixteen—”
The king raised his hand and Catia stopped.
It wasn’t the first time Lucette had heard references to her turning sixteen, and she couldn’t wait until she reached that magical age. It must be the age at which her parents would consider her old enough to take care of herself. Maybe when she turned sixteen she’d be able to do things like walk down a flight of stairs without holding an adult’s hand, use a pencil, and cut her own food—things most four-year-olds were allowed to do. She knew she was a princess, but her parents, especially her father, treated her like glass.
He was so obsessed with protecting her, especially her hands, claiming she needed to develop good safety habits for the future. It all seemed crazy. Good safety habits for what? No teenager or adult she knew wore gloves or protected their hands so well.
Her mother patted the bed. “Lucette, get under the covers and go back to sleep. I need to talk to your father.”
Lucette did as she was told, turned onto her side, and pulled the covers partially over her head. Closing her eyes, she pretended to fall back to sleep as her parents continued to argue outside the bedroom door.
A tear slid onto her pillow. She was always causing arguments between her parents. She tried not to, but it was like a curse with her—as if everything she did or said drove disagreements between them like stakes. Everyone else in the palace seemed to hold her responsible for the king and queen’s bad relationship, too. They were all so cold to her—no one even looked her in the eye.
She had to be more careful, to pay more attention to what she said and did. Maybe if she were really good, her parents wouldn’t fight.