"You guys must be the life of the party," I mutter.
He ignores me as we pull up to the front door.
"Will I be meeting all of you now?" I'm nervous at the prospect of being in the same room with seven demonic vampires, one of whom I'm supposed to choose as a mate. I think that's a reasonable fear, at this point.
"No, the rest are busy at the moment. I'll take you to our world and bring you to High Castle."
A castle? "What's it like? Hell?"
"You'll see soon enough."
I'm still clutching my bag tightly when we enter the mansion and he gives me a ridiculously fast tour. I try to keep track of it all in my head. Tall ceilings, beautifully polished furniture, tapestries and paintings hanging from the walls, a huge stone fireplace in the living quarters with deep couches and chairs in red and gold fabric. Wall sized television in another room with surround-sound speakers. The kitchen is a dream, stocked with everything a gourmet cook would need to make a masterpiece. "Do vampires eat?"
"We do," he says. "The living on blood alone is a myth. We need blood, but we need food too."
At least, once I'm turned, I won't have to give up food. That's good news.
"What about the sun?"
"We cannot be in the human sun. It burns us. But our world has its own sun that does us no harm."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why any of it? The blood. The sun. Why would our world be so inhospitable to you at the same time as it is so necessary for your survival."
"Curses aren't meant to be pleasant," he says, snickering.
"Who cursed you?"
"Our uncle, of course. Really, it's like you know nothing." I try to argue, but he continues. "Come on now. We have to hurry." He walks me through the halls and shows me door after door, explaining which prince they belong to. He stops in front of the last door in the hall. "This is your room."
I open it and see a four-poster canopy bed with cream and gold bedding. A fire roars opposite the window, and a small couch, chair and table are set to one side. An armoire and dresser with a vanity are set on the other.
"You have your own private washroom," he says, pointing to a door by the dresser. "I'll leave you to freshen up and then we venture forth. I've taken the liberty of providing suitable clothing for you. Please use them."
I look down at my jeans and t-shirt. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"You are being presented to our people as the future Princess, and Queen. You cannot arrive looking as you do."
When he leaves, I drop my bag on the floor and look through the dresser and armoire. It is filled with silks and satins and shoes I'm not sure I could walk in. There's a knock at the door, and before I can answer an older woman enters. She's dressed in a long black dress that is entirely functional. Her hair is greying and pulled into a tight bun. "My name is Mrs. Landon, and I've been sent to help you dress," she says in a British accent.
"I'm quite sure I can dress on my own, but thank you."
"Nonsense," she says. "I'm here to help." She opens the armoire and pulls out a sleeveless white satin gown. "This goes well with your complexion. Now off with your clothes."
While I undress self-consciously, she hands me lace panties and shoes that match the dress. Once I've put on my undergarments, she has me step into the dress, then she buttons up the row of satin buttons on my back. There are no zippers, and I wonder how I'll ever get this off. Once she is done, she pulls my hair into a French twist and then directs me to sit in front of the vanity while she does my makeup. I barely recognize myself when she's done.
She hands me a long coat of soft white fur—faux I hope—and nods her head. "That will do well. Be off with you now. The Prince is waiting."
"Where am I to go?" I barely remember the layout of this place.
"Down the stairs. Just keep going down. You'll find a door at the bottom. Knock and he'll let you in."
I reach for my bag but she shakes her head. "You're not to bring anything with you. Just what you're wearing."
"Fine, but I want my necklace." I put the pendant on before she can protest, then pull the coat around my shoulders and leave the room. I find the winding stair case and follow it down. It stops at different levels in the mansion, but I keep walking until I find myself standing in front of an elaborate door carved from a very rich wood. I knock and wait. Asher opens. He's dressed formally, in a tuxedo of sorts, but not a modern one. It looks custom made and like something royalty would wear before clothing was mass produced.
He raises an eyebrow when he sees me. "You clean up quite well."
"I wasn't dirty," I say, stepping into the room with him.
It's nothing grand. A small room—relatively speaking—with stone walls, bookshelves lining them, a lone desk with a chair in the corner, and a mirror.