The King Wanted to Say Something

Duke of La Rochefoucauld left, heavy with worry. The young man beside him watched him go, then immediately returned to his master's side. His eyes glittered in the candlelight, and he seemed to want to speak but held back. Amon gave him a lazy glance, reached out, and lightly pinched his ear with sharp nails. "What do you want?"

Everyone knew that Amon, Prince of the Tzimisce, favored boys of noble birth who were beautiful and clever. Such "gifts" were also what his "children" most often offered him. This boy had once been the youngest son of a count. Though he had been destined never to receive the same regard as his elder brother, beneath his mother's skirts he had lived as carefree as a sweet little kitten. Even after being brought to Paris, far from his parents, to serve a dangerous vampire in the darkness, he remained the most exceptional of his kind. That gave him extraordinary courage. "Your Highness," he said excitedly, "were you just speaking of our King?"

"Yes," Amon said with a smile. "Our King indeed—Louis, Louis Dieudonné Bourbon. You have heard his name too?"

"How could I not have?" Seeing that Amon was not angry, the boy grew bolder. "When I was five, my father even held a grand celebration for his birth—if I had not come here, Your Highness, I might have inherited my uncle's post and gone to serve His Majesty as Keeper of the Wardrobe!"

"Oh my," Amon said. "I have never heard you mention that. So..." His fingertips gently arranged the boy's fluffy hair. "You no longer wish to remain by my side?"

"I would rather serve you," the boy said cleverly. "But if you wish to know anything about His Majesty, I would be very willing to find it out for you."

"Ah, you are willing to be my Mercury." Mercury was the god of commerce in Roman mythology, but also the patron of thieves and swindlers. What people spoke of most eagerly, however, was how he often carried messages for Jupiter, lord of the gods, completing all manner of small, tedious, yet important tasks. At Amon's words, the boy's heart beat even faster. He had indeed received Amon's favor—Amon's blood had given him a lovelier face than before and strength greater than that of a burly butcher—but as the son of a count, he could not possibly be content with that. The moment he heard news concerning the King, he could no longer restrain his ambition and had come to beg Amon—no one could better understand what a position beside the King meant. His uncle had served as Louis XIII's Keeper of the Wardrobe for only a few years, yet had gained a generous income equivalent to two hundred thousand livres, as well as a wealthy and well-born wife. His uncle had also been the youngest son, and unfortunately had only daughters. If he could also obtain the recommendation of Duke of La Rochefoucauld and Madame de Longueville, Prince of Condé's sister, then standing at the King's side would not be difficult at all.

That was far better than merely serving a vampire, trapped in the Bois de Boulogne without being able to move, or being an obedient child beneath his mother's skirts, waiting for his eldest brother to toss him a few scraps from the table.

All sorts of thoughts and fantasies flashed through his little head. When Amon's hand pressed lightly against the back of his neck, the boy offered up his throat without hesitation. The familiar faint sting came, accompanied by the dizziness of blood loss. Dazzling lights flickered and spun before his eyes. He floated upward, higher and higher, passing the chandelier, flying over the roof, rising all the way toward the bright silver moon. He stretched his arms out toward it... He wanted to embrace it, though it was so cold and hard...

The boy's hand fell limply to the floor. Amon slowly raised his head from the boy's neck and shoulder. For some reason, humans always harbored an illusion: that they stood on equal footing with vampires, that no matter how dangerous a being was, they could deal with it using human methods such as deception and perfunctory words. They did not realize that, to these other beings who lived in darkness, apart from the few people they chose, all other humans were no more than food and toys—this boy had merely been an amusement for Amon to pass the time during his temporary stay in Paris... and now he had become somewhat superfluous.

Amon stroked the boy's face one last time. It was pale with a bluish cast. Amon had nearly drained every drop of his blood, so that even his once-plump skin had begun to wrinkle. With a trace of disgust, the vampire prince gripped his jawbone and twisted off his head.

"This is yours," Amon said.

He first tossed the boy's head behind the curtains. At once, crunching sounds came from the darkness—the sound of bones being crushed between teeth—followed by the body.

These little creatures Amon kept in the shadows were products of magic and vampiric gifts. They had already disposed of much "dross" and "waste" for Amon, the Tzimisce clan, and their allies, the Lasombra. To Amon, they were far more lovable than most humans.

A little monster cautiously poked out its head and extended a claw. Perhaps out of closeness of blood, or perhaps sheer greed, Amon shifted his foot and stepped directly on it. With scarcely any force, he crushed it. His mood now was both good and bad.

He almost wanted to run at once to the Richelieu Residence, to see whether that boy was as he imagined—or whether he would disappoint him yet again.

He did not know.

The scorching blood of the living raced madly through his cold veins, bringing an uncanny flush to the vampire's pale face. He closed his eyes. Human laughter and shouting drifted from nearby. This was the Bois de Boulogne, a fallen place, a place that could become hell at any moment. The prince rose and spread his arms. The shadows behind the curtains flowed swiftly into his own shadow like water. His tall, lean body instantly swelled and then rapidly shrank. Then, with a soft burst, a wisp of black mist rushed out through a crack unseen by human eyes.

That wisp of mist nearly blended into Paris's darkness. It traveled east along the Seine River, crossed the Louvre, and finally circled above the Richelieu Residence. The "marks" left by the Inquisition were clearly branded inside and outside the palace in the vampire's vision—a warning, and a deterrent. Amon could tear them apart, but doing so would inevitably alert Yilalue, the new Grand Inquisitor. Compared with the former Grand Inquisitor, who had been somewhat rigid and rule-bound, this young ambitious man made the vampires more wary—because at times, he was more despicable and unscrupulous than creatures of darkness.

There was another way, and that was...

Amon had thought he would have to wait, but he unexpectedly saw the young King soon afterward. It was midnight, and all was silent, yet the Queen Mother still brought the King and the King's brother on foot to the small chapel of the Richelieu Residence, making them kneel with her before God.

"What do you want us to pray for?" Louis asked.

"Pray that Mazarin's operation tonight succeeds," the Queen Mother said.

"What is he doing?" the King asked.

"Arresting traitors."

"Give me their names," the King insisted. The Queen Mother hesitated for a moment, but still told him.

The three names the King received from the Queen Mother made him close his eyes despite himself. Though he had expected it, when events truly unfolded this way, a profound despondency still rose within him.

He heaved a deep sigh. "And then?" he asked. "Will you execute them?"

The Queen Mother jerked as if scorched by a live coal. "How could that be?!" she cried.

Louis's eyes immediately dimmed.

Condé, Conti, and Longueville—Mazarin and Anne wished to arrest these three by means akin to a conspiracy, but only imprison them rather than hang or behead them outright. The King could not be certain that the latter would be better than the former. The only thing he could be certain of was that they would soon face Prince of Condé's vengeance, like a hurricane and torrential storm.