Page 110 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

I always made sure to wash my hands and face. That was contribution enough.

My heart squeezes painfully, and I am careful not to think about Ana or Mary or home again.

I still wear my blazer over the top. The pockets are too useful to give up, especially with the paring knife and letter opener tucked inside like small, comforting secrets.

I keep hoping to run into Nathaniel.

I do not.

It is only late Sunday afternoon, when Harvey mentions the Regatta Ball at Wintermaw Keep, that I realise why.

“The prince went back for it,” he says through a mouthful of biscuit. “Half the vampire students did. Victoria too, obviously.”

“A regatta ball?” I repeat.

“The royal sailing races on the Capital River,” Clara clarifies. “They hold them every year at the end of summer. Once the races finish, the celebrations begin with nobles sailing along the river with music, drinks, and food. I’ve seen it from afar before with my mother. It’s lovely. Then, around dusk, carriages take everyone back to Wintermaw Keep for dinner, dancing, and the actual ball.”

“Does the prince sail?” I ask.

“Dunno. Not invited, am I?” Harvey replies.

“He does,” Becky says. “But he wasn’t racing this year.”

Clara sighs dreamily. “Imagine the dresses. The boats. The decorations. The music. The—”

“Food,” Harvey chimes in.

“Not just the food,” Clara corrects.

“The fucking?”

She scowls at him.

“Sorry.” He grins. “Just trying to imagine it.”

I imagine it too, unfortunately. Victoria in black silk. Nathaniel beside her, immaculate in some dark formal suit, one hand at her waist as they turn beneath chandeliers.

The thought irritates me more than it should.

He collars me, dumps me in this cage, then returns to Wintermaw Keep to drink wine and dance with his bride-to-be.

Not that I care.

The week has stretched strangely. It feels both impossible that I have only been here a handful of days, and impossible that any life existed before this one. Jane has started speaking to me again, at least, though I do not think she was truly upset with me. Just upset. It grieves me to conclude that she has probably had too many awful things happen since that first Pet Obedience class for that particular humiliation to remain fresh. Thursday had involved the vampires inserting coloured glass objects into their assigned pretend pets. Friday had somehow been worse, with the wolves forced to shift so their partners could practise muzzling them and feeding them dog biscuits through the wire.

I am not optimistic about what Zott has in store for the coming week.

Then I give myself a small mental kick.

The only thing I need to be optimistic about is escape.

Monday begins, and my heart gives a traitorous kick when I see my quarry at breakfast. There he is at the staff table, speaking to Arken with his usual cold boredom. No flowers today, at least not yet. No Victoria beside him. Just the prince, composed and untouchable.

I try to follow him after breakfast, but quickly give up. The hallway is too crowded with students, their perfumes and colognes mixing with the damp stone smell of the castle. Nathaniel’s scent appears, vanishes, appears again where he cannot possibly be, then disappears beneath the pungent sweetness of roses as Victoria sweeps past. Her perfume is not the soft, living scent of fresh roses in a garden, but something heavier and more concentrated, cloying enough to coat the back of my throat.

After that, I lose any desire to keep searching for his scent. My nose feels overwhelmed, every trace of him buried beneath perfume, sweat and too many bodies.

This is getting ridiculous.