Sucks to Suck – Chapter 8

“This situation has gone unaddressed for too long, my Prince.”

There was no attempt to disguise the disdain which was infused in that last word as the tall man spoke, looking up at the slender figure sitting upon the dark mahogany throne. The Prince put only marginally more effort into hiding his disdain for the man and his retinue as they stood in front of him. Their leather jackets and spiked gloves, ragged, and long hair and braided beards paired with pagan symbols tattooed on their pale skin or stitched into their clothes, stood in stark contrast with the Prince's own modern, minimalistic black suit, cut sharp and slender, bespoke to perfection against his tall, elegant frame. They were barbarians forever stuck in the past, the Prince reckoned, while the only thing on him that alluded to the days of before was the large golden chain of office draped around his shoulders, which while admittedly medieval, was a mark of pride and tradition, and a link between him and all of those who served in a similar function across time. A mark of his commitment to his kin.

“The situation has been addressed, Ronan. People of my close trust have looked into it. No signs of poaching have been unearthed, and none of the Families has reasons to violate your territory. Enough resources have been dedicated from this Court to look into this matter…”

“Enough resources? You asked your lapdog to poke around my turf, asking a handful of questions to my men and that was it. Hardly a proper investigation. And more, how are we supposed to trust that you are not covering for your own Family, Prince? How are we to know nothing was uncovered in fact?”

“My word, as your liege, shall have to suffice,” the Prince spoke, categorically.

Ronan was not just the leader of the band, but the strongest one of them too, physically, and otherwise. His gaze was full of barely disguised anger as he looked the Prince in the eyes in challenge. But it was a challenge he would not speak out loud. Not yet, anyway. To challenge the Prince openly like that would invite reprisals, and Ronan, thuggish as he was, knew very well the full extent of consequences that could be brought down upon him, and his, if he was to make that move. His fists clenched, squeezing tightly before he dipped his head.

“Very well, my liege. We shall take your word on it… For now.”

The myriad of figures standing in the shadows of the room would have exhaled in relief, the Prince was sure, if they had air in their lungs. Instead, there was just silence, and it was palpable just how pregnant with tension that silence was. That was not Ronan’s first challenge to the Prince's authority, but it was the furthest he had dared to go since the first time he complained about the disappearance of mortals in his territory. Back then, the Prince had taken him seriously and investigated the matter. Rogue kin hunting with no respect for boundaries was sadly not that uncommon of an occurrence, and to see them swiftly found and punished would be the best way to resolve the matter. But as no rogue kin emerged, the Prince's suspicions turned to the second most likely explanation: Ronan just wanted to undermine his authority. To manufacture a problem he could not solve, use that problem as a justification to be malcontent and eventually make his own bid for the Principality of Seattle. And his insistence on the matter even after the investigations was closed only made the Prince even more certain of the existence of some undisclosed agenda behind the suspicion of poaching.

And as Ronan and his men cleared the centre of the room, the Prince scanned the other faces there, lingering in the shadows. The skyline of Seattle shone through the large steel and glass art deco window shaped like an arch that formed a large part of the crown of the edifice. Large angular chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling but they were off, and instead, it was the sea-shell-shaped lamps attached to the straight-edge columns that cast the little indirect light across the room where the Court met. The Prince's throne was placed above a dais so that even sitting, the claimants visiting Court would need to look up to address him. The dark marble floor stretched in front of him and if the room was better lit, one could expect to see the reflection of the figures deliberately cloaking themselves in darkness. Though with the Prince’s acute vision, the low light offered no veil to hide behind. He could see every pale face and pair of red eyes on the thirty or something people gathered there. Some wore modern bespoke suits and exquisite dresses, others opted for long robes and cloaks. A few, like Ronan, eschewed both the formal and the traditional and opted for modern casual clothing, and almost every single person there was wearing mostly black, with red or purple accents. At least in that, if nothing else, the Prince thought, his kin could agree.

“Anyone else would like to bring matters to the attention of this Court?” he asked because tradition demanded of him, but truly at his core, he was done for the night.

Ronan was exhausting and the petty complaints usually brought forth in Court were even more tiresome. But when only silence came in turn, the Prince adjusted himself on the throne, finding that the lack of response filled him with unexpected unease. If they had nothing to bring to his attention, that could mean that the Court no longer saw use for him. And he knew that Ronan wasn’t the only one among their numbers who’d see someone else sitting over that throne. Someone else wearing that golden chain. But Ronan and his thugs would need to wait because Seattle already had a Prince, and he had no plans to go away anytime soon.

“In that case, I hereby proclaim this Court dismissed. May the night cloak your steps as you leave.”

And with those words, there was muttering among the crowd and they began to disperse, leaving the room through the many doors, although a number of them simply vanished in a cloud of smoke. The Prince waited, sitting down, dignified and silent until the room was empty before he finally sighed and removed the office's chain from his shoulders, to hang it over the backrest of his throne.

“You conducted yourself with regal grace and dignity, my sovereign,” said a soft, raspy and gravelly voice coming seemingly from nowhere.

“Skye,” the Prince greeted.

The hall was empty, but on the balcony overlooking it, the vampire took form. Nothing was there for a second, and then a vague glimmer of distortion and she appeared as if she had walked from behind an unseen curtain that kept her hidden. As if she had been waiting in the backstage of the world before coming into sight. And what a sight she was, the Prince thought. By definition, all of their kin had their skin acquire a pallor upon conversion, and those with a fair complexion ended up displaying that paleness more than those with darker skin. But Skye’s skin was like marble, down to the strange and subtle glints of light bouncing off it, and as she hopped over the balcony’s ledge to fall upon the hall where the Court had gathered but minutes before, her feet made no sound as they touched the ground. The only sound was the light ruffling of her long trench coat fluttering behind her as she fell, barely more audible than the wings of a night owl.

“Ronan plots against you,” she stated the obvious but the Prince listened with patience, nodding only as she approached.

Skye wore a black trench coat that reached to her ankles, over leather pants with a high waist and boots, and a simple blouse tucked in. Her slick and straight hair fell over her shoulders and forehead in a perfectly straight bang, and everything about her was long and thin. Her fingers, her wrists, her neck. If she did not move with feline-like grace, her proportions might've been enough to make her seem lanky and awkward. But each of her movements was calculated.

“Aren’t all of them?”

The Prince adjusted his cuffs as he stepped out of the throne to walk towards her and, upon reaching her, they walked together, back to the throne, towards the elevator on the other side of the large atrium at the top of the building.

“All of them? No. But most of them, certainly,” Skye offered.

She was a head taller than him, and he was a rather tall man himself, and it was disquieting how her footsteps made no sound. Her boots should be echoing as they struck marble but, instead, it was almost as if she was floating beside him. She wasn’t, of course, but that was the blessing of her bloodline, and she yielded it with the ease and talent of a virtuoso.

“I’m surrounded by enemies,” the Prince offered as they reached the art deco elevator of brass and gold accents, and he hit the button to take them to the apartment below.

“Every Prince is,” she said with a voice that felt like soft fabric caressing his ears, just a notch higher than a whisper, throaty and deep. “But you also have friends.”

The elevator opened into his apartment, and there was no view of the city as bulletproof shutters were permanently lowered. He stepped into his abode and watched as the two humans lounged on his couch, likely waiting there for hours until he was done holding Court. A man and a woman, clad in the lightest black silk robes that left very few secrets about their sculptural bodies. Dolls worthy of the Prince. Their eyes were unfocused, and the Prince felt that tension in his upper jaw as his fangs anticipated the meal, and the kick of the drugs floating around the system of the couple. Skye remained in the elevator as the Prince stepped into his home.

“You mean allies. A Prince has no friends.”

Skye smirked, breaking her deadpan expression for a second only as she offered:

“Oh, but you do.”

And then the Prince couldn't help but smile back at her. A glance to the mortals and then back to her, as he stretched his hand towards the leathery black couches.

“Would you like to join me for the feeding?”

“I appreciate it, my sovereign, but I like to hunt my own meals.”

“Entirely understandable,” he conceded, taking off his blazer to hang it on the hook by the door before he called back to her. “Skye…?”

“Yes, my Prince?”

Unlike Ronan, there was no hint of disdain on the use of the title, only respectful reverence. He liked that.

“I want you to look into this poaching matter. Discreetly.”

“I don’t understand. I thought it was resolved…”

“Me too. I think it is. I suspect Ronan knows there’s nothing to it either. But I have no proof to use against him. I had people look into it but nothing has come up. Nothing that I can use. But those people were not you. I never had you look into it.”

“I see.”

“Make sure nobody knows.”

“That’s my speciality.”

“And, if there’s a poacher, I want their name… No, I want them brought to me. If there isn’t, I want to know what Ronan is planning. You understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“I trust you, Skye. More than anyone else in that Court. Give me something I can work with.”

“I shall, my sovereign.”

“Danger lurks on the horizon, and I’m afraid of what will be made of this city if they catch us in the middle of war or anarchy. If I cannot get rid of Ronan, or quell his ambitions, then I need to at least play for time.”

Skye was silent when he was done, standing there with her arms folded under her chest and her eyes closed, deep in thought for a moment. Then she slowly opened them to look past him, past the apartment. To stare at something a thousand miles away, as she spoke next.

“I will not disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t. But, still… Use our allies.”

“I prefer to work alone.”

“And you shall do so, many times in the future. But for this one, we cannot hold back. So, I insist again, use our allies.”

“Which ones?”

The Prince reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a business card, except it was printed with black ink on black paper. The only clue to the presence of a logo and letters on it was how the light bounced off the glossy type while the rest of the card had a carbon matte colour. She held it and read the name.

“Call. Ask for Houston.”

“My Prince.” She dipped her head accepting the card.

“That would be all. You’re dismissed, Skye,” he said, and feeling that could be a little dry, added, “good luck with your hunt.”

“I shall not need it.”

And then she stepped back to allow the elevator doors to close. The Prince watched the closed doors for a moment longer until the machinery began to hum to carry Skye away, towards her mission. He then turned to his couch where the two mortals looked at him with eyes full of hungry expectation. Junkies, craving the next hit of their favourite drug, the Prince thought, undoing his vest and discarding it on the floor as he approached them. Robes were shrugged off and soon warm soft limbs were wrapping around his chest and undoing the buttons of his shirt. He captured an arm, unsure who it belonged to, and the wet clicking sound of his fangs was barely audible over the moans of anticipation coming from his blood bags. His thoughts of Court and politics were washed away as his teeth rendered skin and the warm blood began to flow into his throat. The moaning grew louder and the rest was bliss.