Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy by Amy Miles

Author:Amy Miles [Miles, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Romania, Young Adult, Vampire myth, Vampires, fantasy, Angels, Paranormal Romance, Teen and Young Adult, Vampire, Immortals, Coming of Age, Fantasy, Immortal, romance, paranormal, Action, Mythology, Science Fiction and Fantasy, Sword and Sorcery
ISBN: 9781311928931
Publisher: Amy Miles Books
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

Newly formed icicles dangle from my window. Small droplets of water bead at the ends before plummeting to the ground far below. I have been observing their steady decline for several hours, marveling over the colors the afternoon sun casts off their glistening surface.

A line of unmanned carriages and wagons sits below my window. The horses have been stowed in the barns, their needs seen to shortly after arriving just before dawn. The festivities and merriment lasted nearly until midday before the castle fell into a hush once more. I stood at my door, listening to the new voices. There are twenty-four in total. Fifteen men and nineteen ladies, though judging by their manner of speech, only one or two of them would be considered a proper lady.

I heard laughter and the slamming of doors for several hours as rooms were sorted and bedmates were selected. I was actually rather impressed that only two fights broke out, both settled swiftly and severely. Vladimir seems to be in no mood for discord today. Nothing will spoil his solstice celebrations.

A dress has been laid upon my bed, though I have spent much of the day ignoring it. I do not want to participate in whatever events are planned. They are bound to be depraved and unsavory in nature.

The dress itself is a thing of sheer beauty. Made of a deep sapphire and gold-scrawled velvet, it is weighted and bustled perfectly to fit to my narrow waist, flaring fetchingly at the hip, as seems to be the emerging style. A single strand of pearls has been draped across the bust of the dress and a pair of golden slippers lies beside it.

My hair falls about my shoulders in long, untamed tresses. I press a hand against my corseted waist, longing for the freedom that my nightgown provides. The boning of my day dress suddenly feels constrictive, making it hard to take a breath. I have taken to wearing an older fashion of clothes that I scrounge from the rooms when my brethren have left to plunder. Emeline has a pile of discarded dresses in the bottom of her armoire. I have no desire to wear something fancy or to impress Vladimir so her dresses suit me just fine, albeit a bit loose in the top.

I am relatively pain free this morning. Vladimir has not come to me since our guests began arriving. For this I am very grateful. My wounds have healed and my bruises have receded. I nearly feel whole. As much pleasure as this knowledge brings me, it is also paired with wariness. Vladimir must have something planned, and judging by the fine stitching of this dress, he fully intends to show me off this night.

A knock sounds at my door, startling me. I instantly chide myself for allowing my thoughts to whittle away at my concentration. I glance to the window and see that the sun still perches too high in the sky to yet be dusk. Who could this be? Surely we are not to prepare for the evening’s revelry this soon.

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