Reborn Princess: Burning Her Scornful Crown

Fiona woke up to the smell of coffee. She shot up in bed, panic seizing her chest. The sheets were gray silk, not the gold of her room. Where am I? Then she saw her wrist. It was neatly bandaged with professional gauze. The memories rushed back. The infiltration. The blood. The deal. The door opened. A tall man with a scar running through his eyebrow walked in. Vane. Demian's head of security. He didn't look like he wanted to kill her, which was an improvement from last night. "Good morning, Your Highness," Vane said. He set a tray down on the bedside table. "The Prince sends his regards." "What time is it?" Fiona asked, swinging her legs out of bed. "Seven a.m. We have established a cover story. You were at the Royal Library late last night researching ancient prayers for your husband's success. You fainted from exhaustion and were brought to the nearest medical wing-ours." Fiona let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. It was a solid lie. Bradley would buy it because it stroked his ego. Vane handed her a small black velvet box. "From the Prince." Fiona opened it. Inside sat a heavy silver ring with a black onyx stone, engraved with a hawk. And a tiny, almost invisible earpiece. "Put the ring on," Vane said. "It's a signal to my men. If they see it, they protect you. The earpiece is a direct line. Encrypted. The microphone is woven into the setting of the ring's stone. Orozco tech. It's undetectable by standard security sweeps. The Prince insists on discretion." Fiona slid the ring onto her right ring finger. It was a little loose, but it felt heavy. Like armor. "Thank you," she said. She dressed quickly in the clothes Yana had packed-her "library" outfit. As she walked down the long corridor toward the exit, she saw him. Demian was sitting in a wheelchair by the window, looking out at the rain-washed garden. He was wearing a black turtleneck that hid the needle mark on his neck. He didn't turn around. But as she passed, he raised a crystal tumbler of whiskey slightly in the air. Fiona paused. She touched the ring on her finger. He saw her reflection in the glass. His lips curved into a smirk. She kept walking. The car ride back to the Palace was smooth. Too smooth. When she walked into the grand foyer, the atmosphere was suffocating. Yana rushed to her, her face pale. "He's in the dining room. He's furious." Fiona took a deep breath. She pinched her cheeks to bring some color to them, then let her shoulders slump. She transformed from the woman who fed blood to a vampire into the meek, exhausted wife. She walked into the dining room. Bradley was eating eggs benedict. He didn't look up. "Where were you?" he asked. The fork scraped against the china. Scrape. Scrape. "I... I was at the library, Bradley," Fiona stammered, pulling out the forged medical report Vane had given her. "I wanted to find that prayer for the gala. I guess I forgot to eat." She placed the paper on the table. Bradley picked it up. He scanned it, his eyes narrowing. Anemia. Exhaustion. Stress. He scoffed. "You're so fragile, Fiona. It's embarrassing. The press is asking questions." "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking at her shoes. "Daddy!" Jimmie ran into the room. He was wearing his school uniform. He ran straight past Fiona and jumped onto Bradley's lap. "Hey, champ," Bradley's face transformed. He smiled, kissing the top of Jimmie's head. "Ready for school?" "Yeah! Can we take the sports car?" "Anything for you." Neither of them looked at Fiona. She was a ghost in her own house. She watched them leave, Bradley's arm draped protectively around the boy who had bitten her. The boy who would kill her. She went to her room and locked the door. She put the earpiece in. "Testing," she whispered. Static crackled, then a voice. Low, smooth, and amused. "Academy Award performance, Princess." Her heart hammered. "You were listening?" "I have eyes and ears everywhere," Demian said. "Especially on my investments." Fiona looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were hard. "I'm not an investment, Demian. I'm a partner." "We'll see," he replied. "Seven days. I need another dose. Don't be late." The line went dead. Fiona touched the bandage on her wrist. Let the game begin.