Midnight Houses

Book One: The Refusal Heir

Lucien Deuc-Montblud had been given seven women from which to choose a wife.

He considered this generous.

His grandfather had apparently been given four.

Lucien stood at the top of the grand staircase of House Montblud and looked down upon the ballroom. Nearly two hundred guests filled the chamber below. Most belonged to the Midnight Houses. A smaller number were trusted associates whose families had served the Houses for generations. Everyone knew why they had gathered.

Tonight Lucien was expected to choose.

His father stood beside him.

“Try to look pleased,” Lord Adrastus Montblud said.

“I am pleased.”

“You look as though someone has died.”

“No one has died yet.”

Adrastus turned his head slowly.

Lucien smiled.

“There. Better?”

“Much.”

The musicians began another piece below them. Servants moved between the guests carrying silver trays filled with dark wine. Candles burned from three great chandeliers, although the sun had only recently disappeared beyond Dernaith. The Montbluds had never hidden their preference for night. They merely maintained enough appearances to keep ordinary people from asking inconvenient questions.

Lucien descended the staircase with his father.

The conversations below quieted.

Seven young women waited near the center of the ballroom.

Lucien knew everything about them.

He knew their Houses.

He knew their ages.

He knew their bloodlines.

He knew which alliances their marriages would strengthen.

He knew which properties they would inherit.

He knew which illnesses had appeared among their ancestors.

He knew how many children each family expected from a union.

What he did not know was whether Lady Isolde preferred tea or coffee.

He did not know what made Lady Marcella laugh.

He did not know whether Lady Catrine enjoyed music.

He did not know if Lady Helena wanted children.

Apparently these details had been considered less important.

His father had given him a leather-bound volume three days earlier containing everything House Montblud believed necessary for choosing a wife.

Lucien had read it twice.

He had hated it more the second time.

“Lord Lucien.”

Lady Isolde curtsied.

She was beautiful. That was also in the book.

Lucien bowed.

“My lady.”

“It is an honor finally to meet you.”

“Finally?”

She smiled politely. “Our fathers have discussed this possibility for several years.”

“Have they?”

Her smile weakened.

Lucien glanced at his father.

Adrastus was already speaking with another lord and pretending not to notice.

“I apologize,” Lucien said. “Apparently I was the last person informed of my courtship.”

Isolde laughed.

It was genuine.

Lucien immediately liked her more.

“I suspect I was informed only slightly before you.”

“Then perhaps we should both escape.”

“Where would we go?”

“I haven't decided.”

“That seems poorly planned.”

“I have had a busy week.”

She laughed again.

Lucien offered his arm and walked with her through the ballroom. They spoke for several minutes. Isolde was intelligent, pleasant, and considerably more interesting than the family record suggested.

She also did not want to marry him.

Lucien discovered this when they reached the windows overlooking the eastern garden.

“There is someone else,” he said quietly.

Isolde looked at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You keep looking toward the musicians.”

“I enjoy music.”

“You enjoy the violinist.”

Her pale cheeks darkened.

Lucien smiled.

“He is human,” she whispered.

“I noticed.”

“My father would never permit it.”

“Then your father and mine might have something to discuss.”

“Lord Lucien.”

“I have no intention of embarrassing you.”

Relief appeared on her face.

“Thank you.”

Lucien bowed.

“One bride eliminated. Six remain.”

Isolde covered her mouth to hide another laugh.

Lucien left her beside the window.

He endured another hour.

Lady Marcella spoke almost exclusively about horses, which Lucien found refreshing. Lady Catrine had been told since childhood that she would someday marry him and seemed deeply disappointed upon actually meeting him. Lady Helena wanted to travel beyond Dernaith and had no interest in becoming mistress of House Montblud.

By the time Lucien reached the fourth candidate, he understood something his father apparently did not.

The women had been curated as carefully as he had.

None of them had chosen this.

That realization ruined what little patience remained.

Lucien crossed the ballroom.

His father intercepted him.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside.”

“You have three women remaining.”

“I am aware.”

“The Selection Rite is not optional.”

“Breathing is not optional.”

Adrastus lowered his voice.

“You will treat this seriously.”

“I am treating it seriously. That is precisely the problem.”

“You have obligations.”

“To House Montblud.”

“Yes.”

“To the Conclave.”

“Yes.”

“To everyone except myself.”

Adrastus stared at him.

“You are not a child, Lucien.”

“Then stop choosing my life as though I am one.”

His father's expression hardened.

“Your First Feeding approaches.”

Lucien knew.

Everyone knew.

The First Feeding marked the final passage into full standing among the Midnight Houses. Until that ceremony, Lucien remained an heir in preparation. Afterward he would possess all the rights, obligations, and authority of an adult member of House Montblud.

Including marriage.

Apparently the Conclave preferred to arrange both matters close together.

“A Montblud heir has followed the Selection Rite for generations,” Adrastus continued.

“Then one more evening will not destroy it.”

Lucien stepped around him.

“Lucien.”

He stopped.

“Do not embarrass this House.”

Lucien looked back.

“I would never dream of it.”

He left before his father could decide whether that was sincere.

It was not.

The western corridor was quiet. Lucien walked until the music became faint behind him. He passed portraits of dead Montbluds who had undoubtedly obeyed every rule placed before them.

At least the portraits made them look obedient.

Lucien reached the servants' corridor and turned toward the garden.

He had almost reached the rear doors when someone came around the corner.

They collided.

A tray struck the floor.

Crystal shattered.

The young woman carrying it stumbled backward.

Lucien caught her arm before she fell.

For several seconds neither moved.

She had dark brown hair pinned behind her head, although several strands had escaped. Her dress was plain black with a white collar identifying her as temporary household staff. Her eyes were green.

Very green.

Lucien released her.

“I apologize.”

The woman stared at the broken crystal.

“Oh, no.”

“I assure you, I am unharmed.”

She looked at him.

“I was speaking about the glasses.”

Lucien paused.

“Of course.”

“These are Montblud crystal.”

“So I have been told.”

“They cost more than I earn in a month.”

“Then we should blame me.”

“You?”

“I walked into you.”

“You were standing still.”

Lucien considered that.

“Then perhaps we should blame the corridor.”

She stared at him.

He waited.

A smile appeared.

It was small, but it was there.

Lucien crouched and began collecting the larger pieces.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“You cannot.”

“I seem physically capable.”

“You're a guest.”

“Unfortunately.”

She knelt across from him.

“You don't like parties?”

“I like parties.”

“You have an odd way of showing it.”

“I don't like this party.”

She placed several pieces of crystal onto the tray.

“Why?”

Lucien looked toward the distant ballroom.

“I am being encouraged to make an important decision.”

“And you don't want to make it?”

“I don't want someone else deciding which decisions belong to me.”

Her expression changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

“I understand that.”

Lucien looked at her.

Their hands reached for the same piece of crystal.

Her fingers touched his.

She stopped.

So did he.

Her skin was warm.

His was not.

The difference could not have escaped her notice.

Yet she did not pull away immediately.

Lucien found himself watching her face.

She finally withdrew her hand.

“You should return to your party.”

“You sound like my father.”

“That is unfortunate for both of us.”

Lucien laughed.

The sound surprised him.

“What is your name?”

She hesitated.

“Elowen.”

“Elowen what?”

“Ashford.”

Lucien saw the change before he understood it.

Fear.

She rose quickly.

Lucien stood with her.

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“That was clearly something.”

“I should return to the kitchen.”

“Elowen.”

Footsteps sounded behind them.

A tall man in a dark formal coat entered the corridor.

Mr. Vale had served House Montblud longer than Lucien had been alive. He was not a vampire, but there were few men in Dernaith whom Lucien's father trusted more.

Vale stopped when he saw them.

His face became still.

“Miss Ashford.”

Elowen lowered her eyes.

“Mr. Vale.”

“You were instructed to remain belowstairs.”

“I was delivering glasses.”

“You were instructed to remain belowstairs.”

Lucien stepped forward.

“She collided with me.”

Vale looked at him.

“My lord.”

Elowen's head rose.

She looked from Vale to Lucien.

“My lord?”

Lucien suddenly understood.

She had not known.

Vale gave him a small bow.

“Lord Lucien.”

Elowen's face lost its color.

“Montblud?”

Lucien said nothing.

She stepped away from him.

“You are Lucien Montblud.”

“Yes.”

Vale moved between them.

“Miss Ashford, come with me.”

Elowen looked at Lucien once more.

Whatever ease had existed between them was gone.

She followed Vale down the corridor.

Lucien remained beside the broken crystal.

Something bothered him.

Not her reaction to his name.

Vale's reaction to hers.

Lucien followed.

He kept enough distance that Vale did not immediately notice him.

They reached the servants' stairs.

Two Montblud guards waited beside the door.

Vale opened it.

Elowen descended.

The door closed behind her.

One guard produced a key.

He locked it.

Lucien stopped.

Servants were not locked inside House Montblud.

Not ever.

Vale turned.

Their eyes met.

For several seconds neither man spoke.

Then Lucien looked at the locked door.

“Open it.”

Vale did not move.

“I cannot do that, my lord.”

“Why?”

“Your father gave explicit instructions.”

Lucien looked again at the door through which Elowen Ashford had disappeared.

The Selection Banquet continued somewhere behind him. Seven noble families waited for him to choose a wife. His father waited for him to accept his duty. The Conclave waited for another Montblud heir to do exactly what generations before him had done.

Lucien no longer cared about any of it.

He wanted to know why House Montblud was afraid to let Elowen Ashford leave.