The smell of food rouses me from the deep slumber of my subconscious.
Upon hearing voices, I'm not sure whether to panic or feel relieved that I'm not alone.
"Tea?" an unfamiliar voice asks.
"Yes please," another responds, but this one I know.
Sofie!
My eyelids flutter open and I am instantly swamped with confusion when realise that I am lying in a bed.
Where am I again? What happened?
My disorientation is short lived. Memories soon come crashing back into the forefront of my mind and, with a sharp gasp, I bolt upright.
The first thing I notice after blinking a few times is how bright the room is. Sunlight streams in through the drawn back curtains, giving the entire room a warm yellow hue.
The second thing I notice is that I am in the same bed that Sofie and I stripped in out attempt to escape. The soft sheets and silky quilts are back in their rightful places now.
The third thing I notice is the table across the room - or more specifically the person who is sitting at it.
"Ah, you're awake. Perfect timing too. Just in time for breakfast." A cheerful female voice makes me jump and I look over to see a primly dressed woman with a friendly smile.
"Which do you prefer, strawberry conserve or apricot?" she asks while I gape at her.
"Emmy!" Sofie springs up from her seat at the table and runs across the room. Leaping up onto the bed, she embraces me in an aggressive hug.
"You're awake," she says with glee.
"That's enough, Sofie," the stranger tells her. "Sit back down and finish your breakfast."
"Who the hell are you?" I demand.
The woman looks down at me, seemingly unaffected by my abruptness, and smiles.
"My name is Marie-Claire and I'm the housemaid here."
"What?" I ask.
"Are you hungry? You should eat." She diverts the conversation quickly, grabbing the covers and pulling them off me in one swift tug.
Looking down at myself, I am horrified to discover that someone has undressed me and changed my clothes.
"What have you done to me?" I demand, dreading the answer.
"I changed your clothes because your old ones were dirty and smelled like urine," she explains before adding impatiently, "Now come on, get up. You don't have much time."
"Time for what?" I ask. This woman isn't making any sense.
"Your meeting with the duke," she says.
"The duke?" I repeat, filled with bewilderment, and she huffs.
"You ask a lot of questions, don't you? And yes, the duke wishes to speak to you after breakfast."
Sofie's now sitting back at the table with a cup of tea in front of her and looking relatively unharmed which only adds to my suspicions. She is wearing new clothes too; a t-shirt and leggings.
Getting out of the bed cautiously, I watch as Marie-Claire pours tea into a dainty teacup.
"Tea?" she asks me and I immediately shake my head. There's no way I'm drinking anything this lady gives me.
"You better hurry before this greedy one eats it all," she says, indicating to Sofie who is busy munching on a croissant while I survey what's on the table.
There's a pot of tea and sugar, milk jug, a two-tier cake stand holding an assortment of teacakes and croissants, a generous choice of jams and a glass jug filled with what looks like orange juice.
My cousin gives me a peculiar look.
"Emmy," she says. "Why is your nose purple?"
"What?" I ask, alarmed, and instinctively reach up to touch my face but regret it instantly. My nose feels swollen and throbs like it has its own heartbeat.
"Eat up now, girls," Marie-Claire says. "I have some other errands to run but Frederick will be up to collect you shortly."
When she leaves I turn to my little cousin sharply and hiss, "What the hell, Sofie?!"
She seems taken aback, her mouth popping open to reveal some half-chewed food.
"What?" she asks meekly.
"What?" I repeat in disbelief. "What?! You're sitting here, eating and acting like nothing has happened!"
I snatch the half-eaten croissant from out of her hands.
"All of this could be poisoned for all we know," I say and Sofie's face pales as she glances down at the food on the table.
"You think so?" she asks worriedly.
"We were kidnapped yesterday," I snap, "Brought to France, attacked when we tried to leave and now we're being served breakfast. How can you not think that's the slightest bit suspicious?"
"I didn't think of it like that," she admits.
"Of course you didn't," I mutter bitterly. "Jesus, Sofie! When will you stop being so naive and trusting everyone you meet?"
In response to my harsh words, her bottom lip begins to quiver.
"I'm sorry, Emmy," she says. "I was scared when you wouldn't wake up and I got really hungry. But then that lady came in and she was nice to me and she brought all this food. What was I supposed to do?"
"Stop being so bloody gullible!"
She bursts into tears and regret hits me instantly. I'm such a piece of shit
"Sofie..." I say softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take my frustrations out on you."
She sniffs and wipes her eyes on the back of her hand.
"Are you mad at me?" she asks.
"No," I say, sighing. "I just want to go home."
"Do you think anyone is looking for us?" she wonders.
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I hope so."
A sudden knock on the door startles us. Seconds later, it opens and I stiffen in my seat when I see the butler - Frederick.
"Good morning," he says blandly. Neither of us responds.
"His Grace is waiting to see you downstairs," he continues. "I'm here to take you to him."
His Grace? What the fuck.
"What's going to happen to us?" I ask him.
"If you follow me then you will find out," he replies, taking a step back and sweeping his arm out.
"Please," he adds in a professional and courteous manner. "After you."
Hesitantly, we follow Frederick out of the room and down a set winding halls until coming to a stop outside the door of an unknown room.
"Come in," an irritated voice demands before Frederick even has a chance to knock.
Opening the door, he pushes us into the room and inside the dimly lit study, we are greeted by the man who we met earlier in the reception area.
"Ah, hello," he greets us from his seat behind a large oak desk. "We meet again."
A pale face framed by shiny black curls peers out from the side of a high-backed chair facing the desk and grins.
François.
"I'm sorry for not introducing myself before. I was taken quite by surprise earlier, as you can imagine," the man explains.
Sofie and I say nothing.
"What are your names?" he asks.
"I thought you didn't want to know," I retort and Sofie subtly nudges me with her elbow.
"Our names are Emilia and Sofie, sir," she answers his question meekly and the man purses his lips, frowning.
"Well," he says, "I wish I could say it's nice to meet you, but under these circumstances, it truly isn't."
You got that right.
"My name is Guillaume," he tells us. "I'm the owner of this household and estate. And this-" he indicates to the man sitting opposite him- "is my son François."
"We've met," I reply curtly.
"Yes, of course," he agrees, sounding almost apologetic. "No need for formal introductions then. We will just stick to the topic at hand."
Linking his finger together, he leans back in his chair and appraises us with a solemn expression.
"Due to unfortunate events," he says. "The two of you have landed into an unsavoury situation. A situation that I hoped I would never have to deal with again."
"Again?" I stare at him in horror. "You've kidnapped people before?"
The man, Guillaume, ignores my question and carries on.
"My son has given me the details of what happened in London and I've had an entire night to ponder on how to deal with his stupid decision to bring you both back to France. You two are far too young to be dragged into such a horrible mess and I'm afraid my conscious would suffer greatly if I were to just have you disposed of the easy way."
The breath leaves my lungs in an audible whoosh and I almost collapse with relief.
"You're going to let us go?"
"Let you go?" Guillaume blinks at me as if the question has caught him by surprise.
"Oh, no, my dear. We aren't going to let you go."
"Why not?" I ask desperately.
"Because you have seen too much," he states simply. "Letting you leave would be risking my kind's existence."
"Your kind?" I repeat shakily.
Frowning, he glances at his son and asks, "Haven't you explained any of this to them?"
"I have told them," François replies, glancing my way. "But they don't believe."
"That you're a vampire?" I interject. "No, I don't believe that. Vampires don't exist."
"Keep telling yourself that, ma cherie," he says.
"François," Guillaume sighs heavily. "Please keep quiet."
His dark brown eyes rest on my face and seriousness takes over his features.
"The thing is, my dear-" he starts.
"I'm not your fucking dear," I interrupt venomously.
In response, François glares at me and Sofie cringes by my side but Guillaume appears unaffected.
"The thing is, my dear," he repeats, emphasising the word simply to piss me off, I'm sure. "Is that you and your friend have witnessed far too much for us to simply let you go."
"We haven't witnessed anything," I deny.
"Oh come now, my dear," he chides me like I'm a child. "You were there in the carpark when my son and his friends made a mess. You both saw what went on."
My throat thickens at the memory of last night and my eyes begin to burn as gory images flash before them.
"They murdered those men with their bare hands," I manage to get out. "Like disgusting wild animals."
"That's your way of looking at it," François speaks, glaring at me from where he sits.
"No," I answer with anger. "That's what happened. There is no other way of looking at it."
"Whatever," he says. "What do you know about me anyway?"
"That you're an evil bastard," I reply, unable to help myself.
A sound similar to a snarl passes his lips and Guillaume slams his fist down onto the desk, making the three of us jump.
"François," he warns. "Sois sage." Behave yourself.
His attention returns to me and his dark eyes harden. A sliver of fear shoots up my spine in response to his steely appraisal.
"I have decided that the two of you will stay here until further notice," he informs us. "There is no escape, so don't bother looking for one."
I push down my panic and take a deep breath.
"People will be looking for us," I warn him. "We have family."
"Oh, we don't doubt that, my dear," he replies, not appearing in any way concerned. "But you might as well give up on that thought. No one will find you here."
"You won't get away with this," I say. "My father is a very powerful man."
"Oh?" Guillaume arches an eyebrow, clearly amused by my threat. "And who may he be?"
"His name is Elias Temple," I reply smugly. "And he's the Secretary of State for Defence."
It's amusing to watch the man's face once I reveal my dad's identity. I see shock pass across his features, then disbelief, and then dread. Gotcha, motherfucker.
Guillaume turns to his son with a thunderous expression and snarls, "What have you done?"
François blanches at his father.
"How was I supposed to know that?" he answers defensively. "Are we meant to ask every single human we interact with who their father is? They weren't even supposed to be there. The slayers specifically picked an empty building estate to avoid being seen. It's not my fault this happened."
Guillaume's nostrils flare but he seems to calm considerably. He places his elbows on the desk and rests his head in his hands.
"This is going to cause a lot of problems for us," he sighs. "I will have to inform the Elder Committee immediately."
Nothing this man says is making any sense. It reinforces my belief that everyone in the place is insane.
François throws a shrewd glance my way.
"She could be lying," he says.
"I'm not," I counter.
"I wouldn't want to risk it," Guillaume says, ignoring me. "She may be lying, and if that's the case, handling this situation will be less complicated. But if she is telling the truth then we will have to tread very carefully unless we want to risk political war."
His gaze returns to me.
"This does not change anything yet," he says. "You will still have to remain here until further notice."
"I demand to speak to my father," I tell him and François laughs.
"She's making demands now," he chuckles to his father. "Careful, ma cherie." He looks at me. "If you get too brave I may have to teach you another lesson."
"Enough, François," Guillaume mutters before shouting, "Frederick!"
The butler appears in an instant, obviously having been stood right outside the door this entire time.
"Oui, Votre Grâce?" he asks.
"Take them back upstairs," Guillaume orders.
Frederick ushers us out of the room but not before I hear François say, "See you soon, Amélie."
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