While I was sure the Emperor would let me do it simply for his amusement, I did not want to be that asshole. The Torturer was a woman and, while the men barely understood that the world had moved out of the dark-ages, I was not going to make her suffer only because she didn’t like me and made no show of hiding it. It was nice to know where you stood sometimes.

She was practically a slave anyway, I knew what caused her anger with me‒I lived free of the confines that being a female vampire invited. I did not have to report to masters or live with men I despised.

I was free; she was caged.

For the same reason she would not betray my secret, I would not abuse the freedom my perceived sex gave me.

We sat in tense silence until she returned with eight donors; one for everyone it seemed. Normally I liked to tease my donors a bit before I fed‒I liked a man to work up a sweat, to have a strong, heady pulse when I drank‒but this was not the time for it.

I all but glided for the first man I saw. My mouth watered with want and my eyes closed as I inhaled the smell of desire and cheap soaps. I pulled the boy against me, running a hand down his arm; I could feel his pulse, and his gasp of anticipation only fuelled my hunger. I waited for the Emperor however; like everyone else in the room, we selected our food and then turned, waiting for permission, waiting for him to eat first. They say that dog-trainers do this to instil obedience and show dominance. Vampires do it because you simply don’t eat before an Emperor.

He stood on his chair, took the young man’s hand in his with a charming smile and gave the man a pat on his head. Then the Emperor struck and bit into the man’s wrist.

Like most donors, he was probably not a first-timer. The bite was addictive; the act was sexual; the need was physical; and he wanted it probably as much as I did.

I pulled his wrist to my mouth, turned into the crux of his body so that he could rub his erection against the small of my back, and I bit him.

Blood and desire washed over me. My fangs sank through his skin, blood surging through the thin hollow tips into the roof of my mouth. I sucked, I moaned; I drained his lifeforce. For a few seconds I wasn’t in trouble. The world wasn’t dimming around me. I wasn’t coated in Caine’s blood. I had a measure of peace.

Life and power washed into me, like waves into the shore. I felt the donor’s arousal, his climax as he bucked and shifted against me. It pounded through my senses, giving me strength. He fell limp as I drank more deeply from his arm.

Vampires do not need to kill to feed, it is rare to kill someone from a feeding, and about three vampires would need to be feeding from the same donor at once to drain that much blood. We had very small stomachs, and it was not the blood that sustained us as much as the life-force, the energy inside the individual. This is why it left people weak-kneed and dizzy. We are drawing on what keeps you alive.

An old man dying in a hospital bed was a poor meal; a teenager at a rave was a good one. Some had liked children, but most no longer fed from them; we tended to abide by human laws where possible.

I reeled back, running my mouth over the wound for a final lick. As the haze in my mind began to lift, I found that the donor was leaning against me, panting heavily. I shuffled him into the plastic chair so he could recover, and I sat daintily on his lap. He gave me a dopy, hopeful smile, but I ignored him. I could still hear the pounding of my own heartbeat over the rush of blood in my system, I could still see Caine’s face—horribly still, frozen. What had been the last thing he’d said to me? Had he seemed distant this evening? The feel of the silk tie in my fingers from earlier came back to me like a distant dream.

“Now, Jester, tell us about the King...” This was spoken from the usually quiet Wolf.

He was a barely contained animal and I do intend that pun; his tuxedo seemed stretched and ill-suited to the stubble and angry tufts of wild hair around his leathery face. He was old, something shown by his almost translucent skin, but he had an unkempt nature about him, as if he spent most of his time running naked through the forests.

If the rumours were to be believed, he did.

I crossed my legs, settling comfortably on my donor.

“We have only been together since 1723. Since he sired little Caspian, we’ve stayed in Jarlsberg, where he has a mortal wife and a day-trading company. He plays the stocks.”

“And your relationship?” The Spider asked.

I shrugged not sure they would understand exactly how close we had been or how distant we had been, “Business. He’s never had a very sociable reputation and I do.”

“Were you fucking him?” The Priest asked pointedly. I could see a leer in his eyes. He had a reputation too, one that I had no intention of finding out about.

“No.”

“Did you want to?” The Spider added. Get old enough and no question really surprises you. I wasn’t offended by it; I would have been surprised if he hadn’t asked it.

“No. The King was not my type; his little wife was good in bed, I believe, so he was well satisfied. Our relationship was friendly at best‒sociable at most. He was my patron,” I said.

And he was dead.

The reality was slowly sinking in. The King had allowed me to manage my own funds, run some companies and a few other interests, ‒ I was not supposed to own too much property or land.

I would have to call my offices and secretaries in Jarlsberg.

I almost felt the headache coming on.

This was a nightmare.

The donors were collected and taken away. I sat in my seat, quiet and alone, but warm and full of blood.

It might be my last meal, I thought, but at least my fangs were gone.

I did not fidget, but it was an effort. The elders were staring at me like I was a rare piece of meat. I did not like personal attention like this. I wanted my mask of background noise.

“I am convinced,” The Spider announced. At some stage the Emperor had allowed the Spider to speak further and conduct the interrogation.

The others nodded in agreement and I felt the sharp coil of tension in my stomach release; I exhaled smoothly.

“We will see what the Investigator has to find,” The Emperor warned; his gaze finally left me and settled on the others, assessing.

I nodded, “I am curious as to who killed him, and why.”

“As am I,” The Spider said.

I was surprised to hear such from him; I had not thought that he and the King were close. Had he made Caine into a vampire? I wasn’t sure. I had never asked.

I was allowed to leave while they discussed the issue as it no longer pertained to me.

That was the vampire equivalent of ‘get out before we change our minds.’

I took the hint and dropped my illusion, striding out of the room with a relaxed and casual pose I didn’t feel. I knew I had to portray the innocent in the next few seconds. It was opening night again; my audience would sense my fear.

The rubble was still there, but two of the dominus were moving it aside so we could get into the main conference room. The Investigator was standing over Caine’s body, making small notes in a little leather journal. He looked up as I came from the smoking longue, our eyes locking and he shook his head- mouthing something that sounded like ‘leave me alone, Jester.’

I wanted to go to him, to ask my questions, to find out what had taken Caine’s head off.

I wanted him to tell me this was all a joke. That Caine had finally found his sense of humour and this was just a prank. That smothering illness was back and I stopped breathing again.

Some of the crowd were staring openly at me; others had attempted some subtlety and started discussions about their various concerns and holdings.

The council meeting was more than just a twice-decade get-together, it was important for establishing new faces, building new alliances and opening up new directions.

Dominus interested in moving cities, or merging territory could do so; it was a brief peace in the storm of vampiric backstabbing and politics. I had my paw in a few safe pies, but right now, I was in poor territory in terms of the negotiating benches.

I sighed.