Here is another Morganville Fan Fiction! :) I hope you find it interesting since I took a bit of a different approach for this one. Review please!

Chapter 1

An icy princess with locks of streaming moonlight sat on her throne of pearl and pale blue. Her gray eyes were faded with boredom as she stared through the stain glass windows into the dark night. Sighing heavily, she smoothed her gown of icy blue silk and intricate, snowy embroidery with her elegant hands.

"Such an ugly sound for the queen of beauty," purred a familiar, seductive voice. Amelie knew who it was before she even looked around. Sure enough, her pensive gaze found that of the tall, dark man who now strode into the throne room with a leisurely, arrogant gait.

"Such audacious words for one not of royalty," Amelie retorted.

A smirk curled Oliver's mouth. The two had always exchanged conflicting words; though unspoken and not-acted upon between the two there lived a tension of an intimate nature.

Oliver performed an exaggerated, sarcastic bow. "I beg your pardon, your highness."

A grimace gnarled Amelie's features, and she turned back to her thoughts.

"Well, well! There are few people you'll allow to show your highness such impudence," said a towering shadow that stepped around from behind Amelie's throne. She hardly acknowledged Myrnin's arrival, seeing as she'd sensed him appear in the throne room quite some time ago. He'd always been one to lurk in the shadows.

At the sound of Myrnin's voice, Oliver's smug expression was exchanged with one of deep hatred. The pair could not reside in the same room without butting heads.

"I see you're as ridiculously extravagant as always," Oliver snarled. It was true. Myrnin was one for elaborate clothing and behavior. Today, he was sporting a scarlet outfit with golden designs. His bifocals sat low on his slightly crooked nose, and his unruly, black hair curled around his shoulders like a material made from night: twisted and tangled yet soft.

Myrnin glanced down at himself in mock surprise then looked at Oliver. "Well, I offer my thanks! You haven't changed much either: still dull and dark."

Before the sneer could stretch too far across Oliver's face, Amelie stepped in. "I hate to interrupt your petty dispute, but why are you here, Oliver?"

That grabbed both men's attention.

"Actually, I have something of a rather great deal of importance to discuss with you," Oliver said. He glanced meaningfully at Myrnin. "Preferably alone."

Myrnin clapped his hands loudly and exclaimed, "Oh! My dear queen, I think he's finally admitting to his lust for your unmatched beauty."

Oliver's eyes gleamed with pure, unadulterated malice. Amelie huffed, exasperated, and interjected before the two could begin another spat. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

Oliver physically composed himself before answering, "I thought you might like to be informed of the new arrival in town before your father caught wind of him." Amelie's head snapped around, her cold eyes wide and attentive. A dark grin traveled over Oliver's features. "Yes, I predicted that this might interest you." Rising from her throne, Amelie asked,

"Who is this newcomer? Does he not know of the dreadful rule of my father?"

"Ask him yourself, your majesty." Oliver snapped his fingers, and in the next moment the enormous, mahogany double-doors of the throne room croaked open. Standing in the doorway, sharp features outlined by velvety, blue-black hair, was a handsome young vampire. His billowing Renaissance shirt, stained with dirt and blood, was nearly falling from his torso in tatters. Being a woman, it was impossible for Amelie not to notice the young man's form. Despite his dirty state, his body was unharmed and quite becoming. His washboard abdomen—half revealed by his tattered clothing—left no room for desire. The vampire queen couldn't prevent herself from imagining her fingers running the length of his abs, perhaps brushing the hem of his pants— Amelie shook her head to rid her mind of such perverse thoughts. She may have been the ice queen, but her heart was still that of a woman with feminine desires and passions.

"What is your name, young one?" Amelie inquired, her cool façade never breaking.

"James Flight, your majesty," replied the man. His British accent echoed through the throne room.

"A Londoner?"

James Flight bowed stiffly toward Amelie. "Oui, my lady. I must apologize. My French is quite immature."

"Indeed," Myrnin growled from Amelie's side. She took little notice of him, though.

"It is fortunate you were brought here, my young vampire. My father is a merciless ruler. And he despises the British. He is hardly in the palace himself, but I think it best we find you suitable housing quickly," she said.

James blinked and glanced uncertainly to the side at something behind the door.

Before Amelie could question his action, Oliver snickered, "Ah, but, dear queen, our youngest addition has not arrived unaccompanied."

Frowning in confusion, Amelie's tone was saturated with irritation as she replied, "And? We can provide for his companion—" The moment she saw James's accompaniment, she bit her tongue.

This was going to be far more difficult than she'd initially suspected.

James Flight, a full-fledged vampire, now held the hand of a very small, chubby girl. She looked to be six or seven, and copper waves shimmered past her shoulders like a waterfall of coins. The girl seemed shy, refusing to look anywhere but at the marble floor, and she kept her thumb between her lips.

And she was human.

"What is the meaning of this, James Flight?" Amelie gasped. It was widely known that Bishop, her father, did not allow any new humans into his inner kingdom without first having a contract with them, even children.

The younger vampire swallowed with some difficulty. "My lady, this is my daughter."

Even Myrnin grunted in surprise now.

"What do you mean? You are a vampire."

"Yes, but I have only been so for a little over six years. My wife died giving birth to Quita. Just a few months afterward, I was turned."

"I don't know how the rest of you see this, but I find it quite immoral to carry around a blood bag, especially one that is literally your own flesh and blood," Myrnin grimaced. He looked down his nose at James with contempt.

James's eyes widened. "N-No! No, I do not feed from her! Never!"

"Then how do you feed? Surely, if you care at all for you mortal daughter, you would not wish upon her the sight of your feedings."

James's face showed his deep shame. He appeared to feel ashamed of being what he was. "I would never do that."

A long silence ensued during which Myrnin seemed to make note of every single thing about the young man, Oliver smirked smugly with his arms crossed, and Amelie struggled to keep her thoughts straight. The young vampire really stretched her self-control. Something about him, a certain vulnerable quality, made her fangs slide out in deep hunger, and not the blood kind.

"They can stay with me," Myrnin said, to everyone's surprise.

James gaped at the elder vampire. "What?"

"Are you deaf?" snapped Myrnin. "I alone can offer you and your kin the shelter you require." He turned on his heel, raised a hand to motion for James and Quita to follow, and ordered, "Come."

James stared after the estranged vampire until Oliver scoffed, "Well? Scurry out of here, you scum!"

That got him moving.

He ascended the steps with his daughter, bowed to Amelie, and then passed her to trail after Myrnin.

Amelie, exasperated, glowered at Oliver from her throne. "Why must you treat everyone with such harshness?"

"Why must you seal your heart away in a frozen coffin, you highness?" he spat back.

Blinking slowly, Amelie gazed at him for a while longer. His dark eyes glowed with a fierce, hungry light that was not usually present. Everything about him, posture, tone, expression expressed tension. Controlling her curiosity, the ice queen rose from her perch. "I bid you farewell, Oliver. I have no time to further dabble in your childish games."

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He simply stared after her, eyes reflecting the firelight.

Porcelain skin revealed, Amelie looked into the floor length mirror at her bedside. She stared at her flesh, which had seen nearly no sun at all in its many years. It would probably never see anymore. Her father had turned her when she was quite young, against her will. The heart that no longer beat within her bosom resented him deeply for that. She, along with Oliver and Myrnin, plotted to destroy him once and for all.

But that was no easy feat.

Bishop was a firm believer in keeping his enemies close. That's the only reason she, Oliver, and Myrnin were still within his inner kingdom.

Huffing, Amelie began to undo the ties of her corset. Bishop would not allow servants inside his palace, which Amelie didn't mind. She preferred to be solitary much of the time, and she found them to be a hassle when she wished to undress.

Able to breathe properly once again with the garment removed, Amelie sighed in relief. She began to undress her undergarments when a deep, sultry voice thrummed, "Well, I'm quite flattered, Amelie."

Whirling around, Amelie gasped as her eyes lay upon the creature in the shadows of her bedchamber.

Oliver, leaning against the intricate tapestry on the wall, was molesting her with his unabashed gaze. First impulse being to cover her exposed body, Amelie forced herself not flinch. She stood, nearly naked, with just a thin, white gown over her skin in front of his fiery eyes.

Stepping closer, Oliver snaked his eyes from her bare legs, up along her prominent hips, over her flat stomach, to rest on her generous chest. She fought the urge to fling past him for something to cover her body with.

Standing her ground, she allowed him to flutter his fingers along her collarbone, wakening trembles along her spine. Finally, his eyes rose to meet hers.

After the initial shock of the passion kindling in the chasms that were his eyes, Amelie glared and pressed a hand to his chest. His fingers halted in their caress of her neck.

"No, Oliver," she declared loudly.

When he spoke then, her knees nearly buckled, though his murmured words only feathered across her cheek. "No what?"

"You know what." Amelie could feel her steel resolve wavering as she stared into his eyes.

"Why?" He tore his eyes from hers to look at his fingers where they rested on her neck. He began to slide them along her jawline, and she closed her eyes, a shudder running throughout her body. "It's obvious we both want this. There is no point in resisting," he whispered, moving his lips close to her ear.

"Yes, there is," she said, but even to her own ears her words did not sound sincere.

Her gray eyes opened once again to meet Oliver's. In the next moment, their lips pressed to one another's. His tongue grazed her lips, tempting them open. Aggressively, his hand trailed through her silky hair, tangling it in his fingers.

Swept into his river of passion, Amelie's body went numb. She couldn't remember moving to the bed or losing the rest of her clothing. Somehow, she regained consciousness while she unbuttoned his black pants, but she still couldn't stop. She didn't want to.

Oliver had been right. She did want this, very much.