Chapter 10: I promise, I won't drag this out too much longer! I've got some plans on how to finish it up before I get to fifteen.

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The beautiful woman waiting in the hallway knew she had been summoned. She was not entirely sure why—but she was worried. She'd managed to call her childe before she arrived at the Prince's haven, and left a message with him about where she was. And why she was there. If anything happened to her, he knew what to do.

"Ah…Edda, right?"

She stood at the abrupt greeting and turned to face the prince.

"Yes, Your Grace. You wanted to see me?"

"Please, step into my office."

"I would like to know why I am here?"

He frowned. "You'll find out soon. Move."

She grew quiet and nodded, stepping into the room. It was always easier for her to appease the authority figure—following orders was something that came naturally to her. The years of doing so had tainted her; made her submissive.

When she entered the office, she glanced around. And became instantly alarmed when she saw both the Sheriff and the Keeper in attendance. She turned on a heel and was planning on bolting towards the door when the Prince's hand closed tightly around her arm.

"Please stay. I insist." He spoke firmly, dragging her towards a chair and unceremoniously tossing her into the seat.

She shrunk into the velvet cushions, glancing around like a trapped animal.

"We just have a few questions for you," Kimberly spoke, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes.

"Just a few," Thomas agreed.

The Prince glanced at them, and both fell silent as he turned his attentions back to the traitor. His eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to her, capturing her in an air of intimidation.

"You're going to tell me everything, bitch. I know you're involved in the Praxis. Who else has a part in it?"

Her eyes widened in fear and she scrambled over an arm of the chair and, forcing her blood to fuel her speed, broke into a run for the door. She didn't expect the Prince to be faster. He caught up easily and grabbed her by the hair, using all of his might to throw her into the wall. She hit the wood paneling with a resolute "thud" and fell to the floor with a groan, stunned. It didn't last long—she was able to ignore the minor damage and easily get back to her feet. Where to go? How to escape? The window.

She only got a few feet before a stake was driven into her chest. Her body stiffened and fell into the waiting arms of the Prince.

"Thomas—go through her mind. See if you can find anything."

"Yes, sir," the Tremere answered, taking the paralyzed body.

He positioned her in the chair and stared into her still-open eyes. He forced his will over hers and was able to enter her foremost thoughts. He was using all of his mental prowess to probe deeper and deeper, searching for information on the Praxis, when he ran into a wall. He broke the telepathic link with a surprised look.

"She's been dominated."

"Can you break through?"

"No."

"Who can?"

"Someone older than me. With a greater mastery of the power. Michaels, maybe."

Andrew shook his head. "I don't want anyone else involved in this. We can ask Alice."

His officers exchanged skeptical looks.

"Andrew…" she began.

"Don't say it, Kim. I know her better than you. I know she can do this. And I trust her more than anyone."

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As it was, the Ventrue Primogen was just arriving at the manor of Martin James. Before leaving her haven, she'd been sure to gussy up—a pretty "little black dress," stockings, heels. Even a little bit of make-up on her pale skin, and a bit of curl to her red hair. She'd called ahead and asked to meet with him. He had, of course, agreed.

The butler showed her through the artfully designed hallways, the walls with paintings and tapestries, to the lounge. The door was open, and the elder was awaiting her arrival, sitting on the loveseat and holding one hand behind his back. He stood as she entered, bowing slightly.

"Primogen Campbell." He offered his hand when he straightened.

"Mr. James," she replied, slipping her hand into his.

He raised it to his lips. "I am curious, my dear, as to why exactly it was you wished to speak with me."

She pulled her hand away, smiling sweetly. "You don't think I've heard the rumors, then?"

Martin chuckled. "Ah…I should have guessed. And you're here to make a plea for your beloved Prince, yes?"

It was her turn to laugh. "Quite the opposite, actually…although I did want to offer you an alternative."

He motioned to the velvet loveseat. "By all means, my dear, be seated."

Alice sat, carefully crossing one leg over the other. The hem of the skirt rode up ever so slightly—just enough to show the lace tops of her stockings. The movement of his eyes from her own to her leg and then back, however quick, did not escape her attention.

"Now," he spoke, sitting down next to her, "what is this…alternative?"

She bit her lip tentatively before responding. "Well, I know that you want the power of the throne. You also must know that there are those who would not support you."

"Yes. Your own Mr. Briggs being one of them."

"Indeed," she nodded. "But he can't be the only one. And as great as your rule would be, I fear that it would not last long. They would use whatever means possible to take it from you. They'd break the rules. Play dirty."

She was playing to his ego. It was the method she found worked best with others like him.

"And what are you suggesting, then?"

"Put someone else on the throne. Someone everyone could accept. Someone who you could keep in your pocket. Your very own puppet prince."

He chuckled. "And you had yourself in mind for the position?"

"Perhaps," she replied, shrugging. "Unless you think one of yours could pull off the act."

"I only trust two of them—and neither is a very good liar when it comes down to it. But you, my dear…I have no reason to trust you."

"Then let me give you one." She raised her eyes to meet his. "I don't want to see any blood shed over the throne. I'll do whatever it takes so that you and Andrew don't kill each other—or get killed by someone else."

A grin spread across the elder's lips. "Ah, yes. Andrew. I thought you might mention him. Rumor has it you're bound to the Prince."

She sighed, seeming for all the world sad. "I'll admit to that—but I've not drank three times. Only twice…his hold over me isn't absolute."

"And so you want the throne."

She sighed in frustration, forcing air in and out of her lungs. "No! I'm nowhere near the best candidate for it…that would be you. But it's a dangerous position. You have to be aware of the risks…?"

"Of course I am. That's why I've come up with a flawless plan."

Alice smiled. "Of course." Her smile faltered. "But Andrew has summoned your second. Edda. She's likely staked at the moment."

He scowled, his fingers digging into the cushion that ran behind them. "Stupid girl…"

"Yes," the Ventrue nodded sadly, "you're in danger as well—she might tell them everything. Unless you have a second plan. A back-up. Your plan was flawless, yes…but one of your compatriots made a mistake."

"And you won't?"

"I won't be suspected to begin with."

"Does he trust you that much?" Martin raised an eyebrow, watching her face for any sign of a lie.

"He's bound to me. He has to." She spoke with a sparkle in her eyes. "Let's find a reason for you to trust me."

The old Rose took a moment to think on the matter. She really was his best bet on the road to the throne, and if he didn't take advantage of what she could offer, he might end up dead. However, he couldn't settle for being the one holding the strings behind the throne. He had to hold the power himself; be recognized as important. At the moment, though, she was the most effective tool for control. And he couldn't let the opportunity slip away. However, precautions were necessary.

He undid the silver cufflink on one of his sleeves—the left—and pulled the rich Italian fabric away from his wrist.

"If you want me to trust you…then drink."

She began to lean in, the promise of blood luring her to his pale flesh. She stopped when she was close and glanced up at him, unsure. He reached out, his other hand gently turning her head back to his arm, and moving it forward. She paused for a mere second before letting her fangs appear and then grasped his wrist tightly as she lowered her head to it, sinking her teeth into the still vein.

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