Chapter 69: Kiss My Ass Goodbye
Olivia drank too much champagne.
She waved gently to the rhythm of the music. Sparkling bubbles popped on her tongue and fizzled in her brain. The vampire ball was going at full force. At the center of the room dress skirts swirled round and round, spinning and twirling across the room in intricate patterns she didn't quite recognize from any ball she had been to. Vampires were in perfect concurrency with the orchestra, dancing to songs of centuries past. They followed step sequences long forgotten by humanity over generations, but that remained living within the undead. Even Olivia who grew up dancing had no idea how to dance to this. It was like they were all in on a secret that excluded her. There were synchronized partner changes, arms linking, claps, stomps, palms touching, intricate spins and lifts. They had centuries to rehearse this danse macabre, and Liv would never dare to learn.
Tonight she was merely another observer of their world. Maybe that was why she fell in love with Sophie-Anne. She thought about it quite often lately, as to how could she have possibly loved someone so empty, greedy and devastatingly awful. Her drunk brain came to the conclusion it was the Queen's parties. Sophie-Anne had made her feel like the belonged here, that humans and everyone in between were all part of this beautiful madness.
But this Kingdom was different. Human guests were few and far between, segregated by masks or guards, or employee uniforms. Olivia was not one of them. She did not belong here just as she never belonged with humans either. It should have been solace, knowing the reason she felt like the odd one out all her life was the fact that she wasn't entirely human. But it didn't make her feel any better. Olivia never quite fit in anywhere, and Sophie-Anne, as wicked as she may have been, gave her a place to belong to.
Except that had been a seductive lie. The most luxurious of trickeries. And just when Olivia thought she fit in with Eric Northman, he showed her in no uncertain terms that she didn't belong to his side either.
And Olivia knew shouldn't be upset at this. If anything she should be relieved and grateful that he made this gut-wrenching choice for her. But… She was drunk. And Eric looked impossibly fucking hot across the room, smiling and talking to strangers, towering over almost everyone in his black obsidian suit, ignoring her altogether. And it drove her mad. It drove her mad how much hotter he was as King.
"He kneeled," Olivia whispered to Pamela, the words slurring in her mouth.
Pamela was also not one for dancing. The tall blonde stood guard next to her, watching vampires dance them by with a curious smile on her face as if all of this was also for her own entertainment. It was Pamela's world and they were all just living in it.
"Mhmm," she agreed behind a fake smile.
"We are lucky it was his Maker at the other end of that sword," she said, bitterly remembering how much Eric despised the Vampire Authority. Having to kneel to his Maker instead was probably meaningful beyond words to both of them.
She felt a death grip on her arm, Pamela suddenly squeezing it so hard it almost made Olivia drop her champagne glass. In one fell swoop she pulled Olivia away from the edge of the crowd of dancing vampires.
"Be quiet," Pamela hissed at her behind a big fake smile.
"What-"
Pamela lured her to the front room near the fireplace where it was significantly quieter. "People here don't know their connection, and we have to keep it that way."
Olivia scrunched her nose, not following the urgency in her voice. "Why?"
Pamela finally let her go after scanning their surroundings. "Because vampires up top aren't supposed to have any progenies. It's a conflict of interest or whatever the fuck. Never speak of it again, to anyone. Got it?"
Liv rolled her eyes while nodding. "Fine, but that's stupid. Look at you and Eric."
"He released me."
"Yeah, to save you."
Pamela shot her a look that revealed more humanity than she had ever seen in the vampire."If that's salvation, then start praying it never happens to you."
Olivia took a good look at the Sheriff standing tall next to her, admiring her threatening beauty in that fleeting moment of vulnerability. Pamela had a perfect head of beautiful hair, full and luscious with delicate paper-thin highlights. Her makeup was eye heavy but flawless. Her tits were squeezed up in her dress' corset, accentuating her collarbones and neck. Her eyes, cold and fierce. Pamela, like her Maker, was nothing short of stunning. It was easy to see why Eric had chosen her to be by his side forever.
They have lived two entire human lifetimes together. Olivia couldn't even fathom the things they'd seen, done and gone through, let alone what they'd do for each other. But yet, she wasn't his right hand anymore and sometimes she couldn't help but feel like she played a part in it. Olivia had disturbed something anciently sacred and it made her heart ache.
"Why didn't Eric choose you?"
She cocked a brow at Olivia's audacity and bluntness. "To be his second?"
"Yes."
Pamela glanced at Eric across the room, who had two short women in Victorian indigo gowns adorned in pearl embellishments curtsy and bow at him. Even though Pamela was standing right next to her, the distance between them seemed to be miles longer.
"Power has a price," she said, returning her gaze to Olivia.
Her words made her stomach turn in her belly as if her body had a visceral reaction to them. Olivia didn't want to think of the price none of them had paid to be here. She didn't want to think of rivers of blood that ran quietly under this Kingdom, or how much she had actively contributed to the turning of this wicked carrousel she found herself stuck on. She didn't want to think of the thousands of vials of blood she was responsible for selling or the millions of dollars that she had laundered. But most of all, she didn't want to want him so much that it was almost unbearable.
Olivia finished her glass of champagne in one go, desperately trying to drown everything in expensive fizzy bubbles. It made Pam grin, knowing she had a drunk Olivia in her manicured hands.
"Has Eric ever given you a sword?"
"Are you drunk?" Pamela mocked her. "We fight with our hands and teeth. What do I need a sword for?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. Pam didn't know. Maybe it was never like that with them. Or was it? "So what's the deal with you two? Were you ever lovers? I could never quite figure that out."
Pamela snapped, her easy smile dropped at Olivia's blunt line of questioning. Her blue eyes pierced right through her skull as she measured her words just so. "Just because we planned a coup together, that don't make us Oprah and Gayle, alright?"
The vampire walked away leaving her all alone in the corner. Pam smiled at guests as she passed them but everything about her was wrath wrapped in a red dress.
"Meh, it was more like improv," she mumbled to herself.
Olivia didn't even feel bad about pissing off Pamela. The alcohol must be working. As another server passed by holding trays of drinks, she eagerly grabbed another tulip glass. It was a different hue of gold, and it tasted sweeter. She didn't even care what was being served at this point. She just needed to be numb for a moment. For a night. She needed to drown out the loud thoughts in her own head. Olivia strolled back to the main ballroom to resume watching the vampiric festivities.
"Not your style of dance?" Gerald's voice whispered behind her, and it made her jump a little. She had yet to get used to being snuck up on.
"I don't even know what kind of dance this is, and I'm ballroom trained."
"You're a bit more than ballroom trained," he leered.
His eyes studied her as if he had seen her naked before, and she felt heat rise through her neck all the way to her face. The memory replayed in her head, showing Gerald guarding Eric's mezzanine or her One Night Only Stripper Special. Liv didn't dance naked, but she was vulnerable enough on that stage that she may as well have been.
"Christ, has every vampire alive seen me do that?"
"The lucky ones, yes. And we aren't alive," Gerald corrected her. "My wife also thinks you should quit the backroom and become a stripper."
"No, thanks," wait. "You're actually married?!"
That had come out louder than she intended.
"You're not?" He asked bluntly, stabbing her back. "No need to be so judgemental. Aren't you like, 30?"
She was offended to her very core. "I'm 28 and I don't know how old you are but it's very common nowadays for a woman my age to be single and focus on her career."
"Right, and all those wedding invitations you receive and RSVP 'no' to are just to keep the US Postal Service going."
Her blood pressure was actively rising. "You go through my mail?"
"Guard duty is tedious," he shrugged. "Like I said, you're boring."
Olivia didn't know what bothered her more: the fact that Gerald went through her correspondence, that vampires did in fact get married or his insult of relationship status and basically calling her a dull spinster.
Truth be told, Olivia hated weddings. She liked her childhood, ballet academy and university friends, even though she didn't speak with them very much anymore. But she declined every invitation she's ever gotten without an ounce of hesitation or guilt. Having to fly across the country, stay alone at an expensive bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere, buy an expensive dress she'd only wear once, eat unseasoned lukewarm food, drink mediocre cheap wine, explain why she broke up with Jaimie and be pitied, then dance to the same top 40 songs -half of which are about breakups, by the way - all while picking the least embarrassing groomsman to sleep with did not qualify as an idea of a 'good time' for her. And let's not forget the inhumane hazing tradition of having to catch a bouquet and embarrass yourself in front of everyone you just met.
Or maybe it was the fact that weddings, in her opinion, were more or less just another funeral. Rest in peace to her friend's freedom, her ambition, and drive. Rest in peace to that single, white-hot light at the center of her darkness, the flame of rage that flickered in every woman.
The light that fires early in girlhood, that women stoke and tend to and protect at all costs. The one you don't let it rage into a mountain of light, because that's not becoming of a girl. You keep it hidden, secret, you let it burn deep at your core in a place only you can see fully. The one she saw ignited in Portia, that burned brightly in Pamela, in every dancer at Fangtasia, in all the women she's ever met. Even young Willa Burrell had small flickering embers inside her, begging for more oxygen.
And you must always tend to the flame because if you don't, you're stuck. In the dark, out in the cold, on your own, doomed to practicality, doomed to domesticity, doomed to this is just the way things are, and this is just what people do. Doomed to settling and understanding and reasoning and agreeing and seeing it in another way and seeing it his way and seeing it from all the other ways but your own. Call her selfish or prideful but she refused to dim her light for anyone else.
That's what she saw in the sword in Godric's hands. The threat to her light, and it scared the shit out of her. Not the fact that it was real, but that her hands were so willing to accept it.
"Did you give her a sword when you proposed?"
He squinted, confused. "No? I gave her a ring. An expensive one, might I add."
"And then what?"
"She said yes, and I turned her. That's her right there," Gerald pointed at a short woman with a dark red pixie cut and bright amber eyes across the room, arms linked with Felicity.
"Taryn is your wife?" Olivia asked, perplexed. "Maybe you should remind her of that."
See, now she was being judgemental.
Gerald's fangs descended as he glared at her with such anger that it should have scared her. But the liquid courage in her veins numbed any sense of fear. His sharp teeth were merely decoration, and she made her opinion known by being completely unbothered by it.
He pressed his lips shut over the bulk of his large canines before he attracted any wrong attention. Gerald knew he wasn't supposed to threaten the very person he was here to protect, especially in front of the King, his direct superior. His eyes were frozen in place, unblinking, peering through her. It then dawned on her he was perhaps trying to glamour her.
Without breaking eye contact, Olivia sipped her champagne with a daring smirk on her face, her eyes saying go on. Command me. Do your worst.
But as the seconds stretched out his face finally relaxed into a strange confusion. Her escort excused himself and quietly disappeared through the crowd. And that's two bodyguards down. Maybe Olivia would make a game out of it. How many security detail personnel can she piss off until all she's left alone with is Eric Northman himself?
The night went on as the orchestra played faster, louder. She drank more and more, watching the King make his way through the room as he spoke with guest after guest, every guest but her. She wished she could dance with him again. They'd clean the dance floor. Everyone in this palace would cease to exist the moment his hand wrapped around her waist. The memory of his kiss on her throat flourished on her skin, flushing her veins with heat.
"Woah, someone's enjoying herself," a gritty warm voice laughed behind her.
James approached with a lazy swagger in his step. He was wearing a perfectly fit tux, with a fitted crisp shirt and a stupid bow tie. His bleached hair clashed with his dark eyebrows which had a scar across the left one. She didn't know if she wanted to smack the grin right out of his face or kiss him.
"I was until right about now," she rolled her eyes at him.
He snapped too, annoyed. "Why don't you like me? I've barely spoken two words at you."
Her eyes caught a quick glimpse of Eric's blue eyes across the ballroom, talking to more guests. God, she wanted to sit on his face.
"I don't like anybody," she pretended to stare off into the distance, blankly.
"Well aren't you a bundle of fun?"
"Yes, that is exactly how people describe me, actually. The Queen of fun."
"Oh, you're the Queen alright."
Olivia shift his gaze at him, trying to read his tone which suggested he knew a lot more about her than he was leading on. Or perhaps this was the world's worst-kept secret.
"How come I've never seen you before this week?"
"You weren't looking. Which only hurts a little."
She rolled her eyes and swapped her empty glass with a full one as another server walked by. Olivia may not be able to read his mind, but she knew bullshit from a mile away.
"Sorry about your weak ego."
James scorned. "Weak? I'd rather have an ego than be you."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm not the one who needs the fucking avengers of vampires to watch me exist because I am a fragile, slow and breakable human who can't take care of myself."
"I can take care of myself!" She protested, maybe a bit too much.
"Pam left you alone for two hours and werewolves snatched you with fucking chloroform like a bad 80's cop show."
For the sake of not punching him directly in his face, Olivia chugged her entire drink and stormed off, disappearing amongst the crowd. She wanted to get away from James, but the prick unfortunately followed.
The orchestra finished its piece with one final sharp cadence of strings. The lights suddenly plummeted into darkness and dimmed back up but in red, tinting the entire palace in the colour of blood. Every dark gown now looked black, and every shadow was darker but yet she could see. An explosion of white dots and golden lasers rained in the room, followed by the startling beat of club music. The ball had taken a modern turn. It was vampire power hour, in classic Eric Northman fashion.
The alcohol in her veins took over, as her legs took sloppy steps. The whole room spun as if every single person, moving or not, was somehow dancing to the strangely paced music. Bodies were now merging together, thrashing and grinding into one another, and suddenly she was travelling back in time. This is just like the old Kingdom used to be.
"Do you know how embarrassing that is?" James' plague continued, his loud British accent over the deep low bass, as his body nipped at her heels faster than she could get away. "A grown-ass woman in constant need of babysitting?"
"I don't need fucking babysitting," she refuted.
Olivia deeply wished that his words were easier to deny. But deep down, she knew them to be the most painful truth.
"Really? The current monarch and the previous one seem to disagree. Sophie-Anne's edict of protection? King Eric's guard task?"
Her hands were balled into fists, her body remembering being strung up like a deer carcass in that barn. The fear that swallowed her whole. The choking pressure of the rope on her wrists. The burning sharpness of the blade on her legs. The hot blood just oozed out of her, dripping down her feet. The helplessness that took over.
"I must give it to you though, the whole ice queen vibe? I almost bought it. You're nothing but a little girl with a laptop, really."
Oh, how she prayed for Eric to come.
She turned around and looked at him just long enough to say the words. "Fuck you."
There wasn't time for her to see the smile curling on the edges of his lips. James had gotten under her skin and he knew it. Her high heels hit the parquet floor hard, zigzagging near the edges of the room, dodging everyone and everything.
The white-hot fire inside her scorched.
She was not weak.
Olivia needed saving as much as Eric needed it at the bottom of that pool, or as much as Pam needed it in vampire court. Just as much as Chow needed it from a raging werewolf or as much Sophie-Anne needed from herself. No one could live life alone, especially this life, no matter what you were or what you did, and that did not make any of them weak.
And Olivia was many things, but she was not a victim. She had a way out and plenty of opportunities to leave, but she chose this life, she chose to be here. And needing protection did not make her weak. If anything, it spoke of the kind of enemies she had made out of the triumphs she achieved. Because she was Olivia Carson, the King's accountant, and she was not to be fucked with.
When she turned around again her silk skirt fanned out in a wide circle before gracing her legs again. She looked at the vampire - really looked at him. He was the only thing still in this spinning blood-red room.
"Dance with me," she ordered.
Olivia grabbed his right cold hand and pulled him toward the center of the mosh pit. He awkwardly followed, slightly dazed. When she got him where she wanted, she started dancing, throwing all caution to the wind. She let it all burn. There was something about this dark techno music that was strangely inviting. Its rhythmic yet unnatural sounds resonated within her chest walls calling out the deepest and darkest parts of her to play.
James awkwardly bounced to the music, his eyes scanning the surrounding vampires who were all too excited that a human had joined their wicked fun. And not just any human, but this human. Their hungry eyes watched her like prey, waiting for an opening and the way she danced was borderline an invite. James was outnumbered, one to two hundred. Would he die for her like Chow had? Or would he join in the feast?
The vampire closed the distance between their bodies, swaying with and all around her. James put his arms around her like a shield, and suddenly they were dancing together.
"It won't work, you know," he whispered. "They can smell him on you. Everyone knows what you are."
He meant it as an insult but Olivia smiled, feeling her hair brush against her body like waves. "You have no idea what I am."
James was bluffing. If he truly believed no one would try anything, he wouldn't be watching his surroundings like a prey who may have walked into a trap.
She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, dancing against him, her hips leading the way. He put his hands on her lower back and slowly began to move with her, a bit too eager to go along with the drunk human, a bit too scared of doing so. The flashing lights somehow slowed everything down, as if she was watching the world through a series of pictures.
"I may not be fast or strong like a vampire, and I may not be able to fight like you but don't confuse that with weakness," she told him, her lips inches from his handsome face. "I can kill you just as easily."
His small blue eyes took her in, his pupils dilating with every beat gazing down the small human body in his arms. "Hard disagree."
Olivia went up on her tiptoes, her fingernails caressing the back of his neck and tilting it slightly to the right, making him look at one particular vampire watching intently from across the room. The reason why they were standing at this specific spot, at that specific moment, was all calculated.
They were standing in plain and clear view of the King. Eric stood still at the center of the universe, everything and everyone happening all around them, an ocean of greed and unimaginable power filled the room and he was the master of it all. Eric had only quickly glanced at her once tonight, but right now but his eyes were transfixed on her. His gaze did not waver from her hands touching James, or from his hands touching her.
She whispered into James' ear, her lips brushing against his earlobe giving him shivers of horror. "I can end you right here, just with a kiss."
Call it an act of sentimentalism, but Eric had brought Fangtasia to the palace tonight. It brought him a rare shred of familiar happiness in this never-ending night of bureaucratic elitist political bullshit.
He matched her quick steps across the loud party. Lasers and lights erratically moved across the palace like its own sentient being. But they pointed down, not up, concealing her in red oblivion as she disappeared in the East hallway alone. Her amber curls swayed with her cascading dress as she went up the grand stairs that led to the upper apartments. The darkness swallowed her and he followed, gladly abandoning his duties as King for a moment alone with her.
Eric didn't even care that Olivia was technically entering an out-of-bounds area. His soul craved her with every step. It killed him having to watch her from across the room all night. They spent an entire miserable week apart, and tonight they may have been as close as being in the same room but to him, they were in different realms entirely.
Realms divided by a cursed Crown.
In this world, humans could only be one of three things: playthings to feed off, little pets to keep around for amusement and company; servants to do your bidding, often glamoured to an inch of their sanity and in very rare instances, paid employees; or they were property, and at most a fleeting romance that ended in either death or vampirism.
Olivia did not fall under any of these categories, and that was a dangerous thing. Everything about the joining undermined the fabric of vampire high society. Even though their romance had an end date due to her mysterious and predetermined reasons, Eric would never have to turn her in order to be together. To him, that was the most special part of their special bond. She would never have to change or give up her life. Eric would never be her Maker, and yet, she was his equal. A bond so powerful it defied the laws of nature. A love like that did not exist in his world.
Which was why standing by and watching her take another man to the dancefloor nearly killed him. When her hands grabbed James' almost all sense and logic left him for good. But Eric knew her. He remembered dancing with her down to every describable detail. Her scent of golden sunshine and tequila, the heat of her skin, her beautiful brown eyes fixed on his, and the way her lips parted as her breath grew heavier. The full control she had over every inch of her body, how her hands always reached for his body, and the sweet way she surrendered in his arms wholly.
But what he witnessed moments ago was something else entirely - it was cold, heartless defiance. Not that it wasn't graceful, she wasn't capable of that, but Olivia didn't dance with James like she had danced with him. She didn't give herself, didn't follow his lead, didn't lose herself. It was a trap, a countermove, a punishment. In the bond, there was nothing but an all-burning, all-consuming anger.
However, it was unclear as to who exactly the punishment was for: James, or Eric?
Fuck. Maybe both.
Whatever it was, it left a silver taste in his mouth. Eric should break every bone in James' body for that kind of audacity alone. To merely touch another vampire's human was already provocation enough. But a King's? That kind of insolence would not stand.
He would have to think of his next move carefully. Every decision, every word, step, move and glance now carried heavy political implications. As a Sheriff, all he had to do was sit on his throne and his mere thousand-year-old presence was enough to govern most nights. But not here. He wasn't even the top 10 oldest vampires in this palace, not even in rank. As King, he had to meticulously choose his every move. One wrong turn and it would all be over. .
Besides, Eric knew that killing James was not so easy. The actual act, yes, Eric could rip his head off blindfolded with one hand. But the consequences had to be weighed. Moves had to be calculated. He was well aware of who James was. There was no point in lamenting his position any longer. Eric would now have to choose what kind of King he would become. Survival was not the only thing at play anymore, but his entire legacy. The safety of his progeny, his Olivia and even his Maker. The tight rope he walked on was now one thin thread. One misstep and it would snap, and he could very well lose everything. He just hoped that whatever King he chose to be, would still be one that was worthy of her heart.
Reacting to the two of them publicly dancing would not only have been announcing his ownership over a human but it would also show an unbecoming emotional vulnerability. It would make her more than mere property, and him a jealous King. No, James' punishment would be done thoroughly, but behind closed doors. Fear works best when it's whispered in the corners, rather than a big show.
He questioned if perhaps keeping her hidden away was the right call. But he couldn't think of another way to protect her tonight, and it was imperative that he did so. Every vampire who was worth some importance and notoriety in the Western world was here, watching, judging, searching for a crack of weakness to exploit. It's how vampires operate, it cannot be changed.
What really twisted his heart was knowing Olivia was both his weakness and his strength. He would have to find a better solution to conceal just how important she was.
Olivia's pace slowed once she reached the top of the dark stairs. Up here they were at the same level as the oversized crystal chandeliers that reflected the light show and twinkled like soft stars in the middle of hell. The same could be said for her diamond earrings.
She approached the mezzanine ledge, leaning on the shadowy marble column all alone. Her head tilted down, scanning the crowd below, her fingers danced and tapped on the brass railing. She let go of a big sigh as if she was holding it all night.
He quietly joined her, leaning on the next column over, six feet apart. Any closer and he might do something he'd later regret. Olivia's head turned at his arrival, and she had honestly to God, never looked so beautiful. Once their eyes locked she grabbed the railing tighter, her knuckles turning white. Her big eyes were black under the red lights, but he could still see a multitude of emotions across her face. Relief, joy, anger. She felt everything exceedingly deeply for someone with such a cold composure.
"My liege," she said coldly, then lowered into a quick curtsy, imitating the dozens of guests who had done the exact same. She had been watching him too.
"Olivia," he acknowledged her with an apathetic nod.
There were a thousand things he wanted to tell her. A thousand different ways he wanted to hold her and kiss her. But he was unwilling to risk her life for it.
So, they remained where they were, both knowing that even up here in the shadows, those who knew where to look could see them. And Eric was too afraid the pit of snakes dancing downstairs would see her for what she was. The human who held his heart. The reason he took the crown. The one he would burn it all down for. It would only take him defending her publicly once for the whole world to know what perhaps was already obvious. But he couldn't fail her, not after everything.
Eric looked out at the people below, lost in the trance of the music. His vampire eyes could discern in the dark a couple of lost human servants in the moshpit, being feasted on amongst the crowd of vampires. The red light concealed the blood stains running down their clothes. Their limp bodies didn't fight back, their minds surely were glamoured into easy dreams. Kings, Queens, Sheriffs, aristocrats and old-world socialites were drunk on blood and sex power and behaving like wild animals. Eric knew this because he had done this multiple times over the centuries, and to be quite honest, he enjoyed it. But it was the first time he got to watch what the vampire aristocracy really looked like from up here. And the truth was much less palatable. This was their true faces. The dresses and tuxes, the pleasantries and pompousness were only performative. This was the ugly truth behind the facade. They were monsters. At least he knew the servants would be okay. It's impolite for the company to kill a host's help.
"Enjoying the party?" he asked, pretending she was just another guest.
"Not really. You?"
His eyes caught a glimpse of Pamela's smile from the corner of his eye. She was talking to Godric in a corner by the fireplace out in the front lounge. She seemed excited, her pretty pouty lips moved nonstop. If he were to guess, she was telling him all about her Casino. In a palace he called his, surrounded by frenemies, spies and allies, he at least got to experience one night of having everyone he loved under the same roof. At least there was that.
Eric dodged her meaningless question with something else. "You seemed to be having plenty of fun on the dance floor."
She smiled with her lips pressed into a line, amused at hints of his jealousy. "I really despise James."
"Well… Good-"
"I don't trust him," she told him as if it were a confession.
Smart girl. "You shouldn't. He's a spy," which was why he couldn't simply snap his head off.
Her eyes grew wide and her eyebrows pitched together as if she had suspected it all along. "He's a what? For who?!"
"California Queen. Felicity is too, for Georgia. We all spy on each other, it's not new."
She sighed, looking defeated. "I'm sorry you have to deal with… All of this."
Her apology seemed deeply genuine. It was odd, Olivia never apologized for anything unless it was coated in sarcasm.
"To be honest that is the least of my worries at the moment."
She took a small step towards him, and he straightened up. His body was fighting a whole war against the urge of simply touching her. Of pushing her against the marble column and sinking his teeth into her shoulder. Of lifting her dress and finding her middle with his tongue. Of just slow dancing in this shadowy hallway. Really dancing.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
The fact that he wasn't brave enough to face the consequences of openly loving her should have been the answer. But he wouldn't bury her like he did Sylvie. He loved her far too much.
He sighed. "I just spent the past 2 hours greeting about 300 guests. Many who apparently Sophie-Anne owed a lot of money to, and were happy to remind me about it."
"And let me guess, her debt is now your debt?" Her shoulders dropped. She knew where this was going. Eric nodded. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough that it made me understand why no one had taken Sophie-Anne out before kind of bad. Even after her true death, that cunt is still fucking me over."
"We have plenty of dirty, unwashed money. If they accept cash with no questions asked, we can pay all of them."
Eric shook his head, not wanting to do the math of how much fucking money he owed, or how fucked he really was to be in this position. He couldn't simply pay them all out at once with cash without starting some rumours and turning a few heads and the source of the money is the last thing Eric wanted people to focus on. It was all more proof he had to do the last thing he wanted to. He needed to speak with Godric. He needed to tell him about the bad, the worse and the really fucking ugly before tomorrow night before the real shitshow started.
"Eric?" Olivia called him out from his own nightmare. "We can pay them out, right?"
"That was money I wanted to clean with the Casino and actually… Use it," he told her. "To pull this cursed fucking Kingdom out of the mud, and make it better. Or to at least restore this place to what it was before Katrina."
Olivia gave him a shy smile, and through the bond, he felt a warmth he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. It was hope.
"I can think of something," she nodded. "I always think of something."
That genius, pragmatic, marvellous creature.
"Here. Use this," he reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook, then slid it across the top of the railing toward her. Her delicate hands grabbed it, inspecting the unmarked cover.
Her curious eyes asked what it was, without opening it. "It's a list of everyone who owes me money. We need to start collecting."
"How much is in here?"
"Twenty-three years worth of lending, with interest."
"So a fuck ton?"
"Yes," he grinned. "It may not be enough but it's a start."
"Are you fucking serious right now?" She laughed, half in disbelief, half in anger. "All the money troubles we've had and you give this to me now?"
"This is literally all my money. Between the Authority's hefty taxes and the Queen's extortion, I wasn't left with much. And I sure as fuck wasn't going to just hand it all over to Sophie-Anne every time she threw a tantrum."
Olivia nodded quietly. Her body hunched against the railing, growing heavy and tired. "But it's your crown now."
He didn't want to say it. All he wanted was right in front of him. It had nothing to do with what was going on downstairs. However, the bullshit was far from over.
"I'm afraid we only have until tomorrow night to come up with something. The Authority and Magister are fully debriefing me about the V and Sophie-Anne's murder. Bill Compton's too. You may be called upon also, given you were a witness."
"Are we in trouble?"
"We're always in trouble," he grinned slightly. It was the truth.
"And a business plan is going to get us out of murder charges?"
"Welcome to the Vampire Authority."
She raised her chin after giving it some thought. "Okay, I'll do it. But you need to be fully honest with me about something."
"I'm always-" she glared at him with such intensity that made him shut up. "Fine."
Olivia's heart beat faster, as she mulled the words in her mind. They've only been apart one week, but it felt like a lifetime. The more seconds that ticked away, the more he hung onto her fast beating pulse.
"What does you giving me a sword really mean?"
His body loosened as he was expecting a much more gut wrenching inquiry, but he was confused. Olivia wasn't one to ask stupid questions. "Are you drunk? What does that have to do with literally anything?"
Had she not heard that they had less than 24 hours to come up with a way to pull him out of sure bankruptcy? Did she skip over the part the Vampire Authority was going to debrief her? Or the Magister? Did she have any idea of the danger she was in every second of every day?
"What does it mean, Eric?!" She raised her voice. "And don't bullshit me, because Godric already told me."
Anger pulsed within him at the mention of His name. "Then why are you asking me what you already know?"
She blinked slowly, moving away from the railing and fading deeper into the dark hallway. "Because I need to know why! Why did you lie when I asked you at the lake?"
Eric glanced down for a millisecond. There were a few people watching. Godric included. "Why are you so obsessed with this stupid dream? They literally don't mean anything."
"Yes, they do. You know they do, and I know when you are hiding something from me. I can feel it in your silence."
Eric ground his teeth in frustration. Had she not understood the unsurpassable amount of problems on both their plates or had her feelings and alcohol clouded her goddamn judgment? Because he needed her judgment right now. He needed all of her. Did she feel that?
"Giving a sword to a woman is part of a Viking wedding ceremony. There. Are you happy?"
She scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. Her smile was a lie. "Super."
His anger grew tenfold. How dare she get mad at him for a dream? What had Godric told her? Eric hated how easily they talked about such meaningful things without barely knowing each other. It had been centuries since he could do so without ending in a fight. He couldn't help but envy her immensely.
"Why? You want one, is that it?"
Her mouth opened and no words came out. For once, she had nothing to say.
Eric had his reasons to keep her secret. But why would Olivia be upset that he hadn't made their relationship real when time and time again she reminded him she had a foot out the door at all times? That she had a solid exit plan strategy, and disappear after retirement? When she made him promise to let her go, a promise which she so unkindly did not let him forget? Why would Eric ask forever from someone who clearly did not want it?
"Olivia, I'm not going to propose to someone whose whole worldview orbits around the fact that she can leave at any second with no explanation?"
"I'm not asking you to propose," she told him finally, diverting away from her big secret.
"Then what do you want?" He hissed.
She shook her head, her jaw clenched shut squeezing the words inside. She was right. He could feel her silence too.
"Picture your life 5 years from now. 20 years from now. What do you want, Olivia?"
"It's not that easy,"
"What do you want?"
"I don't know what I want!" The red light illuminated her entire left side, splitting her in half with the darkness.
"Bullshit. You are Olivia Carson, and you know everything all the fucking time. It's who you are. What do you want?"
"Tell me what you dream of," she begged him, her voice hoarse.
"This isn't about me. Tell me what you want. What do you want?" He repeated. And he would repeat it a thousand fucking times if that's what it took for her to finally confess how she felt.
"What do you dream of, Eric?" Her tone changed. It was a demand.
"I don't."
"Stop lying to me! Could you for once tell me the whole truth?! Tell me what it is that you dream of!" She cried, but he knew she wanted to scream a lot louder than that. He didn't have to look down to see there were more eyes on them. Eric needed to get her out of there.
"I am telling you the truth, and you are drunk and making a scene. Need I remind you what kind of people are present in this court? Because if I remember correctly, you used to belong here."
Her bottom lip quivered. "You're right. I used to," her voice was a cold slap.
As she walked away, her hand grasped his notebook so tightly it bent the leather binding. Her dress dragged behind her down as she disappeared down the hallway that led to the guest quarters. Eric wasn't one to regret his words, but he wished he could take so much of it back.
He couldn't watch her walk away, broken, so he zipped away from the view of the party below at the fastest speed he could. Eric cut in front of her, blocking her from entering one of the guest bedrooms. In this tucked away corner of the palace, the music was semi-muffled but it still vibrated through the walls and floor. There was a lit single candle sconce over an ornate half-moon-shaped table, that only dimly lit the hallway with a flickering light.
Olivia stumbled back, startled at his sudden appearance. He expected tears streaking her face, but there was nothing there. Just raw, undeniable rage.
"I don't dream because I don't fucking sleep. Okay? I can't fucking sleep. Ever."
She shook her head. "You slept after I came back from vacation. And at my house last week after those werewolves-"
Almost killed her. "Yes, those were the only times I got a few hours of sleep. And if I had any dreams, I don't remember them."
It was embarrassing to only realize now why he couldn't sleep this entire time when it was so clearly obvious. Eric could only relax enough to fall asleep if Olivia was next to him.
"I swear to you," he assured her. "I'll keep a damn dream journal if you want."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and when she reopened her eyes Olivia had softened. "Okay. I am tired and probably drank too much. If I'm going to save your ass yet again before tomorrow night, I need some sleep."
He could see she was still upset and it ran much deeper than just strange psychic dreams. Eric pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her, trying to soothe her.
"I'm sorry I had to keep you away," he whispered into her hair. "I know I promised you being mine would make you safe. But it doesn't apply here, Olivia. You are the first thing they would come for."
Her small hands tugged on his jacket, as if not letting him go. "I know. I understand."
He smelled her golden honey hair, a scent he could never get tired of. He planted a kiss on the top of her head. This, right here, was pure rapture. "Gods, where would I be without you?"
"You would still be Sheriff," she looked up, gazing codly into his eyes. "Fangtasia would still be your regular vampire bar, and Pamela would still be your progeny. Chow and Debbie would be alive. You'd still drive the Corvette. Lafayette would still be able to take care of his mother. Portia would be off happily married somewhere. Your biggest problem would just be the occasional police raid. Sometimes I can't help but think you'd be better off without me."
Olivia stepped away from him as she let go of his jacket, tears flooding her eyes. He had seen her cry from pain before, but never like this, never from emotion. He reached forward and traced her cheek with his thumb, feeling the softness and warmth of her skin. Olivia grabbed his hand and held it against her face. Despite pushing him away, she still wanted him close.
"I am so sorry, Eric," she whispered the words as if they were her last. "That you are now King because of me, and I'm not even worth it. All I wanted was freedom, but in turn I made you give up yours."
"Olivia…" He whispered but the words died off in his lips.
She took several more steps backwards, reaching the wall across them. She was miles away, seeping through his fingers like sand. There were only a few grains left. In the bond, there was a pain he didn't expect from her. It was regret.
"Is the sun really worth all that?" She asked, her voice so quiet if he weren't a vampire he wouldn't hear it. Her head leaned back on the wall, showing her true face. No walls, no mask, no coldness. It was just her, riddled with guilt, sadness and pain. "Is daywalking and the power really worth all you lost?"
"No," Eric stepped and caged her against the wall, and she stopped breathing altogether. "But you are."
Eric kissed her without warning or permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn't do anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him and he needed it back. As if she was the sun and he was the moon, and he would have to find a way to rip the sky apart to be together. He wanted to love her unafraid, forever. That's the kind of King he would become.
"I love you," he whispered against her lips.
Olivia was the only Kingdom he ever wanted.
AN: aaaaaaaa
I hope the wait was worth it :')
This one was a monster to edit, it took me forever but I finally made it! Also, I am happy to say I got into grad school! But unfortunately, I can't promise monthly updates any longer. However, I do promise I will never abandon this story. I love it too much to see it unfinished, and I love this little fandom. You are all truly lovely.
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xoxo
spice
PS: The chapter names are song names, they aren't related to the story at all