“As Queen of England, I demand that you remove yourselves,” proclaimed Caroline in her heavy German accent.
“By order of the sovereign king, we refuse to allow you entrance. ” The five men, much too large to be pages and who were later admitted to be prizefighters, stood nearly as wide as they were tall, effectively blocking her entrance.
Victoria and Sebastian moved closer, swiftly pushing through the crowd, heedless of civility. They were in time to see the queen beckon to her cortege, and six members of her party moved forward. “Remove them from my path,” ordered the queen. “No one shall prevent me from attending my husband’s coronation. ”
Her guards did as they were bid, and when Victoria saw the ease with which they shoved away and held back the five massive prizefighters, she looked at Sebastian. Clearly, they were undead, complete with superhuman strength and the benefits of the special elixir.
The queen had planned well.
Victoria needed only a moment to decide what to do. Taking advantage of the tumult caused by the queen’s insistence, she darted off to the side. There was another door near the front of the abbey, and she was able to slip through quickly.
Smiling grimly, Sebastian was close behind her, and they made their way to the inside of the main entrance.
The doors were opening, and those inside the abbey didn’t realize it was the queen attempting to gain entrance. Victoria and Sebastian hurried over to the door, pushing through throngs of people talking and choosing seats as they awaited the king and his procession.
When the doors at last surged open, Victoria stood on the side of the threshold. She was close enough to see the details of the queen’s heavily beaded robe as she put one foot forward, onto the holy ground.
And then stopped, as though struck.
Shock and surprise flashed over her face, and she tried again . . . but the pain must have been too much, for she could move no further. Her face twisted in a horrible grimace, and her porcine eyes squinted in pain.
Max was right again. Of course.
Victoria eased forward, facing the queen, for everyone else had fallen away and was watching in horror and shock. Keeping her stake hidden in the folds of her skirt, Victoria said in a low voice, “You cannot enter here, Your Majesty. ” Thi
s was not the time or place to engage openly with an undead.
“Get out of my way. ”
Caroline looked at her, and Victoria knew at once what was happening. At this close proximity, she could see the way the queen’s skin sagged, as if dripping from her skull. In fact, the entire massive person of the royal sagged, looking gray and quite unhealthy. She was dying, and Victoria knew it had to be because of the elixir. She’d probably been taking it for months while in Italy. It was just as Lilith predicted.
Would her other prediction come true?
Victoria pushed that unpleasant thought away, and remained facing the queen. As she looked at her more closely, she saw the flash of a shadow in her eyes. She’d seen a glimpse of something similar in James’s irises on occasion, but had thought nothing of it until now, when the same look flickered in Caroline’s. The sign of an undead, noticeable only at close proximity . . . there one moment, and gone the next. A look she thought she’d seen somewhere else as well. But where?
She could worry about that later; now Victoria moved slightly, showing her stake to the queen. “Step back, Your Majesty, or I will be forced to use this. ” Again, she kept her voice low, and only for the ears of the royal.
Assassinating the queen, vampire though she was, would be difficult to explain.
Caroline focused her eyes on her. They were burning red now, and the very tips of her fangs were revealed, poking into her lower lip. But there was nothing she could do.
“You cannot enter,” Victoria said again, and moved closer. Glancing at the gathering crowd, she added, “The king has decreed it. ”
The queen had no choice. She stepped back, her face a mask of fury and pain. There was no grace in her movements as she turned and lurched heavily down the stairs to her waiting carriage. No one dared approach her, and as the crowds watched and whispered behind cupped hands, Victoria felt Sebastian’s arm slip around her waist.
He urged her off quickly before anyone could ask why and how she had managed to keep the queen from entering Westminster Abbey when five prizefighters had not been able to.
And, as it turned out, the official report published in the papers and letters described the altercation as happening outside of the abbey, on the steps, with the five men holding off the queen’s procession on their own. There was never any mention of a beautiful young woman with dark hair and a stick in her hand.
Shortly after the queen’s disappearance came the news that the king was to be delayed due to a torn piece of clothing, and after that, the rest of the coronation ceremony—though horribly long and boring in Victoria’s opinion—passed without incident.
Not until nearly three o’clock did the party move from the abbey to Westminster Hall, with the newly crowned king and his twenty-seven-foot train. The train was embroidered with gold thread, and the pages (real pages, not the prizefighters) who managed the long length of fabric kept it spread wide so that all of its glory could be admired.
The king tottered a bit when he at last left the abbey; sweat streamed down his face and he looked pallid and gray. However, Victoria knew that was not due to anything other than an excessive amount of fancy clothing— including unseasonable ermine fur—and an extremely long, hot day. The king of England was not a vampire.
Nor was he dead.
But Victoria was quite certain that he, and possibly others of his trusted advisors, were in great danger.