Before I explain to you what could warrant such words, I will tell you that you may trust Eaglen and Arabella as confidants about what I will shortly tell you. Of course, your father also knows. On my request they keep a silent vigil but all three will gladly hear your questions.

To truly appreciate what I have to tell you, I must take you back to many millennia before you or any of your siblings were born. During a particularly warm Romanian summer, your father and I paid a state visit to Athenea, where we were received by the then young King Ll’iriad Alya Athenea and his wife, pregnant with their first child.

The court at Athenea was a vibrant place, full of the most praised philosophers, academics and astrologers; it was the centre for all deemed revolutionary within the nine dimensions. One of these famed thinkers was a certain Nab’ial Contanal, rising in standing after receiving a royal patron for the Prophecy of the He**ines that you are quite familiar with. Upon our introduction, I was immediately struck by his devotion to the belief that man and woman should be bestowed with equal status – something very few of us had entertained at the time – and found myself listening intently to his talks during the many dinners and dances that occurred.

As previously mentioned, the season was unnaturally hot and one afternoon, when walking alone, I profess that I found myself overcome from the humidity. Contanal, passing, saw my plight and offered to let me rest in his nearby quarters, which were shaded and faced away from the noon sun. Although inappropriate, I accepted his offer – to this day I do not know why.

It was here, half in a daze, that I was witness to a most extraordinary speech. Contanal, pacing between his cluttered shelves, began telling me in a most agitated way that his visions about the He**ines had not ended with his twelve previous verses. A new work he had begun, starting with the second He**ine, the heart of which he was the most fascinated by.

For the first time since Autumn and I had talked at Varns’ Point, a truly uneasy feeling passed through me. This was real. I was one of the He**ines this prophet, Contanal, had written about, thousands of years before.

He then began to detail, with what I would discover years later, uncanny accuracy, events which I could not have foreseen or dreamt of at the time. He told me that I would have six children – four sons, two daughters – before proceeding to tell me the names your grandfather would give to you and your exact birth dates. But it became apparent quickly that it was only the fourth child, a son – you – he was concerned with.

I am not naïve to the power of fate, but what he told me next was near unimaginable. Neither do I pretend to understand the ways of the Sage, nor how they wield the magic in their veins, but his perception was unnatural. In truth, I thought his ideas to be warped, but in my heart I knew them to be true.

He described that during the lifetime of my fourth child, a girl would enter his life – a girl bestowed or perhaps cursed with the title of second He**ine. This girl’s life would become irreversibly tied to the Kingdom and to the fourth child, heir to the throne. To you, Kaspar. He explained that resistance would have no worth, for the girl’s status would bring the two of you into constant contact. In short, you and the second He**ine are tied together by fate.

The paper fluttered to the ground. My hands dropped to the sheets and gripped them, tightly. That’s why. It explained everything: why the King would not let me and Kaspar touch; why he talked of responsibility – Kaspar was duty bound to his Kingdom’s He**ine; why Kaspar had become so withdrawn since he returned from Romania: the King must have told him to read this letter. My voice and the dreams too – Kaspar, again.

He is tied by fate to me. He just didn’t know it was me yet.

A strange mixture of emotion rose in me and I didn’t know whether to be elated or sickened. I had no choice, yet again, and the idea of being tied to someone I barely knew and had hated until a few weeks ago was unnerving.

Yet …

Compulsively, I reached and snatched the paper from the floor.

This will not seem fair to you. It will seem a great injustice. You may not love this girl or even be acquaintances, but you must accept your fate, for the good of the Kingdom and her heart, whether she loves you or not. She will need you. To become a He**ine will be a lonely plight and she will need someone to trust. It is your duty; your responsibility.

I’d need him. I already needed him.

But not all is entirely lost, sweet child. Two people who are thrown together often learn to love, over time, and she will possess many of the qualities you admire – if she did not, she would not be a He**ine. In some ways, it may be a blessing to you: if you choose to marry her and make her your Queen, you will be in an extraordinarily strong position politically. Whatever you choose, this girl will remain in your life. But you must make what you can of this. Remember your duty to her and all will be well.

Contanal died before he ever published his second prophecy on the He**ines and his papers were burnt or else hidden deep within Athenea. Many say that he was murdered by the Extermino to ensure the Prophecy never became truly complete – a rumour I am inclined to believe: Contanal was not an old man and the Sage rarely ail. Therefore, what he did discern about the He**ines (other than the main Prophecy) was long forgotten, save for what was passed down by word of mouth. For that reason, I do not know whether you are alone in your plight of being tied; not even the wisest of prophets know anything near to what could be called the whole truth about Contanal’s Prophecy. So we will never know, until the time of the He**ines is here.

I have come to the conclusion that I will not live to see such a time. If I were to live longer, then logic would state that I would have been blessed with a seventh child, and as danger approaches in the form of visiting the Pierre Clan, I have taken the decision to write this letter. But you will see such a time, Kaspar. So do not grieve for me or for the past; for acquaintances lost and times changed, because these must be sacrificed in order to create a better future.

Fate moves in strange ways, but know that the end is only truly the end when all is well. You are a good son, Kaspar; a great man and you will be the greatest of Kings. Do not fear the future.

I love you, sweet child. In life and death,

Your mother,

H.M. Queen Carmen

I let the letter fall into my lap. She had known she was going to her death. The whole time, she knew. When she wrote that letter to Beryl, she knew she would never read her friend’s reply. She knew she would never find out how John was, and that she would never commission a painting of her whole family. How could she possibly have sat down and wrote that letter to Kaspar? How could she have said goodbye? It was unthinkable.

A fresh wave of respect for her courage washed over me and I studied the painting above the fireplace where the Queen sat, poised, her husband behind her. A small, dignified smile upturned the corners of her lips as she stared with an unsettling gaze towards what must have been the artist, now the bed. Her hands were clasped in her lap amongst the folds of her deep jade dress and around her neck was the locket I now possessed.

I pinched at the skin around my collar until my fingers found the chain. Gently, I pulled it from beneath my T-shirt and let it rest in the palm of my hand.

‘You knew you were going to die in Romania, didn’t you?’ I whispered into the stillness, letting my eyes slip from the real locket in my hands to the one immortalized in the painting. ‘That’s why you gave Kaspar the locket the week before you left for Romania. You knew he would give it to me; to the second He**ine.’

I picked up the other letter, addressed to Beryl, searching the paper for a particular line. I found it, near the bottom.

I do not want my son and heir to be placed in the path of danger …

‘And that’s why you wouldn’t let Kaspar go. You never intended for this letter to be sent. You wrote it so nobody would ever suspect that anything was wrong, didn’t you? So nobody would think that you knew you wouldn’t come back from Romania.’

My mind reeled at my epiphany and I turned my gaze back to the motionless figure of the Queen, as though expecting her to tell me I was right. But of course, she didn’t. She was just oil and canvas.

Another thought struck me as I clutched the locket to my breast: the letter had been opened and read, but how long ago? It looked well-read. How long has he known he was tied, and when was he planning to tell me? My feelings had not exactly been hidden from him these past few days. Was he just going to let me wait and find out, and suffer that way? A surge of anger shot through me. How long would he have let it go on?

Why are you complaining? You care for him and you’re tied. Isn’t that a good thing? my voice questioned.

You wouldn’t understand.

Being tied will just take some getting used to, that’s all, my voice reassured, as though it was that simple.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the balcony and startled, I jumped up. Seeing a shadow move behind the voiles I hastily stuffed both letters back beneath the pillow and glanced at the painting again.

‘One day you might just find something worth living an eternity for.’

I glanced down at the locket resting on the collar of my T-shirt. Whether I liked it or not, Kaspar was going to have to be worth it. I bounded forward, brushing the voiles aside, balancing on the lip of the doors, hands grasping the frame either side.

‘Who was the cloaked figure in the entrance hall before we left for London?’

There, leaned against the stone railings of the balcony was Kaspar; below him, yet more figures were strolling across the grounds, heads bowed away from the sunlight.

He sighed. ‘Valerian Crimson.’

I leaned against the edge of the wall, hands clasped behind my back. It made sense that it was Valerian Crimson who we had crossed paths with that day. I don’t think any other family of vampires could possess such demonic eyes when they lusted for blood. I had been stupid for assuming that the figure in the entrance hall had been the same figure of my dreams.

I let my head fall against the stone and soaked in the warmth of the sun which would be burning Kaspar’s exposed hands and face.

There is so much to say, but no way to say it.

‘The dreams will go once you become a vampire,’ Kaspar said quietly, not turning his attention away from the grounds. ‘You’ll never be in a deep enough sleep to have them.’

I couldn’t confess to being disappointed. I didn’t want to see any more of the darker side of Kaspar which the dreams brought to the forefront of my mind.

I joined him on the railings. Below us, figures, mainly men, ascended the steps to the great marble double doors I knew were below. They came in pairs and small groups, dressed in the colours and livery of their families. Occasionally, an expensive-looking car with tinted windows would wind up the driveway and butlers and valets would rush out to open the doors.

From here too I could see where Kaspar’s gaze was directed. To the west it was possible to see two of the beacons, flickering on the horizon like stars in a night sky. But these were far more sinister. A call to court. It wouldn’t take more than a few days for the entire council and court to be here, at Varnley.

I didn’t have days. I had hours.

Tell him you’re a He**ine, my voice urged. Tell him now.

‘You forgive me then?’ Kaspar asked with a small smile.

I shook my head slightly and came back to my senses. Propping my chin on my hands, I rested my elbows on the stone railing. ‘Not really.’

He hummed a note deep in his chest, sounding unsurprised. For the first time, I noticed he had changed into a formal shirt and trousers – the court was descending, after all.

Tell him, Girly!

No. I have to set everything else straight first.

Then on your own head be it.

‘That girl in the catacombs: Sarah. You didn’t kill her for food, you killed her for fun. That’s wrong, Kaspar.’

He looked down at me, eyes as emerald and piercing as the first time I had met him. ‘I know,’ he said.

‘Then why do it?’

‘I don’t know … I was pissed off.’ His fingers tightened around the stone before he raised it to his hair, combing it with his fingers, neglecting to offer a fuller explanation.

‘You can’t kill people because you’re pissed off.’

He slumped, slapping his palm against the stone, looking as though he was about to shout, but noticing another figure passing below he lowered his voice. ‘I get it! Okay, Girly? There’s no need to preach,’ he added.

I stood upright and folded my arms. ‘I don’t think you do, Kaspar.’

He studied me through his lowered lashes, his mouth parted just enough so I could see the two pointed teeth that were his fangs. He sighed and turned back to the railings, his head dropping down into his hands.

‘What do you want me to do, Girly? I can’t turn human for you. I can’t stop lusting for blood. I can’t stop killing. So what do you want me to do? Tell me!’

His eyes darted around my face, searching for answers, a mixture of desperation and exasperation on his face. I averted my gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

‘You could start by being honest.’

You’re not being honest, either. So what if he wasn’t going to tell you about being tied? Tell him. Tell him now, Girly.

‘You know what, Kaspar? You’re just selfish and self-absorbed and you don’t think that anyone can suffer like you do. And seriously, look around at what you have! It’s incredible!’

I gestured around the grounds but he didn’t look.

Instead, he looked at me with a peculiar expression almost identical to the one he had worn when I was clutched in the arms of the King during the Ad Infinitum ball: the face of a man fighting and losing. He stared at me for a moment and I shut my mouth, forgetting my next train of insightful insults. I whipped my head back to stare out at the grounds, wide-eyed, finding myself falling back on the taunts that had regularly spilled from my mouth in my first weeks.