Prologue

                                    

                                          
They say the first vampire was created from rage. That the anger boiled so deep inside him that his body refused to die. You weren't sure if you believed such tales but that's what your great grandfather told you, on the days when he bothered to move his tired bones and share a story with you.
He would always hit you with his dark mahogany cane when you teased him for believing fairytales. "Do not forsake the stories of old, girl," he would warn gravely. 
Maybe he was actually superstitious but you suspected he only "believed" the stories because he wanted something to blame. That the reason he had no meaningful connections was because of the burning, unavoidable rage every vampire was born with, rather than his failure to better himself. Your father always said it was easier to blame others.
You were starting to understand what he meant.
All sixteen of your siblings were dead, many of them by your hand, and all you could do was blame your father.
Guilt wasn't something you often felt, maybe centuries ago when you were still naive to the world, but not anymore. So, it was an uncomfortable surprise when the cold hands of remorse came to squeeze your throat, filling your lungs with a guilt that left nothing but a sneer on your face.
There was no other way, you told yourself as you gazed at Erik's burning corpse. It was them or me.
You hoped your father saw this, somehow. You hoped with a bitter rage that he watched you slaughter his sons, that he regretted cursing the Granborne line. It was, after all, his fault. Not yours. It wasn'tyour fault. 
You would have left the throne alone, left your brothers to fight for it whilst you lived peacefully. But your hand was forced and you were no lamb to be led to slaughter.
"We must be leaving, Your Majesty."
Your entire line of ancestors would be looking down at you with horror, the end to the Grandborne line. At the thought of it, all you could do was smirk; perhaps they should have taught their sons better.
"Yes, we must."
For better or worse, you were now the ruler of the vampires and anyone who argued with that could share a grave with your brothers.
Long live the queen.