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The night people. A vampire?

Demos tensed besides me, but I stared at Raphael. He extended a hand, waving them to continue. He hadn’t directly responded to the other petitions, as they’d been to the court, but this power must exclusively reside with him.

“Tell us your service, Mister Adinamos.”

Crowley cast a nervous glance back, then shuffled a few steps forward, wringing his hands.

“Your Highness,” he stammered.

Your Majesty, I silently corrected.

“I’ve served the Ash-Sworn clan faithfully for more than thirty years. I’ve submitted papers outlining my contributions.” He gestured to the secretary, who lifted a thick stack of parchment.

“I’ll hear it from your mortal tongue,” Raphael said without humor.

“O-of course.” The stammering returned. “I didn’t mean to imply—that is—I’ve worked hard, King Raphael. I’ve worked tirelessly as one of their actuaries for decades. There are books filled in the accounting I’ve done. My eyeshave paid the price.” He raised a hand to the spectacles on his face. “And my service is without barriers. I’ve given blood, when requested—as is my privilege!” he quickly clarified. “I have lived a life without magic, after you… err… graciously accepted me in your kingdom. That is of course its own reward. But my most ardent dream is to prove myself worthy of eternal service.”

My stomach cramped. Demos quietly offered to escort me outside, but I waved him off. I wanted to see this. Needed to.

A human choosing to give up their humanity.

Crowley dithered through a few other accomplishments, pressing his glasses back now and again with his third finger. It was a ploy, perhaps, showing himself with mortal hair that was white only from age, mortal eyes strained from labor. A price he’d paid in hopes Raphael would wipe the slate clean and gift him immortality.

“And then”—Crowley’s voice lifted in triumph—“the reason for my petition came. A fortnight ago, a young vampire was injured, not even ten. He had fallen into a ravine. His legs were broken, and he had no chance of climbing out. I aided him, provided him with blood, and returned him to his parents. I can think of no higher service I could offer than to remain in the kingdom’s service forever.”

At last, the man stopped speaking. There was utter silence in the room, as if everyone held a collective breath while awaiting Raphael’s decision. Of course, most of thecourtroom didn’t need to breathe. Still, the silence was so bad I could imagine myself hearing Crowley’s heartbeat, twin to my own racing one—with excitement, while mine ached with dread.

“I have considered your petition.” Raphael spoke in that slow, unhurried tone I’d first heard from him, like unending night. “You make some valid arguments for why you deserve to be one of the blood. Your actions with the son are telling of your character. In fact, I believe though you demurred, the young vampire was none other than the heir to the clan you serve.”

Did I imagine Crowley taking a half step backwards?

“You have my blessing.” Raphael nodded to Janessa. “Turn him. Now.”

Janessa looked surprised, as did everyone else in the room. Not blatantly whispering, but there were telling shifts of eyes, adjusted stances. Something was off.

“Didn’t they want this?” I asked Demos under my breath.

“The turning is normally done in private,” he explained. “But I’m sure Raphael has his reasons.”

Lady Janessa stepped over to Crowley, taking center stage with him. They were on display. “Here, Your Majesty?” she murmured.

He gave a casual flick of his fingers, not deigning to repeat himself. He was still the picture of casual grace, but something in his eyes was cold.

Once Janessa leaned over, I could look nowhere else. Bile coated the back of my throat, and I wondered if I’d made a grave mistake in not taking Demos up on his offer to stand outside.

But I stayed.

I had to see.

The vampiress brushed the human’s hair away and bit into his soft, sagging skin. His lips parted, but he made no move to get away. I could imagine exactly why—and why this would be done in private.

He fell to the floor, and she went with him, kneeling as he lay in her lap.

She didn’t let go with her fangs. He grew paler and paler, his skin almost the white of the vampire by the time she withdrew her lips.

With a nail, she clawed her own wrist open and drenched his parted lips in her blood. His chest was no longer rising and falling.

The air in the room was suddenly too thick, pressing in on all sides, but I couldn’t look away.