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Raphael.

At once, he became all I could see. He was dressed in more finery than I’d ever seen. Like Amalthea, his neck was exposed—and there was no doubt in my mind this was not an invitation, but a threat. The fashion was unlike anything I’d ever seen in the Witch Kingdom. He was dressed entirely in black, with rich silk stretching from his shoulders down to billowing cuff sleeves. The garment was inlaid with rubies that glinted under the chandelier’s light, a large one pinning a matching cape to his back. A fearsome crown sat atop his head. Severe silver spikes went unadorned, marking him as a king who needed no such finery.

He looked more like himself than I’d ever seen him, yet at the same time he was unrecognizable from the vampire I’d slept next to in the woods.

When I first saw him, I thought he looked shocked to see me. All traces of surprise were gone now, and instead the slightest glint of satisfaction shone on his face, from the light of his eyes to the slight upturn of his lips.

He strode to the base of the stairs, expectant.

“Oh good, I was worried he might be angry I brought you,” Amalthea whispered.

Her words gave me enough of a jolt to ground me back in the moment. Yes, I was in a ballroom with vampires, but damn me to the eighth hell, I was already in a castle surrounded by them. I’d known what I was walking into, even if the sight was discomfiting. We began to descend the stairs.

My gaze remained trained on Raphael.

When we reached him, he turned his attention to Amalthea.

“You and I will speak later.” The barest threat underlaid the words, but it was enough that Amalthea quickly excused herself as she was “utterly parched.”

He extended a hand to me, and I grabbed it like a lifeline.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said so quietly I had to strain to hear.

“I gathered as much. I can go,” I said quickly, but Raphael shook his head before I finished.

“No. Better that they see you for what you are.”

“A weak human?” My skepticism was plain.

“Untouchable.” He cocked his head slightly to the side. “This is quite the dress. It suits you.”

I was instantly flustered. Who was this Raphael? He was direct and ferocious, as he’d ever been. There was a silkiness to his words—that, and the way he was dressed not as a disheveled ex-prisoner but as royalty—that made me feel strange.

My dress was utterly opposite to vampire fashion. I’d begged the creation card for one thing:I don’t want vampires to touch me.

The magic translated that into a dress that was closer to armor than the flowing form Amalthea wore. A metal collar covered my neck, winding down into chains that held up the bodice, which was made of metal sheets that molded to my form. The sleeves and skirt were stillfeminine, covering my body in a way that let me move freely. The entire piece was copper of varying shades. It wouldn’t actually hurt vampires—creation magic couldn’t create enchanted items—but just as Amalthea had wanted, it sent a message.

I’m not one of you.

To complete the look, I’d added the cursed copper shackles as cuffs. They were useless as weapons, but they worked just fine as a warning.

“Dance with me,” Raphael said.

I blinked up at him. “Why?”

He grinned. “If you’re in my arms, I can keep an eye on you, since it seems Amalthea can’t be trusted to not give into her whims.” He made some gestures, and music billowed over the chatter. I hadn’t been able to hear it properly, but now that I could, it was all I could do to not sway my body with the sounds.

Waves of notes surrounded me, and I was greedy for them. It had been so long, so damnably long. My chest tightened as the music crescendo swelled, climbing, climbing, and then crashing over me. When the song ended and another began, my throat was dry.

Raphael cocked his head, studying me like I was something all too interesting.Could he feel what the music meant to me?

“Talk to me, Samara.”

How to explain what it was to go years and years with nothing but screams and insults to break up hoursof bleak silence? That having my senses filled with something so beautiful, so lovely, and alive, made my knees want to buckle?

“Perhaps we will dance later,” he murmured, guiding me away from the dance floor.

I struggled to focus on his words when all I wanted was to find the source of the music and sit at the feet of whoever made it. “I… I like music.”