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“I sent her back to her rooms to rest. If it helps, she had to be persuaded.” Raphael tossed another log on the fire, jostling the others around until the fire grew brighter.Then he pulled the heating stone Amalthea had placed inside with his bare hand and tucked it into the bed. I wondered if it would still be warm if I pulled it under the bedframe, where I actually slept. He lit the other lights in the room, allowing my human eyes to adjust.

My attention landed not on him—or the barricade that had been carefully reconstructed with more order than Amalthea had been capable of—but on a silver rolling cart piled high past the entryway.

“Raphael,” I said slowly, “what is that?”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “Amalthea mentioned you might like them and find the taste soothing.”

Thatwas a pile of chocolate balls piled at least as tall as a child, ornately arranged as if fit for display in the great hall. It probably weighed more than me.

Raphael said the last words I expected to hear from a king. “Let me serve you.”

I didn’t have the heart to admit I’d already eaten half my weight in chocolate, so I dutifully put one of the truffles in my mouth. In fact, I was developing quite a taste for the sweet. “I take it by the fact I can eat it, you didn’t cook it yourself.”

Raphael grinned, settling onto the sofa next to me, his legs kicked out and ankles crossed while he tucked his hands behind his head. “Here, I have servants for those needs.”

I plopped another one in, savoring the taste. These were more decadent than the box Amalthea had given me, witha little fruit paste inside. Raphael watched me swallow, his gaze pinned to my face. My body warmed at his watchful gaze, and I cast about for something to say. “Maybe I should call Amalthea back to share.”

Raphael seemed to note the tiny golden bell on the end table for the first time. He frowned. “Shegaveyou a summoning bell? By blood, she must like you. She refused to have one made for me.”

“Something tells me the chocolate might go a long way with her. Or shoes, from what I’ve seen.” A strange cramp wove through my stomach at the idea of Raphael gifting her shoes or desserts, but I didn’t want to cause discord between the two.

He snorted. “I pay her enough she can buy all the chocolate and dresses she likes. She simply prefers you. Can’t say I blame her.”

We sat like that for several moments. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Raphael and I had walked and rode for hours at a time without a word passing between us. But then, it had been about survival. I’d thought him a monster, but at least I stood a chance with him as my monster. Now, however, as the fire warmed my toes, and I sat curled up in the corner of the settee with him at the other end, the vampire sprawled without a care, it was obvious: this was something more than survival. After a time, the fire lowered again, and Raphael put another log on it.

“You’ve been reading, I see,” he said, breaking the silence.

Right. I was still holding the book on vampire powers against my chest. I lifted my head to study his face. Was he annoyed I wasn’t working on the translation he’d offered me a thousand gold pieces for? “I’ve been working on the grimoire,” I promised. “It’s slow, but I’m making progress.” I probably should have given him a status update sooner, but he hadn’t asked, and I hadn’t translated anything meaningful enough to warrant a report.

“I’m more intrigued by your current reading material.”

Panic flared inside me. Would he think I was spying on them? Trying to use my position to gain knowledge about vampires? The encounter with Titus had left me paranoid.

“It’s a simple question, dove. Relax.”

I swallowed. Fine. He wanted to know why I was reading about vampire powers. “So you really can sense what I’m feeling?”

“You wear your fears on your face, you know.”

That wasn’t a denial. It had taken me weeks to work up the courage; I wasn’t letting him slip away with sly words so easily. “Is it true?”

A beat. Then—“Yes.”

I chewed at my cheek, waiting for more of a response. He didn’t elaborate.

“Amalthea told me,” I prodded.

He tilted his head back and sighed. “Amalthea has a big mouth. Is she also the source of your reading material?”

I nodded, but I wouldn’t let him change the subject. “So you form a mental link with everyone you bite?”

“Theoretically.”

“Don’t make me guess, Raphael,” I said. “What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t make a habit of biting living sources. Or if they start out alive when I’m drinking, I drain them so my own thoughts aren’t muddied with others.”

Gods. Just when I’d fooled myself into thinking he wasn’t monstrous.