Page 35

It took nearly half an hour to navigate the winding maze of the mountain castle’s halls, to say nothing of the added complication of the shoes Amalthea had lent me.

After years going barefoot and wishing for proper footwear, I found myself wishing I could kick the pointy-heeled torture devices off.

The thick calluses of my feet weren’t made for such fine things.

I tried to map the castle in my mind as Amalthea led me, arm linked with mine.

The halls were almost entirely empty, and as we approached the ballroom, I realized why.

When Amalthea declared we had three hours to get ready, she clearly had no intention for us to arrive on time .

“It sounds like the ball started hours ago,” I whispered to her.

She gave me an amused look, gray eye twinkling with mirth. “But of course. You couldn’t be seen arriving first, after all. That dress deserves an audience.”

I wasn’t so sure.

The dress was exactly what I’d wanted, but I never would have been able to picture it. Now that the magic had taken the essence of my thoughts and made it physical, I was unsure if it had been such a wise idea to let those feelings guide the creation magic.

The skirts flowed around me, the bodice and sleeves heavy. I’d seen myself in the mirror before leaving.

If Raphael hates it, perhaps I’ll get to leave the ball immediately .

A servant opened the door, and with no further instruction, the herald announced our arrival. “Presenting the seer of the court and adviser to King Raphael, Lady Amalthea, and King Raphael’s claimed human, Lady Samara!”

A hush fell over the space. Or perhaps there was no silence, but rather no noise that could surmount the roaring in my ears as hundreds of pairs of eyes stared up at me.

Prey. To them, I was prey.

My vision swam, bouncing from group to group, a sea of white hair, pale skin, and red eyes surrounding me.

Then my gaze landed on one particular figure.

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 still feminine, 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 hours of 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.”

The three words were hard to get out. Music was mine. It was private, secret. Making myself give that up to a male who should have been my mortal enemy felt wrong.

And yet some part of me wanted him to know me.

“Do you play?” he asked, oblivious to my internal struggle.

I pursed my lips. “No. My mother said it wasn’t proper for someone of my status. She was convinced I was to be a lady, who had others playing music on command.”

Raphael didn’t say anything to that, and with the silence, I found myself wanting to give voice to a memory.

“When she was away, I’d try to make my own instruments.

The closest I came was a flute made from a carrot.

Of course, there was no quiet way to play my carrot-flute, so I was quickly discovered. ”

“And then?” Raphael said as I trailed off. We were being watched from behind cups and tilted heads. Raphael didn’t pay an iota of attention to the onlookers as we moved around the room. His attention was entirely on me.

“She had it tossed in the evening stew. ”

Raphael drew up short. “That was cruel.”

I shrugged, the chains over my shoulders making a soft sound. “It wasn’t meant to be. She did it for my own good.”

Raphael didn’t reply to that, but I sensed he had more to say. We’d nearly reached the refreshment table when a male vampire approached.

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” the noble said. His elevated status was obvious from the finely made clothing and comfort with which he moved through the room.

“Lazarus,” Raphael acknowledged.

“It’s wonderful to see you back at Damerel,” Lazarus crooned. “And you’ve taken a human.”

I didn’t want to meet any vampires, but as with all predators, any display of weakness would just arouse those deadly instincts.

When the vampire looked at me, I didn’t shrink away.

Instead, I straightened my spine, resisting the urge to fiddle with my cursed copper cuffs as I fixed my feet under the dress into the same formation Iademos had drilled into me earlier that day.

Raphael inclined his head. Obviously, his taciturn habits were part of his nature, not personal as I’d once assumed.

“We’re all so curious about her,” Lazarus continued, paying no mind to Raphael’s lack of response. “And everything that transpired while you were gone. Was your quest successful? Are we once more safe from the abomination?” The noble managed to drip his honeyed words in the barest hint of contempt.

Raphael smiled, but all I saw were fangs I was glad not to have pointed at me. “All is as I wish it to be.”

Lazarus was quick to make his excuses while I tried to puzzle out his words.

Raphael had been on a quest to get the Black Grimoire.

He’d been waylaid and mistakenly gone to Greymere instead of the marshes.

But what abomination? The Grimoire? It was an odd term, and Raphael hadn’t attempted to burn it or anything.

Perhaps the true reason for Raphael’s time away wasn’t widespread. But that still begged the question: What did they all think Raphael meant to do in the Witch Kingdom?

We continued, landing at the refreshments table.

Several vampires eyed their king but thought better of approaching.

The long table at the edge of the room was piled high with glasses, a pyramid of champagne flutes on one side of an ice sculpture that wasn’t fine enough to be magic made.

The other side held a matching tower of chalices filled with deep red liquid. My stomach revolted at the sight.

Raphael extended a glass of golden champagne to me. “Here.”