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Chapter Four

Vail

I stood near the doors of the grand dining hall, where Carmilla, Lucian, Demetri, and Samara were having dinner.

This space had clearly been built to host at least sixty people back in the day when the Fae had lived here.

Most of the murals painted on the walls of the Houses were of pretty landscapes, but occasionally, they’d depict the Fae themselves.

Usually dancing in fancy clothing with masks on their faces and crystal glasses in their hands.

It was those paintings that had inspired Velika’s ridiculous parties. But even she hadn’t been able to justify having food at them because there simply wasn’t enough to spare.

Moroi numbers had grown considerably over the last two decades, thanks to the security of the Houses and the wards we’d learned to place around the outposts. But the crops had to be grown outside those wards, and it was a dangerous task, even during the day.

On top of that, all it took was one night for a herd of deer or a pack of boars to bulldoze through an outpost’s food supply.

The wraiths had also wiped out several high-producing outposts in the last year.

We could survive one bad harvest . . . but any more than that, and we would be in serious trouble.

Carmilla had never been one to throw fancy dinners, not even back at House Harker.

Some of the other Houses would, the Heads or Heirs enjoying their little pretend world where they could spoil themselves in such a way, as if we still didn’t dwell in a land crawling with monsters or weren’t two bad growing seasons away from starvation.

But tonight, there was enough food for easily double the people here.

It was Lucian’s doing. One of the many things I’d learned about him this past week was that he enjoyed the finer things in life and didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.

What I didn’t know was why the fuck Carmilla was working with him.

Maybe she had needed him to take out Velika, but that didn’t explain why she was still allied with him, and why she hadn’t stopped him from wasting all this food.

My lips twisted into a grimace, and my gaze slid down the table to Samara, who had an identical look of disgust on her face.

She hid it quickly when Carmilla glanced at her though and instead pasted a beatific smile on her face.

I hated that smile. It was a lie. Her real one was usually close-lipped, the corners of her lips tilted up with a sly but content type of amusement. I hadn’t seen that one in a while.

Granted, Samara had been a wreck the past three days. I knew she’d been in considerable pain because she’d voluntarily spoken to me, asking me to bring her more tea. I’d brought everything she’d asked for and then some, as if that would help make everything right between us.

I didn’t even know what I wanted to do at this point.

There was no undoing that I’d betrayed Samara to be loyal to Carmilla, I couldn’t fix that, but with every day that dragged on, it felt more and more obvious that I’d made the wrong choice.

If I betrayed Carmilla to ally with Samara, would she even accept my help?

Or would that only result in both of them wanting me dead?

Moonsdamn it. How had I fucked everything up so badly?

“You’re looking much better today, my love.” Demetri smiled at Samara, who was sitting to his left. “If you need help with anything , do let me know.”

“I have not nor have I ever been your love,” Samara replied smoothly as she gave Demetri a cutting look before picking up her glass of wine and taking a delicate sip.

This was one of the smaller tables in the room but was still meant to sit eight people.

Carmilla sat at the head of the table with Lucian to her right.

She’d had her niece sit at the opposite end of the table, which was considered a seat of respect; if an Heir from another House were visiting Sovereign House, it was where they would have been seated.

Considering Carmilla had let her niece suffer in the dungeon for the last few days I was a little surprised.

I’d have guessed that Lucian would have sat there, but he seemed perfectly content to be playing the part of Carmilla’s consort.

I didn’t understand any of this. When Carmilla had told me to bring Samara to dinner, I’d expected armed guards to be standing next to her. Instead, Carmilla had dismissed all of them from the room and had been having—what seemed on the surface to be—a pleasant conversation with her niece.

Their words were like hidden daggers volleyed back and forth. Seemingly polite, but both were bleeding from the double-edged meanings. I was so far out of my depth.

I knew how to track and hunt down any type of monster. There wasn’t a weapon I didn’t know my way around. But I knew fuck all about politics, and suddenly, I’d found myself swimming it.

Whatever game Carmilla was playing, I didn’t understand. Just like I was struggling to comprehend Samara’s motivations.

If the lust haze was riding her hard, she wasn’t letting an ounce of it show. She looked as cool and composed as ever, which I knew was annoying Demetri, based on how rigid his smile was.

The idiot had probably thought Samara would jump into his lap out of desperation to get herself off.

My lips curled up into the barest hint of a smile.

He’d been married to Samara for years but obviously didn’t know her at all.

For all her polished exterior and determination to never fail as the House Harker Heir, Samara ran on fucking spite.

Dark purple eyes flecked with black locked on to me from across the room.

Samara had been allowed to clean up earlier today and change into clean clothing.

When I’d arrived to escort her from the guest room, I hadn’t been ready for the sight.

She wore a dress made of a deep purple that clung to every one of her curves; the neckline was low enough to show off her ample cleavage, and two slits ran up the sides of the flowing skirt.

Every step flashed an obscene amount of thigh.

Samara was the one at war with her body’s biology, yet it had been me suffering on that walk to the dining hall. All I could think about was what it felt like to have my hands on her soft flesh. To hear her scream my name as I thrust into her dripping wet cunt.

I knew she had sensed my arousal because she had taken two deliberate steps farther away from me as we’d walked. It’d hurt, but I couldn’t blame her for it.

Now, her gaze dropped to my lips and the barest smile on them before jumping to the pulse in my neck.

Black widened in her eyes, and my own heartbeat picked up as I saw the lust in them.

The moment only lasted a few seconds before she snapped her gaze away, the darkness fading from her eyes until they were mostly purple again.

“Messages from Mora and Dominique arrived this morning.” Carmilla swirled her glass of wine. “Both will be coming next week to meet with us.”

“Pray tell, what did you say in the letter to the Heads of House Corvinus and Salvatore?” Samara arched a dark brow at her aunt. “‘Queen Velika lost her head, I’m afraid, but no worries, the crown landed on mine. Please join me for a cup of tea?’”

“That was more or less the gist of it.” Carmilla mimicked her niece and raised a brow back at her. “Despite what you think of my actions of late, I am trying to do what’s best for the Moroi, and I’m being as truthful as possible.”

“Leaving out the fact that if they walk into this House, they’ll leave without their free will seems to be a bit of a big omission.” Samara’s eyes flicked to the crown resting on Carmilla’s head. Faint creases formed between her brows and at the corners of her lips.

“That all depends on them. The crown will tell me what their intentions are. If they willingly kneel, then they will leave with their minds intact.” Carmilla shrugged.

“So you’ll be a generous tyrant.” Samara smiled wide enough to display her fangs. “What a relief.”

What would Carmilla do if the other Houses didn’t voluntarily kneel and fought back against the crown’s control? Velika hadn’t been able to control House bloodlines, but she’d only had half of the crown. What if, even united, it wasn’t enough?

I might have been daft at House politics, but even I knew there were some who would never willingly kneel.

Like House Tepes and House Devereux. Surely she had some sort of plan for that?

Aside from House Harker, they were the two most powerful Houses when it came to rangers.

We needed their support if we were to stand against the wraiths and whatever Erendriel was plotting.

“Don’t be so dramatic, dear,” Carmilla gave Samara a chiding look before focusing on Demetri. “Have you heard anything from your mother?”

Everyone continued on with the conversation, and I remained in the background, listening.

Apparently, Demetri’s mother, Marvina, hadn’t replied to any of his messages.

Not surprising, since she knew he was here and allied with Carmilla.

She was technically in charge of House Laurent .

. . and she’d always disliked Carmilla for reasons nobody really understood.

For all appearances, Samara looked engaged and contributed to the talks, often coming up with ways to cleverly insult Demetri, who was growing more and more frustrated as dinner went on.

Lucian had refrained from saying anything, just leaned back in his chair sipping his wine and letting the barbed words flow around him.

But Samara’s gaze kept slipping to the crown. I glanced at it. It was a strange creation. I could feel the Fae magic radiating off it, but as far as I knew, Carmilla hadn’t used it on me. At least, I didn’t think she had.

It was more than a little unnerving to think that I wouldn’t know if my mind had been tampered with, but the crown didn’t work as well on those from House bloodlines—or from people who drank from them—and I’d drunk a lot of Samara’s blood recently.

I was fairly sure I’d be safe from the crown’s magic if Carmilla tried to use it on me, but for how long, I didn’t know.

Something told me Samara wouldn’t be opening up a vein for me anytime soon, so it wasn’t like I could refill my immunity.

Not for the first time, I wondered why the Fae had made the crown. Had they used it against their own people? We knew there’d been a divide between the Unseelie and Seelie, maybe things like the crown were part of the reason why.

Samara had dropped all pretenses and was staring at the crown now, her expression one of concentration. Suddenly, she jolted in her seat, and the chair creaked. The conversation stopped, and all eyes fell on her.

“Apologies.” She reached for her wineglass again. “In the months since our divorce, I forgot how grating it is to listen to Demetri drone on and on about his mommy issues.”

Lucian barked a laugh. “I like her.”

Even Carmilla cracked a smile.

Demetri glowered. “If you keep it up, I won’t bother hate fucking you later when you’re begging for it.”

I took a step forward before I caught myself and moved back. Earlier, I’d spoken with Carmilla and claimed I wanted to be here tonight because I was concerned Samara might do something rash.

Carmilla wasn’t born yesterday, but she’d acquiesced to my request, though she’d made it clear I was not to interfere with the conversations no matter how heated they got.

My fingers curled as I imagined wrapping them around Demetri’s neck and snapping it.

If he laid one hand on Samara, I’d do it, but when it came to verbal sparring, there was no one better than my dark-haired and clever-tongued beauty.

“Demetri, dear . . .” Samara gave her ex-husband a placating smile. “You’re saying your inside thoughts out loud again. Nobody wants to hear about the fantasies you have while getting yourself off.”

“That’s not what—” Demetri’s face burned red, but he was cut off by Lucian, who cocked his head as his eyes glinted at Samara.

“What if he was the last person in Lunaria? Would you hate fuck him then?”

Samara tapped a finger against her bottom lip like she was pondering some great mystery. I chuckled under my breath, earning me a death glare from Demetri. I smiled at him. Try something, asshole. I fucking dare you.

He looked away from me and went back to fuming in Samara’s direction.

“Depends . . .” she finally said and held her right hand up, wiggling several fingers in the air. “In this scenario, do I still have my fingers?”

“What do your fingers have to do with anything?” Demetri snarled.

“Oh.” Lucian laughed and gave Samara a nod of acknowledgment. “I see why you don’t want to marry him again. Anyone who doesn’t understand why fingers are useful probably has no business fucking anyone.”

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Carmilla gave Lucian a mildly chiding look before giving Samara a much sterner one. “If you promise to behave and not leave without guards, you may stay in one of the guest quarters.”

Any amusement she’d felt at putting Demetri in his place slid off Samara’s face. “Either way, I’m a prisoner. I’ll stick with the dungeons.”

Carmilla eyed her niece, clearly trying to figure out why she had chosen a hard floor over a soft bed, but Carmilla knew the politically savvy side of Samara while I knew the side that was survival first. This was enemy territory to Samara, and the dungeons were less guarded in a lot of ways.

Only the door in and out had guards posted.

If she stayed in the main house, she’d have no idea where the guards were, and she’d be farther away from Draven.

Samara was plotting something, and I needed to convince her to tell me so she didn’t get herself killed.