Chapter Thirty-One
Raphael
“Are you trying to lose?” Julian complained.
The southern king was sprawled out on the chair across from him, indolence at its purest. He didn’t bother with finery in his clothing.
All he wore was a loose linen shirt, open halfway to his navel, and a pair of trousers made of some animal hide or other.
The only exception was the smattering of silver jewelry he adorned himself with, more than half a dozen silver rings scattered across both hands, and a few more pieces dangling from one ear.
One pierced the skin, no small feat given vampire regeneration.
The open night sky was the only reprieve from Julian’s colossal ego. Raphael sat with him on the terrace off the southern king’s gaming hall. It wasn’t a euphemism for anything more sordid—the king collected games from all over the continent and beyond, stored in cedar boxes that lined the shelves.
Raphael favored chess. It was a classic for a reason. A board sat between them, littered with pieces far from the starting formation. Though it was King Julian who’d wanted to discuss rumors, he was obviously in no hurry to.
“Hardly,” Raphael growled.
If Julian were actually the impatient child he sometimes played at being, Raphael could have dismissed him. But Julian was no fool, no matter how he liked to act. Hence Raphael’s claimed rook, cleric, and pawns.
Of course, Raphael had also taken both of Julian’s knights and several other pawns.
The vampire reached for the bottle of blood mead, filling his cup and then offering to fill Raphael’s own goblet. His goblet that sat untouched. “Is the blood not to your taste? I can have something else brought. Or perhaps for once you’re not thirsty?”
He hadn’t had a sip because the blood wine tasted like shit. Everything did compared to her. And while he had centuries of practice mastering his expression, Julian had centuries of practice reading any micro-expressions that might betray him—like how badly he craved blood from one specific female.
On reflex, he ran a mental finger down the length of the bond, checking for tension.
As expected, it had eased now that Samara had at least begun to indulge her own thirst. The fledgling bond existed to keep newly turned vampires close to their sire until they could survive on their own.
With most, it lasted only a few days, but with how obstinate she was, they were in uncharted seas. For good or for ill.
“Just play,” Raphael growled.
Julian took the offered pawn. “If you’re not trying to insult me with an easy match, then you must be distracted. I imagine I know with what. Or I suppose I should say with whom.”
Raphael contemplated the board, running a finger over the rim of his goblet without disturbing the liquid.
“Your fledgling, I mean,” Julian added when Raphael didn’t take the bait.
Raphael advanced his rook. “I know who you meant.”
“Oh good. So you’re deliberately being rude by not introducing us?”
Yes, he was. Samara was technically his heir, not that he intended to die a true death anytime soon.
Protocol meant he should present her upon reaching the foreign kingdom.
But he would delay Samara’s meeting Julian as long as possible.
Never, if he had his way. But never was a horrifically long time, and he couldn’t promise that.
“You could have met her at the welcome dinner you hosted,” Raphael taunted.
Julian narrowed his gaze. “I was otherwise engaged. The brat king sent a scouting party merely thirty miles from the city.”
Iademos had reported as much. “You aren’t embarrassed to admit you were so easily infiltrated?”
Julian’s smirk was fang filled. “It was promptly dealt with. I haven’t gorged myself like that in a century.”
“The king is restless,” Raphael noted. He’d received a letter from Thea mentioning the same up north—Vaughn was sending scouts. Perhaps he now knew the Black Grimoire had been taken.
“The king is desperate,” Julian retorted. “He can do nothing. Especially with the necromancer gone again. You did kill them, correct?” A shrewd look sparked in his eyes, the same one that came when Julian studied the board, trying to decipher Raphael’s latest play.
“Have I ever failed to before?” Raphael let himself sound a bit more indignant than usual.
He had, after all, not done so on his bicentennial pilgrimage to the Witch Kingdom.
Instead, he’d found Samara and used her to get the Black Grimoire out of the territory and into his own.
Acquiring Anagenni’s blessed totems was impossible for a vampire alone.
“You’re the one who summoned me here to discuss some rumors. Are you finally ready to talk?”
Julian took a long drink from his goblet, blood trickling carelessly from the corner of his mouth.
“As I said, the king can do nothing against us all together. You, me, Ophelia. He should know that. But that’s not to say he can’t make trouble.
” He looked meaningfully at Raphael. “Has he made trouble for you?”
The spy that had infiltrated his kingdom came to mind.
“Not much.” Julian wasn’t wrong to be concerned.
The necromancer might be able to bring them to their knees with a single spell, but witches themselves were dangerous opponents.
The icy peace that had reigned between them was born of disdain, not friendship.
“So there is some, then,” Julian pressed. “Odd, isn’t it? I think there’s more to it. But I’ve had trouble getting any contacts inside the kingdom.”
“That must rankle,” Raphael said mildly, moving another piece.
Julian captured the offered piece, irked. “As I said, nothing we couldn’t handle. But I want to know what’s behind this sudden change in policy. The storm king isn’t stupid.”
“He can be as wise as an oracle—he still doesn’t have a necromancer in his armies.”
“Fair enough,” Julian conceded. “I suppose we’re fortunate the goddess only taunts us with a mortal every two centuries. Imagine if she spawned one of those unnatural witches every few decades instead.”
“Some would call us unnatural.”
“And many more would kill to join us. Speaking of,” Julian drawled, “how did your Chosen convince you? I thought you’d forsworn that.”
Convince him. Raphael resisted a scoff. He’d thought he would have to beg Samara to consider it, but the choice had been taken from them both.
Well, not quite. He’d taken the choice from her.
“She’s not my Chosen anymore,” Raphael said, ignoring the question.
“I heard,” Julian replied. “Preparing her for a different role, perhaps? You brought her with you here, after all.”
The implication in Julian’s words was clear. Taking a vampire he’d turned, one the courts assumed to be his lover, to a foreign kingdom? It was almost a declaration of intent to make her his queen.
Hopefully, no one mentioned that to Samara. His little viper was barely beginning to accept her place as a vampire.
He slid his pawn forward. “Surely you have more important things to focus on than my sire line.”
“So reticent,” Julian mused, advancing his rook cleric to cage in Raphael’s queen. “So protective. She must be something truly special.”
“Of course I’m protective.” His voice was carefully neutral. “I’m her sire.”
“Is that all?” Julian mused.
No, it wasn’t all. Not even close.
She was his, whether she accepted it or not.
His to protect. His to crave. His to ache for.
She’d taken from him just this morning, her fangs so sweet in his neck.
No one had ever bitten him there before, not like that.
Though he knew what effect the bite could have under the right circumstances…
knowing and experiencing were two kingdoms on opposite ends of the globe.
Raphael’s blood was hot in his veins for the first time in centuries.
He burned for her to take more, to take all her due.
He wanted to coax her fangs back into him at dusk, midnight, and dawn.
For now, she still drank reluctantly. He wanted that restraint to snap.
Wanted to make it so she never hesitated to take what she wanted.
From him, anyway.
If he found her with her fangs buried in another… just the thought set him on edge.
The way that guard, Larissa, had kept eyeing her, complimenting her; had volunteered to guard her today, a move that had him switching her duties to send her scouting instead.
He had no claim. He was her sire, like he’d told Julian, but that could mean as much or as little as vampires wanted. He wasn’t her king; she wasn’t his Chosen. But he was hers, utterly and completely.
Raphael didn’t say any of that to Julian. “That’s all.”
“If that’s all, then perhaps you won’t mind me dancing with her at the ball.”
“Samara is free to dance with anyone she likes,” Raphael said.
She was. Hopefully, she wouldn’t mind too much when he ripped the hands off whoever was bold enough to do so afterward.
“I’ll look forward to it, then.” Julian eyed the board, where Raphael had just left his knight vulnerable. “Sloppy.” Disapproval was thick in his voice. “Rethink it. I’ll let you do that move over.”
“There are no do-overs. Even magic doesn’t let us go back in time.” If it did… blood curse him, how different the world would be if Raphael could go back in time and take back one single mistake.
Another piece of Raphael’s was quickly captured.
“You should be more careful with your things,” Julian taunted.
“Like you, with the Witch King promenading through your kingdom?”
That stirred some ire in Julian’s eyes. “I just told you, I dealt with it.”
“And yet, before Phrygia turns again, I’d wager he’ll be back.”
“He’s welcome to try it.” Julian’s voice was lethal and inviting.
“Next time, I’ll have the messenger wyvern carry back their drained hearts as souvenirs.
” Vampires were predators. They didn’t take kindly to their territory being threatened.
No matter what finery Julian or Raphael wore, no matter the crowns on their heads and courts that heeded them, both understood that.
But this witch king had little enough regard for his people that, drained hearts or not, Raphael doubted that would dissuade him.
Julian captured another piece, using his third and fourth fingers to pull it from the board. “So distracted. I’ll have to thank your fledgling for handing me such an easy win.”
Pieces moved more rapidly over the board. Julian was focused on advancing toward Raphael’s king, knocking out Raphael’s knight, remaining cleric, and all his pawns save one. His black marble pieces were sorely outnumbered by Julian’s white ones. Yet…
“So many centuries,” Raphael chided. “And you still can’t see the whole board.”
It only took one piece to change the game. Raphael had brought his remaining pawn all the way to the end of the board. With that, his queen was back in play, right by the back line where Julian’s own king was pinned.
“That’s mate, by the way.”