Chapter Eleven #8
Penelope leaned into Raffaelle. She began to slowly promenade them across the room, making a wide berth so she could study the paintings and mirrors lining the walls.
“Do you like the new gardens, sister?” he asked, somehow too eagerly.
“I think I prefer the ones the Sultana has.”
Raffaelle waited for her to elaborate, but Penelope continued to walk in silence; her grip on his arm tightened slightly.
“Speaking of our dear mistress,” she tipped her head and lowered her voice, “has there been no letter for Betül?”
Ah…
Not long after the Council disbanded, Raffaelle had made the mistake of sharing his little game with Penelope—how he read through Betül’s correspondence, curious to learn more about the East and the sultanate.
“There has not, I’m afraid. Either our sister has caught on to me, or there is nothing worthy of the Sultana’s attention unfolding in our home.”
Tabes had caught sight of the Turkish vampire.
She continued to write her letters, yet never seemed to seal and send them once the pages were full.
No maid had been summoned to dispatch or collect her correspondence.
Raffaelle had not been lying when he said he did not know.
If Betül had not deemed it worthy to inform her mistress, Raffaelle saw little reason to risk stealing the letters.
He was far more interested in the letters Penelope had been getting from Greece and her recent liaison with August. The two had been spotted sharing more than a stroll through the halls.
“Oh, but I am glad we stumbled upon you, Raffaelle.”
“And why is that, my dear?”
They took another turn around the room, strolling across the marble floor as if they were outdoors, in the sun, in the gardens, the click of their heels like the opening notes of an aria.
For a moment, Raffaelle allowed himself to be carried by the mundanity of it; he forgot to worry about a certain rat listening in on their conversation.
“When the Marquis arrives, sway him to make you his Comte. I have requested the same of August, in case you are not to his taste.”
Penelope guided them back to the table and the two sat, leaving Raffaelle trapped between her and August. He eased himself into the high-backed chair and blinked—once, twice...
Now I am prone to madness. I thought she said—
“You have lost your touch, sister,” August’s crude laugh came as if from far away.
Raffaelle’s eyes were fixed on the mirrors in the distance, at how the lights reflected and sparkled.
“Even if one of us miraculously receives Emerick’s blessing, he is still the Marquis.
May I remind you that you were the one who brought the idea of choosing Silvio as Master before the Council.
You brought this on,” August pointed out, bouncing his foot lightly in the air.
Raffaelle shifted his gaze across his brother’s legs, at the way the trousers squeezed his hips in a tight embrace. To his right, Penelope ignored August’s last remark and arranged her skirt before sitting, smoothing the fabric neatly over her lap. He caught a glimpse of her leather high heels.
“A Marquis who has fallen from favour with his Master and who, I am sure, Silvio will never allow to leave the Coven once he sets foot in it,” she spoke. Her tone was even, devoid of emotion, as though she was reciting lines from a play.
“Until the bond is reforged,” August added.
Penelope nodded and ran her palm over Raffaelle’s chest, teasing the fabric of his shirt beneath her fingers. She lifted her hand and smoothed his hair. He had to restrain himself from leaning into the touch.
“Until then, someone needs to pick up where the Marquis left off, and take care of Béziers. Someone who Silvio will not bother to oversee, but—above all—a consort who will not take the Regent from him. Jealousy is such an ugly trait in a man.”
She pushes for a man, when a Comtesse would have made a far better choice.
Raffaelle knew that August spared neither love nor interest for Emerick; in fact, he openly despised him.
As for Raffaelle, he had already had his fill of the former Comte through Tabes.
The notion of having the actual man in the flesh had crossed his mind more than once, and each time he discarded it. The affair was not worth the trouble.
“Let us entertain the idea of either August or myself becoming Comte. Why? To what end? We already serve the same Master.”
Raffaelle tried to keep his eyes on Penelope’s heart-shaped face, the way the black curls of her hair cascaded over her shoulders.
She wore gold bands around her neck, fingers adorned with delicate rings and a pair of gold-and-pearl earrings glimmered at her ears.
The gold complemented her olive skin, making it even more beautiful and alive.
A sweet scent rose from her. He had caught a whiff of it while they were walking. It reminded him of magnolia.
“Perhaps I too have ambitions,” she said, smiling as she glanced over his shoulder at August.
“Or you have finally decided to stand outside the Basilissa’s shadow,” August harrumphed.
What a peculiar thing to say, Raffaelle’s lips pressed flat in the attempt to restrain himself from prying further.
He did not know there was a rivalry between Penelope and the Greek Coven.
Once, long ago, there had been rumours that Ingenuar wanted to expand, that he would not stop with three Covens.
So why not expand now? They did not need the All Father for this.
All they had to do was show Silvio that there was merit in having more Regents.
Vampires who would do the worrying over the territories for him.
So that he might be left to enjoy the company of his Marquis in peace.
“Ambitions, or boredom?” Raffaelle could not stop himself from asking aloud. Next to him August snorted. “If you are aiming for a place at the chessboard, you are going about it the wrong way.”
He flattened the palm of his hand on the table and glided it from left to right, like a pendulum swinging from Penelope to August.
“The Marquis,” he went on, “or anyone close to him, will lead to nothing but Silvio’s scorn.
Forget about him. Forget about Silvio.” His lips tore in a grin he did not bother to conceal.
“There are other Regents. You may not like your Basilissa, but wouldn’t you prefer her now, Penelope?
And you, August, the Sultana has a vast court and an army.
Why not bend for her pleasure, if you will not bend for a man?
And if neither option appeals, and you remain fixated on France…
Well—” he placed his hand on August’s knee and with his other hand squeezed Penelope’s wrist. “—Once he arrives, Emerick will be held up at court, you said so yourselves. That will leave us one Regent short. All you have to do is ask for the spot. Why not become Marquise and Comte yourselves, and in time, turn Béziers into its own state? Mirror the Basilissa and the Sultana, and rule without the guiding hand of a father.”
When neither vampire spoke, he clicked his tongue and rose to his feet.
Or is that not ambitious enough for you, sister? Do you wish to be Mistress? Had I known, I would have voted for you.
Penelope’s face barely hid her surprise, her grey eyes widened slightly as she settled into the chair he had vacated, and took August’s hand.
“What about you, brother?” August’s voice was soft, careful. He let Penelope entwine their fingers and cupped her wrist. “Where do you see yourself in the Court you are so generously advising?”
Raffaelle thought about it for a moment, enjoying the sight of the two immortals before him. They would make for an interesting union; vile and greedy, like all the other Regents.
“Where?” he answered with a question. “Why, I am the jester to whichever sovereign amuses me the most.” He bowed with a flourish.