Chapter Fourteen
Samara
“Presenting Lady Samara, fledgling sired by His Majesty, King Raphael,” the master of ceremonies intoned as I stepped into the ball.
I’d hardly seen Thea since she’d promised to look into my magic. Instead, I’d focused on controlling my emotions around vampires. Mainly, that was Raphael on the mornings we trained. I’d also spent the past two days in court, since the bond forced us to be close.
I’d thought I’d made progress—another few paces between Raphael and me this morning. When I walked back, I realized I’d miscounted.
Now, I looked for him, expecting Raphael to be waiting, arm extended as he had in the past.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Rejection, sharp and cruel, hit me like a blow. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin before it could settle on my face.
I walked down the steps alone, surveying the crowd.
In the past, there had been a mix of vampires and humans who wore vampirism like a costume—Raphael had once told me about it like it was a good thing, the fact humans could rise in station and attend these functions, even if they voluntarily powdered their skin and dyed their hair to look like the lifeless creatures.
But there wasn’t a single heartbeat in the ballroom.
No, the room was filled with predators, and all eyes were on me. Assessing. Curious.
But not hungry, not as they’d been in the past. Because now I wasn’t a human for them to imagine tasting—I was one of them.
No, that wasn’t quite right. In their eyes, I wasn’t just one of them, but rather their better.
I’d been sired by their king, even if he didn’t deign to greet me at the stairs.
Their gazes now were respectful, their minds stirring with machinations as they listened for every soft footfall as my heels hit the stone stairs beneath me.
I hated them for it.
I had no plan save to follow each footfall with another, but any plan would have been cast aside once I reached the bottom of the stairs.
They swarmed me.
All at once, a dozen vampires called my name, greeting me, praising my appearance, asking about a dance card I didn’t even possess.
“Lady Samara, your dress—”
“You’re a vision, Lady Samara—”
“Lady Samara, I must beg a dance—”
None touched me, but they were so close. I didn’t need to breathe, but all the same, I felt like I was suffocating.
Enemy. Surrounded by the enemy.
My fangs ached. Not in hunger, but anger.
The onslaught of sycophantic chatter continued mercilessly.
“Radiant—”
“You’re a credit to the kingdom—”
“Your debut was so delayed, we worried—”
“Look this way—”
“We just knew he would turn you—”
It was the last one that hit hardest, and I twisted to snarl like a beast at whoever had said that when a voice cut through. It was no louder than any of the others, but it didn’t need to be. The voice was night itself, swallowing the world around it.
“I suggest everyone give Lady Samara some space unless you wish to learn what it means to suffer her displeasure.”
My body jerked, my eyes immediately finding Raphael. The crowd parted, dispersing as courtiers muttered quiet apologies.
The vampire king cut an intimidating figure this evening.
His crown was simple and unyielding—just like the man.
His red eyes and white hair weren’t what marked him as vampire among vampires.
It was his presence. The power he radiated.
The way he needed only to arch a brow and everyone fell over themselves to please him.
His presence helped me steady myself. The anger I’d felt—that must’ve been the grimoire. It had been days since I’d touched it, and it was getting easier to notice. I was uncomfortable—that was my own feeling. But the anger that wasn’t mine, I worked to let it go.
Raphael held a hand out to me in invitation.
I stared at it like it were liable to bite me. He hadn’t come to greet me—he’d all but thrown me to a pack of hungry dire wolves.
And yet I wanted to take his hand.
“Dance with me, Lady Samara.”
I slid my palm in his.
“Only because I don’t want to be accosted the second you step away,” I muttered under my breath. It was low enough, I hoped, the vampires wouldn’t catch it over the din of the ballroom. “They ignored me before. I wish they’d go back to it.”
Raphael led me to the dance floor, where other partnered vampires had resumed moving.
“They never ignored you.” He pulled me closer, his other hand shifting to graze my low back.
I set my hand on his shoulder, moving haltingly through the steps.
“But now that you’ve been introduced to them, they’ll be relentless. I delayed this as much as I could.”
Delayed? Was he actually protecting me, even now? I twisted my head to the side. The other dancers moved with easy grace, their steps light, effortless. I’d never learned to dance like that. In fact, I was an awful dancer.
But the unfortunate truth was, with Raphael it felt easy.
“They will try to curry favor with you, even if only because they believe you have influence over me.”
I stiffly turned my neck back to face him. “And do I?”
“More than you know.”
I looked away again. It was disconcerting, our bodies pressed so close. We’d sparred a few times, but this . . . this was another feeling. The way he guided me across the floor, the way the world contracted to just the space where we danced. The way it was hard to remember all my anger.
I had to try all the same. “You weren’t there.”
“Where?” he asked, curious.
“There.” I jerked my chin toward the grand staircase. “When I came in. You may act like you rescued me, but really you let them all swarm me.”
I wasn’t sure why it hurt. He had violated me beyond measure, turning me to a vampire, and yet what hurt was that he hadn’t held his arm out, reassuring me, as I entered this world.
“You don’t need me to rescue you, Samara.
But any time you wish, I will do so.” He spun me, the words scarcely landing as the air brushed around me.
“If I had been your escort, that’s all they would see you as—an extension of me.
And we both know that’s not true. If you stay in this court, you will build your own alliances, your own enemies.
Your place is not, and has never been, in my shadow. ”
Was that true? Had he abandoned me not to hurt me, but to build my standing in this vicious society?
“It would have been good to know I should expect a change,” I muttered. I apparently lacked the grace to acknowledge I’d been so wrong about his intentions.
“You’re the one who made it clear you don’t wish to be my Chosen,” Raphael reminded me. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
His Chosen. I huffed, ready with another denial, then the song ended and Raphael stopped moving.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, cutting off my next no-doubt repetitive protest. Though he had no body heat, I suddenly felt a chill when he stepped away.
I spotted his target immediately. Iademos stood at the perimeter, glaring at me over Raphael’s shoulder. All was still unforgiven, clearly. What did Demos want?
“May I have this dance, Lady Samara?” a voice said, cutting my questions off.
A vampiress offered her hand. She was taller than me wearing a wide-necked gown that draped from her shoulders.
You’ll build your own alliances, your own enemies.
Raphael was wrong. They were all my enemies. But I’d continue to play the part, to learn.
“Yes.”
The female flashed me a victorious smile and led me into another dance.
Her closeness did nothing to chase away the chill left by Raphael’s departure.
She attempted to make conversation while we danced, but she soon discovered, despite my elevated status as the king’s sired fledgling, that I was a terrible conversation partner.
I spent the entire dance looking over her shoulder, trying to see where Raphael had disappeared.
When the dance ended, another dance partner appeared. Then another. I should have taken the chance to try to tap into my necromancer powers, but I was too preoccupied with Raphael. And thirsty, so thirsty. It was ever present, but tonight it was even worse.
“Are you well, Lady Samara?” asked my latest partner—Wilfred or something.
“I suppose I’m parched,” I said as mildly as I could while my fangs scraped my lips.
His eyes widened. “Oh! Shall we head somewhere more . . . private?”
I stumbled a step, slamming my foot on top of his. He didn’t flinch. “What?”
He blinked. “Oh. I didn’t mean to presume, but normally if a vampire says that . . .”
I wanted to die—again. Apparently, for vampires, that was akin to flirting. Something I didn’t even know how to do with humans.
And never would.
“What I meant was I would like to sample some of the blood mead,” I clarified. Like wasn’t the perfect word, but it was true enough I could say it.
He nodded vigorously. “Of course. I’ll fetch us some.”
Fetching apparently referred to flicking his fingers at one of the servants so two crystal-stemmed glasses appeared on a tray next to us a moment later. Wilfred took both and offered me one.
I drained it before he took so much as a sip, swallowing every drop of the bile.
Then I took his, too, and drained it dry.