Chapter Forty-Eight
Samara
At five to midnight, Cosette led us from our rooms to a new wing of the palace.
Raphael had done a phenomenal job erasing my concerns for the duration of the time we’d shared a bath.
I’d dressed with the warm current of his feelings strumming through me.
It was strange, leaving the bond open when I’d worked to keep it closed away for so long. Strange but comforting. A connection.
“Right on time,” Julian said when we entered. “Thank you, Cosette.”
Cosette pressed a hand to her chest and bowed before closing the doors behind us.
Julian’s dining room was far more intimate than any of the other rooms we’d been in.
I’d assumed there would be a long table, like all the other times, but this defied that expectation.
There were doors on three sides of the room, which was decorated in darker colors, a deep blue and emerald green, atypical for the style of most of the castle.
It made the space feel even smaller. The table was round, with four chairs, a long, lush tablecloth covering it.
“Join me.”
Raphael held out my chair, the one farthest from Julian, before seating himself at my right. Julian snapped his fingers and the doors burst open. Servants flew into the room, carrying tray after tray of succulent dishes. They piled them high on the table until it reached an almost comical height.
“What’s this?” Were they expecting someone else?
Julian frowned at me over the mountain of food. “My hospitality, of course. I did invite you for dinner.”
“But none of us eat food.” I looked between the two of them and the food.
Platters of fruit, cured meat, a roast, vegetables prepared in oil.
It was a wealth of waste. In the past, I would’ve done anything for a fraction of the food here.
But instead of an ache from missing the ability to eat like I usually felt, I was simply disgusted by the excess.
“Would you like me to drink someone’s blood? Yours, perhaps?”
“Would you like me to stab you with the dagger strapped to my thigh?” I wasn’t sure where it came from, but I couldn’t make myself regret the words. He’d been just a bit too comfortable taking liberties before, and I’d had enough of it.
Julian laughed heartily. I imagined from his view: A little spunk was entertaining. He had no idea I could back it up—I had used my magic to compel him only hours ago.
“Yes, yes, I see that privilege is only afforded to one. Still, can’t blame a male for trying. You smell delicious”—he flashed a wide grin—“aside from the stink of my brother all over you.”
“You’re determined to make this as tedious as possible,” Raphael sighed.
They might have been twins, but Raphael played the role of beleaguered elder sibling as well as Julian played the infuriating little brother.
Despite everything, I wanted to study their dynamic, to understand what it might mean for them.
Last night, we’d had other topics to discuss, and the bath I’d shared with Raphael had effectively distracted me from prying further into how they had both come to be kings of neighboring nations.
But I was desperately curious to understand this side of Raphael.
Then again, if I left them to bicker, there might well be blood drawn before dawn.
Safer to return to the prior topic. “I don’t see the point in all this food if none of us can eat.”
“I’m being hospitable.” Julian sounded sincerely confused.
It was a simple flex of power, I realized. He’d had servants prepare food for hours for guests who wouldn’t eat. And guests of status—the food really was befitting of kings. Mortal ones who could eat, anyway.
Maybe it really was a courtesy. How should I know? I’d spent two weeks trying to acclimate to vampire customs, but I could only see the table with human eyes. Human eyes that had once prayed for scraps of rat soup to avoid starving to death.
“If it’s not to your taste, I’ll have it thrown out,” Julian continued grandly.
That was even worse. I let my opinion show on my face. Maybe it was wrong to criticize, even nonverbally, but the thought of this colossal amount of food going untouched when people were no doubt hungry was reprehensible.
Julian frowned. “You don’t approve.”
“No. I think you should take the food from here before it spoils and give it to those who would enjoy it.”
Julian cast me a skeptical look. “That’s really not how things are done. Your fledgling has much to learn, Raphael.”
“Or she has wisdom our centuries have dulled,” Raphael countered.
I sat a little straighter at that. Raphael could’ve backed me just to spite his brother, but there was genuine approval in his tone.
And he’d said our centuries—meaning not just Julian’s.
As if he felt he had things to learn from me as well.
I reached out to slide my palm into his, affection burrowing in my chest. It was such a small thing, but perhaps there would be a way forward for us, if Raphael was willing to listen to me about things changing.
If I could be his partner instead of the adversary fate had cast me as.
“Very well.” Julian summoned the servants once more. “Take it all away. Find anyone who seems hungry and distribute it to those who agree not to quibble over it.”
The room was once again abuzz as the servants went through. To their credit, they showed nothing on their faces. Well trained, indeed.
The table sat bare again, with no barrier as Julian stared at me.
“You should stay longer,” Julian encouraged. “Another week, another month. Who knows what other wisdom you might remind me of?”
“We’ve been here two weeks already,” I pointed out.
“And I’ve only hardly met you. I insist.” He focused on Raphael. “Consider it restitution for throwing me into a wall.”
“Restitution would have been pulling the fangs out of your mouth and making you swallow them for touching her,”
Julian tutted. “Samara didn’t mind. Did you?”
“I did,” I said honestly. “Particularly since you used me as a pawn to irritate Raphael.”
“You make it sound trite. I assure you, dancing with a beautiful woman is its own reward. I recommend it.”
This was going to be a long evening indeed.
“Everything’s a game with you,” Raphael accused.
“What a brilliant suggestion,” Julian said, though I didn’t think Raphael had meant it as one. “Let’s play. Especially since the table’s now been cleared. Hmm, what do you favor? I’ve several strategy games. No better way to get to know each other than with a test of cunning.”
“Those matches can take several nights,” Raphael told me.
The only game I knew was Round Toss, but I wasn’t sure that was appropriate to pick. “Maybe something else.”
“A drinking game, then,” Julian said. “So we can get to know each other better. We take turns asking questions. If you answer my question, I drink. If you don’t answer, you drink instead.”
I exchanged a look with Raphael. I searched for disapproval, but all I saw was the slightest bit of concern etched around his eyes. As if he were speaking to me, I read his expression—did I feel okay with this?
I had little experience with alcohol, but since becoming a vampire, it didn’t seem as dangerous anymore. Raphael was here. He would keep me safe to a degree, and besides, I’d learned the silver-tongued games of vampires much better over the past few weeks.
“Fine.”
Julian called once more for the servants, this time ordering several tall bottles of blood mead. He uncorked one with his teeth, waving the servant away once they set the glasses down.
“Let’s begin. Tell me, Samara, do you think Raphael avoided inviting me to your debut because he knew I would have stolen you away? Or because you would have come to me willingly when you realized how much more charming my personality was?”
I snorted. “Is that how this game is to be played?”
“If you don’t want to answer, you can drink.”
I wasn’t going to fold that easily. “Actually, I believe it’s because he was so busy in bed after turning me that any invitation to you would have been an afterthought.”
Julian laughed and took a long drink. He didn’t know Raphael had been in bed after ingesting the poison of my blood.
“My turn. Tell me what Raphael was like growing up as a child.”
Raphael arched a brow at me, and I just shrugged. He was so reticent to discuss his past—and besides, I doubted there was anyone else who had known him back then that I’d ever get to ask. If we had to get through this dance tonight, I might as well enjoy myself.
Julian tipped back in his chair. “An excellent question. I suppose one could say he did the best with what he could, being the less handsome brother—”
I snorted. “You two are identical.”
“No, we’re not,” Raphael and Julian said in unison.
“Do you want your question answered or not?” Julian huffed.
I waved him on.
“Thank you. As I was saying, he did the best he could. You wouldn’t know it now, but this sourpuss used to be a lot of fun.
Our neighbor baked the best mayberry pies.
But the old crone was stingy. She’d make you beg on your hands and knees for a slice—or make us do chores to earn some.
Only at some point, Raphael realized she’d also give a slice as a thank-you if she lost something and you found it—her garden shears, that sort of thing.
The natural consequence was that Raphael figured out how to fit through her chimney to swipe something.
I’d wait on the roof and pull him back up with a rope.
Then, the next day, we’d mysteriously find it and get a slice of that damn pie—I swear, I can taste the tartness of those mayberries even now.
Only that ass bulked up quicker than I did, so suddenly I was the one being sent through the chimney with a rope around my waist.”
“Why not sneak in and steal the pies, then?” They were already going through all the trouble to get into her home to begin with.
Julian looked aghast. “Well, that wouldn’t have been sporting. Besides, we weren’t stealing her belongings—just borrowing them.”