“Definitely not together.” The mead really wasn’t agreeing with me now. It was like a long ache that had been brewing, and dancing had exacerbated it terribly. I pressed a palm to my stomach.
The teasing look slid off Julian’s face. “Are you all right?”
His concern seemed surprisingly genuine, enough that I was almost distracted from the pain. “I’m okay. I just had too much mead. It must not sit well with me.”
He looked confused. “Normally the aftereffects come several hours later. How much have you had?”
“About a glass. Look, I don’t want to make a scene. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s hardly any at all.” He turned around, but I missed whatever he saw. When he was back, he was smirking.
“What?” I demanded.
He turned me in a wide circle, the flourish drawing the eyes of several other dancers. “Let me ask you a question first. Do you ever find yourself experiencing feelings that don’t quite seem your own?”
I worked to keep my face carefully blank, though I was confused. Surely he couldn’t know about the grimoire.
“Strong emotions like lust, thirst, perhaps? Even when you shouldn’t?”
“I don’t think so.” That didn’t sound like the intrusive thoughts of a semi-sentient grimoire.
“He is rather careful.” This, Julian said more to himself than to me. “And I imagine as a fledgling you’ve had quite a stir of emotions all your own. It would make it harder to notice.”
“Noticewhat?”
“Notice Raphael’s projections. Given you were his Chosen to drink from and lived—temporarily—to tell the tale, I’m sure you’re aware of his gifts. It’s a rare talent, and it’s only logical it was passed to you.”
I wasn’t sure I liked how Julian knew so much about Raphael, or the way the pieces seemed so logical when he set them out for me. The same way when Raphael had drunk from me, he’d developed a tie to read my feelings until I learned to shield from him. At this point, it was secondary.
“You’re sayingRaphaelhas stomach cramps, and that’s what I’m feeling?” I asked in disbelief.
“Oh no, sweet.” His voice was grave. “Something much more serious. Your sire is experiencingemotions.”
“Because you think he’s possessive.” Now that I’d spotted Raphael, it was hard to look away for any length of time. He was still with the vampiress I’d decided was Lady Jaen.
“He’s good at masking. I’ll give him credit for that since he couldn’t have had much practice. I’m surprised you didn’t notice earlier, but he must have mastered it quickly. He’s insufferable like that,” Julian confided.
Hadhe mastered it quickly? Or had I perhaps felt echoes of it in the dungeon, bleeding into all the other pain I’d suffered. But what feeling could possibly be causing something this extreme?
“How fun to see the normally composed king so jealous. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but, well, centuries of practice hiding his expressions will help in ways this doesn’t.”
Julian sounded delighted.
“He has nothing to be jealous of,” I snapped.
“You wound me.”
He kept smiling, not hardly as wounded as he’d be if I stabbed him in the thigh.
“I mean, he has no reason to be jealous because we’re not like that. I’m not his.”
Not after today. We were finished.
“Hmm.” Julian made a sound low in his throat as he leaned closer. “Is that so? Then perhaps I could have a taste.”
“There is no way I’m sharing blood with you.” Or any vampire, I should have said.
Even though I’d considered it last night.
