Raphael smiled, and it was such a simple, devastating expression. As if what was between us were so simple.
As if he were courting me and liked that I was pleased. I looked away but took his outstretched arm as he led me to the stage.
Even though we went against the current, people parted on the narrow stairs to make room. There were dipped heads, slight bows of deference—directed at both of us.
I avoided everyone’s gaze, more focused on my feet so as to not trip and tumble down the stone steps. Larissa and Demos were at our back, building a buffer.
“Your Majesty.” The conductor was a stout man who looked to be perhaps fifty, a human with hair that was pulling back against his forehead, sweat slicked between thinning patches. He had a mustache to match, with long curling ends.
“My fledgling quite enjoyed your performance. You are talented.”
The conductor’s eyes went wide. “I’m honored.We’rehonored. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Arold, of the Midlands. Would you like to meet the rest of the orchestra?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” I hastily replied before Raphael could demand it. No doubt they were tired, but I wanted to thank them. “This was… I’ve never heard music like this. Performed this way. It was divine. The songs made me ache in parts of my soul I didn’t even know were there.”
“You’re too kind,” the conductor said, head bobbing.
“In this state, I’m quite honest,” I replied.
The conductor’s grin widened beneath his mustache. He led us over to the orchestra, and there was a quick chorus of honorifics and bows as the conductor introduced us and then the musicians.
“You were all wonderful,” I told them. “The harp—your melodies were incredible. I had no idea a cello could sound like that. The piano—your fingers were wind over the keys. And you—the flute has always been a favorite of mine. I love how you sounded with it,” I gushed.
The flutist, who had introduced herself as Ansel, beamed. “Do you play yourself, Lady Samara?”
I laughed. “No, no. The closest I came was a carrot I carved.” At the confused looks, I realized it was probably unseemly to admit such a thing as a vampire king’s companion. “But truly, you’re talented. How long have you been playing?”
“Nearly thirty years. I’ve been traveling the continent for half of that with a few colleagues.” Ansel pointed to a few of the others.
I tried to place them. “Have you been in Damerel?”
Ansel grinned. “About six months ago. We were invited by His Majesty, in fact. It was a great honor.”
Thatwas why I’d recognized them. I considered asking something bland about Ansel’s impression of the kingdom, but, well, there were only polite answers for that. “What’s it like to perform the way you do?”
She hadn’t expected the question but recovered quickly. “It’s a privilege. Truly, my lady. It’s always a joy to perform for others.”
Her answer was poised, but it seemed too… easy. “But it must be difficult at times.”
Ansel tapped her chin, considering. “The worthy things are seldom easy, I suppose. As a performer, I play a role. Even if my lips are chapped or my tongue feels swollen, I want to give my best, or even more than that if possible. It feels like what I was born to do.”
I nodded along, even while I privately wondered if that confidence truly came so naturally. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity, Ansel. I’ve taken enough of your time.”
Ansel made appropriate protests about it being no trouble at all, but there was still a look of relief as she returned to her fellow musicians. Raphael similarly disentangled himself and offered me his arm. Larissa and Demos flanked us.
It had been a selfish imposition to keep them for so long. Dawn was nearing as we made our way back to the carriage—the last left outside the amphitheater—to return to the castle.
Where I’d just agreed to share a bed with Raphael.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Samara
It’s just a bed.
That’s what I told myself as I stared at it. Raphael had let me use the bathing chamber first once more. I’d washed off the cosmetics and traded the dress for the scrap of fabric meant to serve as a nightgown.
When it was his turn, he didn’t close the door again. It was my own curse to notice that detail each night. To think of him, without even a shut door between us, sinking into that massive tub.
