Yes, he was. Samara was technically his heir, not that he intended to die a true death anytime soon. Protocol meant he should present her upon reaching the foreign kingdom. But he would delay Samara’s meeting Julian as long as possible. Never, if he had his way. But never was a horrifically long time, and he couldn’t promise that.
“You could have met her at the welcome dinner you hosted,” Raphael taunted.
Julian narrowed his gaze. “I was otherwise engaged. The brat king sent a scouting party merely thirty miles from the city.”
Iademos had reported as much. “You aren’t embarrassed to admit you were so easily infiltrated?”
Julian’s smirk was fang filled. “It was promptly dealt with. I haven’t gorged myself like that in a century.”
“The king is restless,” Raphael noted. He’d received a letter from Thea mentioning the same up north—Vaughn was sending scouts. Perhaps he now knew the Black Grimoire had been taken.
“The king is desperate,” Julian retorted. “He can do nothing. Especially with the necromancer gone again. You did kill them, correct?” A shrewd look sparked in his eyes, the same one that came when Julian studied the board, trying to decipher Raphael’s latest play.
“Have I ever failed to before?” Raphael let himself sound a bit more indignant than usual. He had, after all,notdone so on his bicentennial pilgrimage to the Witch Kingdom. Instead, he’d found Samara and used her to get the Black Grimoire out of the territory and into his own. Acquiring Anagenni’s blessed totems was impossible for a vampire alone. “You’re the one whosummoned me here to discuss some rumors. Are you finally ready to talk?”
Julian took a long drink from his goblet, blood trickling carelessly from the corner of his mouth. “As I said, the king can do nothing against us all together. You, me, Ophelia. He should know that. But that’s not to say he can’t make trouble.” He looked meaningfully at Raphael. “Has he made trouble for you?”
The spy that had infiltrated his kingdom came to mind. “Not much.” Julian wasn’t wrong to be concerned. The necromancer might be able to bring them to their knees with a single spell, but witches themselves were dangerous opponents. The icy peace that had reigned between them was born of disdain, not friendship.
“So there is some, then,” Julian pressed. “Odd, isn’t it? I think there’s more to it. But I’ve had trouble getting any contacts inside the kingdom.”
“That must rankle,” Raphael said mildly, moving another piece.
Julian captured the offered piece, irked. “As I said, nothing we couldn’t handle. But I want to know what’s behind this sudden change in policy. The storm king isn’t stupid.”
“He can be as wise as an oracle—he still doesn’t have a necromancer in his armies.”
“Fair enough,” Julian conceded. “I suppose we’re fortunate the goddess only taunts us with a mortal every two centuries. Imagine if she spawned one of those unnatural witches every few decades instead.”
“Some would call us unnatural.”
“And many more would kill to join us. Speaking of,” Julian drawled, “how did your Chosen convince you? I thought you’d forsworn that.”
Convince him. Raphael resisted a scoff. He’d thought he would have to beg Samara to consider it, but the choice had been taken from them both.
Well, not quite. He’d taken the choice from her.
“She’s not my Chosen anymore,” Raphael said, ignoring the question.
“I heard,” Julian replied. “Preparing her for a different role, perhaps? You brought her with you here, after all.”
The implication in Julian’s words was clear. Taking a vampire he’d turned, one the courts assumed to be his lover, to a foreign kingdom? It was almost a declaration of intent to make her his queen.
Hopefully, no one mentioned that to Samara. His little viper was barely beginning to accept her place as a vampire.
He slid his pawn forward. “Surely you have more important things to focus on than my sire line.”
“So reticent,” Julian mused, advancing his rook cleric to cage in Raphael’s queen. “Soprotective. She must be something truly special.”
“Of course I’m protective.” His voice was carefully neutral. “I’m her sire.”
“Is that all?” Julian mused.
No, it wasn’t all. Not even close.
She washis, whether she accepted it or not. His to protect. His to crave. His toachefor. She’d taken from him just this morning, her fangs so sweet in his neck. No one had ever bitten him there before, not like that. Though he knew what effect the bite could have under the right circumstances… knowing and experiencing were two kingdoms on opposite ends of the globe.
Raphael’s blood was hot in his veins for the first time in centuries. He burned for her to take more, to take all her due. He wanted to coax her fangs back into him at dusk, midnight, and dawn. For now, she still drank reluctantly. He wanted thatrestraint to snap. Wanted to make it so she never hesitated to take what she wanted.
