“He definitely planned to kill me, to get at Raphael.” I hesitated. I wasn’t sure how Demos would react to the questions about the grimoire. “He liked the sound of his own voice.” I dragged a palm against my own throat. “What do we do, Demos? Do we tell someone?”
“No one but Raphael and our own people,” Demos said decisively.
“They’ll notice he’s missing,” I protested. “That I—I killed him.”
“We’ll handle it.” The way he said it left no room for argument. “It was self-defense. For now, we need to get out of here and back to your chambers. Raphael is going to be furious.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to spend an extra minute around the corpse. Before leaving, I knelt down, using the fabric of my skirt to lift the cursed copper cuffs from the floor.
The style… I recognized it. Not exactly like the ones I’d seen around Raphael in Greymere, but similar.
“What is it?” Demos asked.
I set them back down. “Ferro was with the fae delegation, wasn’t he?”
“I believe so.”
But there was no mistaking it: This was the same work as what was in Greymere. This was an act on behalf of the Witch Kingdom. If I was right, it explained the cards as well.
That meant the king had to know about the grimoire. And knew I had it, even if he had no idea I was the rightful owner. The spy he mentioned must have been Titus. The toad must have recognized it in my room and told the king. But why did he want it? And if he did, why not steal it then?
I was missing something, but I wasn’t sure what.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Raphael
“You dealt with thebody.”
It wasn’t a question, but the general nodded anyway. “I sent Ansel and Colette.”
Raphael paced, furious. He hadn’t expected to spend the day separated from Samara again, but Julian had wanted a rematch, and Julian was exceptionally annoying when he didn’t get his way. If Raphael hadn’t gone, the southern king would have been just as likely to show up in his chambers with a chessboard.
The last thing he needed was Julian showing up uninvited.
Raphael was, in his opinion, doing an exceptional job leashing his anger. The palace was still standing, after all. That someone would dare attack her… It was only centuries of discipline that stayed his hand. He wouldn’t act rashly. When he retaliated, it would be with ice in his veins as he carefully exacted revenge.
“I don’t understand why the fae would do this,” his general said. “We’ve had no grievances with them in a century.”
Samara sat in a chair, knees tucked against her chin.
He wanted to wrap her in his arms and console her.
Wanted to kneel at her feet and apologize for letting this happen—with the skulls of those who plotted this as an apology.
“They’re antagonistic by nature,” Raphael retorted. As his closest neighbors, they might be doing something as basic as testing his boundaries. He growled. If they wanted to see if he would retaliate, he’d show them just what happened to those who messed with what was his to protect. “We should’ve sent his corpse to them in pieces.”
“They’ll notice he’s missing,” Samara said.
“The problem isn’t that you killed him.”
“How is thatnota problem?” It was the most emotion she’d shown since he’d arrived. Demos had given a succinct summary of the events, but his general was used to this violence. Samara was not.
“Samara, he attacked you. He had to die.” If anything, he was proud of how she’d done it. Killed the threat like a proper vampire. He just hated the fact she’d sullied her mouth and body with another’s blood. Especially now that he’d managed to coax her to take his.
Blood sharing between vampires had… significance.
“But he was a diplomat,” she insisted. “Surely there are some consequences. A trial. Even if he attacked someone, they must investigate.”
