Right. Raphael couldn’t drink directly from donors—not without forming the same psychic link that bound us.
Gaston moved from his post, giving us each a bob of his head in acknowledgment. The rest of the crew had been escorted elsewhere, so the three of us made our way up two sets of stairs and then across a long, outdoor corridor. It seemed wildly impractical for a vampire castle. The sea was spread to the south, dark waves crashing against the sand.
For a moment I could only stare.
Iknewwhat the ocean was. I wasn’t that ignorant. But living in the Witch Kingdom, it wasn’t the kind of thing I ever expected to see. Why wish for what could never be?
What would it be like to fall into the embrace of those waves? Would it be an escape to go to a land even beyond the horizon? A land with no vampires, no necromancers with obligations they struggled to understand?
Raphael stilled a pace ahead of me. I knew I should move on. No doubt I seemed like an idiot, gawking at the sea foam in the distance. But I’d never felt as small or insignificant in that moment as when I looked into the water, and then past it, where it disappeared into the bleeding ink of the night sky.
“We could go to the beach tomorrow,” Raphael said.
Go to the beach with Raphael. I pictured it. What did one even do at a beach? Strip and go in the water? With Raphael?
I shook my head, twisting away from the view. “It’s not necessary. You have business to attend to, I’m sure.”
Raphael didn’t argue, so I stepped forward. Gaston took it as his cue and continued the rest of the way.
We moved into one hallway, then another break on a balcony. “This isn’t a very practical stronghold for a vampire kingdom, is it?”
I meant the question for Raphael, but it was Gaston who answered. “Oh, with the windows and balconies? The king’s a man of eccentricities, y’see. Likes beautiful things, like the sea and sky.” His vowels weren’t the kind of an aristocrat. Instead, the vampire slipped over them. Not the crude way I’d heard in Greymere, but sloppier than the careful diction aristocrats practiced.
Raphael had too much self-control to roll his eyes, but I suspected he was only just resisting. “It’s more a flex of power than anything. Any vampire younger than fifty will burn quickly in the sun, and even after centuries it’s uncomfortable. To be able to tolerate it like this is an assertion that he doesn’t consider himself beholden to the sun.”
“Oh, a’course,” Gaston acquiesced. “As you say, Your Majesty.”
I wondered if the truth might lie between the two. Raphael’s view was cynical but practical. It left no room for the whimsical eccentric Gaston had described. I supposed if I were a powerful vampire monarch, it would make sense to assert my power.
Of course, Raphael had once mentioned being six centuries old. He could have lived in a castle like this. Instead, his kingdom was in a land without sun—where any vampire could be safe from its harm. Any creature who wanted to live there had to eschew its warmth.
“Who’s older, you or the king here?” I asked, curious.
“Me,” Raphael said. “Marginally.”
I wondered what margin it was—a few years, a few decades?
“Here you are,” Gaston said with another shaking nod. He opened two wide double doors.
The chambers were huge. Whatever I’d thought of the greeting, the rooms befit a visiting ruler. The main chamber was enormous, with two couches facing each other, a massive opening with the curtains half drawn, a long dining table in front of it seating twelve, and ornate carpets running the length of the room. Gaston shut the door behind us after Raphael and I stepped in. He clearly only intended to lead us to one room.
“Is it also vampire custom for fledglings and sires to share chambers?”
“As a matter of fact…” Raphael trailed off with a slight smirk.
I bit down on a sigh. Live like a vampire. Sleep in the same room as Raphael. The truth was, I’d suspected something like this might happen after the inn. It wasn’t proper by any measure in the Witch Kingdom—but I’d just agreed to spend the next fortnight abiding by vampire standards, hadn’t I?
From a more practical perspective, in a strange land, I felt safer with Raphael than without him. I suspected, based on what he’d said about how the bond affected him too, he needed to keep me close as much as possible.
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been in my bed,” he reminded me when I didn’t immediately acquiesce.
I fought to ignore the image conjured when he mentioned being in his bed: waking in his room, him sitting vigil at my side. Memories like that were distracting, because Raphael had done that for the little void he’d been infatuated with, the one he’d teased and traveled with—not the witch he’d been hunting for centuries.
Rather than respond, I went farther in. To one side was a bathing chamber. To my surprise, a steaming bath was already drawn—in a massive tub, set in the floor.
“You can wash up, if you wish,” Raphael offered.
I could have protested, but after weeks without a proper bath, it wasn’t in me. From my trunk I pulled a set of nightclothes and the thickest dressing gown I had, slipped off my boots, and entered the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the rooms, there were no windows, just torches that turned the water orange.
