Page 12 of A Throne of Blood & Vengeance

I wanted to enjoy the time I had left before I had to go and explain myself to the person who held my loyalty.

Does she though?a voice whispered in my mind.

“Why, Vail?” Samara’s question was so faint, I barely heard it as she finally gave up resisting and sank into me. It was only because of the pain she was in, I knew that, but it still had to mean something, right? That, on at least some level, she trusted me enough to be vulnerable like this.

I knew what she was asking. After everything between us, the things we’d done, why had I betrayed her?

My arms wrapped tighter around her as I rested my head against hers, breathing in her scent. At that moment, all my reasoning about how I thought I’d chosen the best option for all of us didn’t seem to matter. So I remained silent. And Samara didn’t ask again.

“Ah.The enormity of what you’ve done and just how much you’ve fucked up has finally hit you,” the fallen Moroi Prince said with a cold chuckle. Draven’s bright blue eyes were threaded with bloodred cracks. He’d kept his bloodlust at this level all week. Not fully risen, but not completely suppressed either.

It unnerved me a little because he didn’t act any differently. I knew, based on how wary others were around me when I let my bloodlust rise, that my behavior changed. It wasn’t just that my temper got a little hotter. There was just somethingmoreto me, like the beast I kept chained down was gazing out into the world and thought everything would look better drowned in blood.

But if it weren’t for his eyes and the claws on his fingers, I’d never know Draven’s bloodlust was out as much as it was. Samara was the same. Something about them was different from other Moroi.

Draven had been damn near death when he’d been dragged down here, but he’d lain on the ground and bounced back within hours. I suspected it had something to do with his Fae heritage. His father was the Seelie King, after all.

A memory of chains disintegrating to dust flashed through my mind. That day, when everything had gone to hell, Samara had reached for Draven in that throne room, trying to free him. Everything had been so chaotic, but I could have sworn I’d seen the chains disintegrate. Draven had barely been alive—if magic had been used, he hadn’t been the source. There was also the fact that she was sensitive to iron, something she’d been trying to hide, but I’d seen the way she’d grimace ever so slightly whenever she made contact with the bars.

Those two things had caused suspicion about Samara’s heritage to form in the back of my mind, even if it didn’t seem possible. I’d known both of her parents—neither of them had been Fae—but could one of them have been part Fae like Draven? I mean, the princelookedlike a Moroi. It stood to reason that one or both of Samara’s parents could have had Fae blood running through their veins. Most likely her father because if Samara’s mother was part Fae, then so was Carmilla. And given the way Carmilla talked about the Fae as a blight that needed to be destroyed, I didn’t think she had any Fae blood.

I hadn’t spoken my suspicions to anyone. And if anybody else had noticed some of the odd things that had happened around Samara lately, they hadn’t mentioned them in front of me.

The question was . . . did Carmilla have similar suspicions? She hadn’t been spending much time around her niece since seizing the throne, but she still knew Samara well. Maybe there had been other clues earlier in Samara’s life that we’d all missed but she’d seen.

But why not be open about it? Why all the secrecy? My parents had loyally served House Harker and it had never occurred to me to not be the same—until the past couple of weeks.

I’d never questioned Carmilla’s tactics before, but now there were children locked in the dungeon. Fuckingchildren. I’d brought this up to Carmilla the day they’d been thrown in cells with their families, but she’d reasoned that it was impossible to know where their loyalties stood because Velika could have used the crown on them. We didn’t know if Velika’s death had voided all the forced blood bonds. Maybe they were loyal to her even in death.

But we did know that the bonds Velika had created would fade with time. So Carmilla had assured me that everyone wouldhave access to food and water while in the dungeons and would be well taken care of.

It still didn’t sit right with me.

Nor did watching some of the people—particularly those of high rankings who had important knowledge locked away in their minds—be led out of the dungeon to where Carmilla would meet with them. Behind closed doors. While she wore the crown.

I’d done that. It had been me who had handed over the second half of the crown to her, which meant I’d played a direct role in taking away the free will of Moroi.

Carmilla’s reasoning had seemed so sound on paper. The wraiths were chipping away at our protections. Velika—and Draven—had been working with them.

Although Carmilla had left out the fact that Draven hadn’t had a choice.

It was possible she hadn’t known . . . but even I knew that was me being hopeful and only wanting to see the good in her. Carmilla had been sleeping with Velika’s consort, and Lucian hated Draven. He also knew a lot about him. It seemed highly unlikely he hadn’t shared some of that knowledge with Carmilla.

I didn’t want to believe that Carmilla was manipulating me. Both because I loved her as if she were family and because it meant I was a fool.

A fool who had betrayed the woman whodidlove me. The thought jolted me back to the present and Draven’s words. Uneasy dread coiled in my gut.

Did I fuck up? Maybe I should have held onto the crown and tried to have Samara and Carmilla negotiate without either of them possessing it.

“Don’t recall asking for your opinion.” I chucked a canteen through the bars. While Carmilla made sure food and water were brought to Samara and the other Moroi detained in thedungeon, she’d made no such orders for Draven. As far as I knew, I was the only one bringing him sustenance.

Not that he acted the least bit grateful. He did talk to me during these visits though, which was more than I could say about Samara until recently.

I should have stayed away from her. I knew Carmilla wanted me to. She hadn’t specifically forbidden me from seeing Samara, but she had strongly hinted at it. I couldn’t stay away though. There was this odd pull inside my chest that I couldn’t explain. It was like I was always aware of Samara’s existence. Her location—not that she was moving anywhere—her emotions, and just . . . her.

In what was rapidly becoming a habit, I rubbed the spot over my heart where I felt the tightness. It was a weird sensation that I was noticing more and more, but I had no idea what it meant. At first, I thought it was stress, but occasionally, I noticed Samara placing a hand over the exact same place on her chest when I felt it.

There was no point in asking her about it. She’d either lie or spit in my face.

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