Chapter Nine Samuel

Chapter Nine

Samuel

T wo days later, Samuel had settled into the LeClaire townhouse, shuffled off into one of the guest suites to wait for his audience with the King, which had finally come. Laurens had sent the first of his outfits along and it hung in the wardrobe, waiting for him.

Samuel didn't need to see the receipt to know that this dress suit was the most expensive thing he had ever touched, a silken masterpiece that felt so delicate under his touch. It was a forest green, only a few shades deeper than his eyes. The materials alone cost more than he wanted to think of, and every bit of the outfit had been tailored to him. Laurens had even sent along new underthings, as if she didn't trust what he had to be worthy of this outfit.

And, honestly, she hadn't been wrong.

In the end, he had needed some help. Shan had trimmed his hair for him, just evening out the ends after he refused to let her take off any length. She provided him with a razor sharper than any he had ever had and used Blood Working to heal the nicks his unsteady hands had left behind, licking the blood from his fingers as she commanded the skin to knit and mend, like he had never bled at all.

After he poured himself into the pants that felt too tight, and the shirt and jacket that hung snug across his shoulders, Shan tied his cravat for him, her fingers swift and soft against his throat. She was so close to him that he could breathe deep of the floral scent in her hair, a faint perfume warmed by her skin. His heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest, so loud he swore she could hear it, but if she did, Shan didn't show it.

But as she stepped back, a slight smile on her lips, Samuel swore he could feel her linger.

All the while she was a steady, calming presence. Then she loaded him into her carriage and took him to meet the Eternal King. It wasn't a long trip as the bird flew—the walk would have taken them little more than a half an hour—but apparently it was bad form to appear at the palace on foot.

He let Shan have her way, and they took the carriage through the narrow, winding streets, even though it would have been quicker if they hadn't. Still, it allowed Samuel to see Dameral in a way he never had before. Before he hadn't even been to this part of the city, but now he could watch the people as they passed by. Women in their fancy day dresses, men with their decorative walking sticks and velvet jackets, all lush and dark jewel tones, like so much of Aeravinian style—they might embrace styles and fabrics, following in the footsteps of their neighbors, but some aesthetics would never change. They moved in and out of shops that sold finery and frippery, jewels and soaps and the fanciest teas imported from all over the world, and Samuel felt anxious even looking at them.

And through it all, that tiny, dark part of him whispered that this was the world he belonged to. The one he should have been born to.

"We really thought you were all gone, you know," Shan said, suddenly.

Samuel didn't pull his gaze from the carriage window. "What are you going on about?"

"The Aberforths," Shan replied smoothly. "It was such a tragedy."

He couldn't help the scoff. "I might be new here, Lady LeClaire," Samuel said quietly. "But even I know that no one thought my father's death was a tragedy."

Shan folded her hands in her lap, looking up at him through her fine eyelashes. "Perhaps not. But the other deaths were—especially the children."

Funny, how she phrased it. As if the deaths were some mere accident and not murder.

All the Aberforths had been gathered at their country estate for the wedding of one the minor cousins—everyone but the Eternal King himself. Lord Nathaniel Aberforth, known for his cruelty that bordered on madness, killed everyone there then turned the blade on himself.

There were no survivors.

Samuel always suspected that his father was a bastard, but he had never suspected it was the Mad Aberforth himself, though it made a twisted kind of sense. The darkness in him couldn't have come out of nowhere. Yet here he was, entering their world and claiming their name. But at least he had Shan—he might not truly trust her, but he was comfortable in the knowledge that she would not see him disgraced. She was not the type to waste an investment.

"Just be careful," Shan said. "It is still a delicate subject, even after all this time. But he should still be happy to see you."

Samuel couldn't blame him. The Aberforths had been descended from him and his mortal wife, whom he had married when he took the throne all those centuries ago. The Aberforths were his children, his descendants. Then they were all gone. An entire family—and legacy—destroyed.

Until him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Samuel asked, doubt starting to creep in.

"Of course," Shan said. "When have I ever led you astray?"

He laughed at the absurdity of that statement—they were still practically strangers after all—but it did relieve some of the tension, and then the carriage lurched to a stop. Shan glanced out the window. "We're here."

The door was opened by her coachman, who had stopped looking at Samuel like he didn't belong.

Perhaps appearances did make a difference after all.

Shan exited first, Samuel following, and they stepped into a grand courtyard. There was far more greenery than he had expected, not a bit of stone or marble to be seen. Instead, there was a garden of the most luscious red roses—Aeravinian roses—blooming strong and fragrant in the early spring light.

It was more beautiful that any gaudy display of material goods could have been, and Samuel felt a grudging sort of respect for the Eternal King. Yes, this must cost an excessive amount of money and magic to maintain, especially out of season. But it was real and beautiful and tangible, and even he couldn't begrudge them the cost.

Shan watched him admire the garden with a soft smile, her sharp edges softened for once. When she caught him staring, she just held out her arm. "Let's go meet your family."

Samuel nodded, linking arms with her and wordlessly following her into the palace. As they passed through the grand doors, he saw his surroundings slowly morph into the kind of opulence he had expected from the start—the kind that he hated. The walls draped in heavy woven tapestries, the paintings of the glorious Blood Working revolution that had birthed Aeravin, the stained-glass windows that cast streams of color across the marble floors. All fine, yes. Quite understandable and even laudable in moderation.

But throughout the city people were struggling. Starving. Children were scrambling and fighting for bits of stale bread, and the Eternal King lived a life of such wealth and luxury that it made Samuel furious.

Even looking at the servants, he could tell they were leagues beyond the life he had known, maids and footmen and secretaries all passing by in clothes finer than anything Samuel was used to. Shan didn't even acknowledge them, moving past as if they weren't even there. She moved with a casual determination, like she belonged there, and none could tell her otherwise.

Samuel wondered if he'd ever feel the same way.

"We're to meet him in his private study, just past the Royal Library," Shan said, filling the awkward silence.

Samuel couldn't help himself, he perked up at the mere mention of a library, and Shan, damn her, noticed. "Is he an avid reader?" Samuel asked quickly.

"Oh yes, he's quite the scholar," Shan said, as if they were different things. Samuel supposed that they were. "Even to this day he takes his role as the founder of our magic seriously and is always working to push it to new heights."

"I thought that was the Academy's role," Samuel said.

"Yes, but he is head of the Academy still." Shan shot him a quick, pitying look. "It's a lot, I know."

Samuel nodded and squirreled that bit of knowledge away with all the other things he still needed to learn. Unlike Shan, he didn't have the benefit of a lifetime.

They came to a stop before a wide, open casing, as if the architect had simply cut a hole in the wall. Through it, Samuel could see the Royal Library, stacks and stacks of books running back in long rows. He itched to explore, to run his fingers along the spines and see how they were organized, what knowledge and stories and power they contained.

He never had a formal education—his mother had taught him his reading, writing and arithmetic in the dim candlelight after dinner. He had skill with mathematics, yes, enough to build a meager career from it. But it was the novels that consumed him, that he had scrimped and saved for and hoarded.

He had, over the course of his life, managed to acquire a full dozen, favorites that he had read over and over until the spines cracked and the pages frayed. Hardly enough to be called a proper library. But this?

This was beyond any of his childish dreamings.

Shan was watching him, studying the way his face had lit. "Interesting," she murmured. "Most people in your position would be lusting after the jewels or the clothes or the lavish trappings. You, though…" She gestured towards the library. "I'd love to let you explore, but we do have a meeting to keep."

Samuel followed after her, biting back the retort on his tongue. He knew that Shan was only trying to compliment him, and that she couldn't understand the truth. The LeClaires were a poorer Blood Working family, but they had never been truly destitute. She didn't know what it was like to be starving, that you wouldn't be thinking of books or knowledge, but things that would get you cold, hard coin.

In judging him as better, Shan had just shown her own ignorance.

But Samuel wasn't in a position where he could correct her assumptions. Not yet. Maybe as their plans grew to fruition, maybe as this nebulous thing between them solidified into trust and friendship. So he just kept quiet, wondering if he was damning his own soul by playing along.

"Here," Shan said, stopping fast. There at the end of the hallway was a pair of ornately carved doors. Even from where he was standing, Samuel could make out the delicately etched rose, its thorns standing out in stark relief—the King's seal and the symbol of Aeravin. Two stern-looking Guards flanked the doors, arms crossed in front of them and swords at their sides.

Shan looked at him. "Are you ready?"

He wasn't. Talking about introducing him to the King, planning it, playing dress up—all of it paled in comparison to the real thing. But he was already here and they had a plan. Together, they were going to make this country better.

Licking his lips, Samuel muttered, "As I'll ever be."

"If you panic," Shan said kindly, "just follow my lead." She strode forward, head held high. When they reached the Guards, she pulled a small card out of her reticule. "Lady Shan LeClaire and Mister Samuel Hutchinson here to see His Majesty, King Tristan Aberforth. We are expected."

The Guards barely even glanced at them. "Very well." She knocked twice on the door and then threw it open, repeating the same introductions that she had just given to the man inside.

The Eternal King.

He had stood when they were announced, studying them in a cold, calculating way. Samuel had seen him before, of course, both at this year's sacrifice and through official likenesses spread throughout the city. It was different, now. Now he wasn't looking at him simply as a man or a king, but as an ancestor, and it was like looking in a warped mirror. For all the similarities, the King had a hardness about him, in the sharp cut of his jaw, the harsh slope of his cheekbones, the thinness of his lips. He was carved from stone, looking more a warrior than a scholar, yet here he was amongst a pile of books with ink-stained fingers.

He had the same golden blond hair that Samuel did, though his was carefully cut and styled. And when he lifted his head to them, Samuel saw his own eyes in the Eternal King's face, a green so bright and sharp that it hardly looked natural.

"Lady LeClaire," the Eternal King said, slowly, as if weighing every syllable before it passed his lips. "And a friend?"

"A new friend," Shan confirmed, stepping forward. "But perhaps something more to you. May I present Samuel Aberforth?"

Samuel's breath caught in his throat as a hushed silence fell over the room. So that's how it was to be done? With no preamble and no warning? He stood tall, drawing in deep breaths and trying not to panic as the Eternal King examined him. His gaze was incredibly sharp, as if he were cataloguing every detail about Samuel. He bit the inside of his cheek, holding back the burning words on his tongue—how dare the King look at him so? If not for an accident of blood, he'd care nothing at all.

But he'd have to get used to this. Every time he was introduced from now on, every time the name Aberforth would pass from someone's lips, this would happen.

"It cannot be," the King said, coming closer to Samuel. He was so tall that Samuel had to tilt his head back, and he looked ready to leap forward and grab him by the throat for this affront. "They are all dead."

Samuel glanced at Shan out of the corner of his eye, and she gave him a slight nod, encouraging him to speak.

"My mother was a servant in the Aberforth household, Your Majesty," Samuel said, repeating the information that Shan had been able to confirm for him. "She left Lord Nathaniel's service a few weeks before the tragedy."

The Eternal King began to pace, his movements as graceful as a snake and just as unnerving. He had produced a small knife from somewhere, its blade glinting in the sunlight. "And you claim Lord Nathaniel was your father?"

Samuel nodded, holding out his hand. "If you wish proof, you may have it."

The Eternal King smiled, just slightly, and took Samuel's hand in his. His cut was quick and small, and he simply took Samuel's thumb between his lips and sucked the blood out.

Samuel snatched his hand back, not caring that the man in front of him was his King, or that it was terribly rude, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his thumb.

The King simply stood there, his eyes narrowed as his throat worked. "It is true," he said softly. "You are Nate's son."

Samuel didn't move, waiting for the Eternal King's reaction. To see if he'd be welcomed or cast out. Then, suddenly, the King moved forward and grabbed Samuel by the shoulders, pulling him into a fierce hug. "I thought it was all lost," he whispered, so quietly that Samuel wasn't sure it was real, and then let go.

"I… uh…" Samuel stuttered. He had imagined something like this many times, especially after his mother's passing, when he had been alone for the first time in his life. He had dreamt of acceptance, of welcome—but there was something off about this. There was a possessiveness in the King's hug that didn't feel like relief, but calculation. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The King waved his hand. "Please, we're family. Just Tristan will do."

"As you say, Tristan," Samuel said, the familiarity feeling wrong in his mouth. But the King was already turning towards Shan and seemingly oblivious to his discomfort.

"I don't know how you did this, my lady," Tristan said. "But we need to talk. Can you and Isaac give us a few moments?"

Samuel had been so focused on the King that he hadn't even noticed that there was someone else in the room, only then realizing that the Royal Blood Worker was with them. He stood off by an open window, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked remarkably different in this context—less like a spectacle, and more like a man—human, handsome, and so, so tired.

Shan curtsied. "Of course. I have been meaning to catch up with Sir de la Cruz anyway." Shan held out her hand, and the stranger from the window moved towards her, like an object caught in her magnetic field. "We'll be close by."

Samuel watched as this handsome man linked arms with Shan, his stomach twisting. And just like that they were gone and he was alone with the King.

"I'm sorry, Samuel… it is Samuel, isn't it?" The King shook his head, as if he was still trying to piece everything together. "I never expected such luck. How did Lady LeClaire find you?"

Samuel shrugged. "I don't really know. You'd have to ask her—she just showed up at my flat several days past."

Frowning, the King turned a harsh glare on Samuel. "And all this time? You're a man grown. You never auditioned at the Academy?"

"I didn't always know," Samuel admitted, his words coming slowly. "I mean, I always suspected that I was some Lord's son, given the way my mother… acted."

The King looked away, and Samuel caught the briefest glimpse of real emotion on his face. Shame.

Good, let him be ashamed.

"I take it," the King began slowly, "that the union was not—"

"My mother was raped," Samuel said, refusing to allow any dissembling. Not in this.

"I feared that." He sighed. "Nate inherited all my power but none of Abigail's grace."

It took Samuel a moment to figure out who the King was talking about, before remembering that the one queen Aeravin ever had was Abigail Aberforth.

"I know that apologies mean nothing, Samuel," the King said. "That it's not even my place to apologize for him at all. But I am sorry that you grew up fearing your family, and for any indignities you suffered because of it."

Samuel bit his lip. He hadn't faced any more indignity that thousands of others face in the King's city, but, of course, he wouldn't care about them.

"I cannot say what Nate would have done," the King was saying, still talking, "if he had known about you. I hope he would have provided for you and your mother, that he would have welcomed you into the family. After all, your blood is still Aberforth. What I can say, though, is that if I had known, I would have."

Samuel felt his power awaken, and he knew that if he wanted he could find out if that absurd statement had any kind of truth behind it. But he clamped it down, stopping it before it ruined everything. "There is something else you should know," Samuel said quietly. "I never auditioned at the Academy because I can't do Blood Working."

"I'm not surprised," the King said. "But you can do something more, can't you?"

Samuel's stomach dropped. "You know?"

"Of course." The King stepped closer. "It's the gift—and the curse—of the Aberforths. Let me guess, you don't have good control of it?"

Samuel nodded, and the King dropped a firm hand on his shoulder. "I suspected as much. Don't worry—we can work on that. You wouldn't be the first Aberforth I've helped master this gift."

"Thank you," Samuel breathed. It was more than he had ever expected, more than he could have hoped for.

Even if it did leave him indebted to this King of Blood.

"Naturally." The King moved back to his desk, shifting through a stack of papers. "I'll begin the process of transferring the Aberforth estates and funds to you immediately. The country estate will take some time—it's been closed for over two decades—but there is still the townhouse here in Dameral. I'll have that opened for you and find a crew of servants to get you settled."

"That won't be—"

The King cut him off. "It is. I won't have the last of my family living beneath his station. Tonight, you can stay here at the palace, but starting tomorrow you'll live the life you were born to lead."

"You don't have to air out a room for me," Samuel said quickly. "Lady LeClaire has already prepared a room for me, seeing as I'm, uh. Evicted."

There was a flash of steel in the King's eyes. "Someone evicted you?"

"No, no, it's fine," Samuel said quickly. "It was entirely fair. I couldn't make my rent after I was fired—"

"Someone fired you?" the King asked, his voice cutting like a knife.

Samuel winced. "Please, don't even think of it. It's a complicated situation. You see, I was the one who found the body last week—that messy murder? After a Guard showed up at my work to take my statement, it worried the management…"

"Wait, that was you?" His eyes narrowed, his mind clearly whirring with some new idea, but he shook his head. "Even so—"

"No!" Samuel said firmly. He couldn't believe it. Here he was, arguing with the damned Eternal King, but he couldn't stop himself. "Until three days ago, I didn't even know I was an Aberforth, let alone my employer or my landlord. What happened to me is what would have happened to any other Unblooded. So, don't be angry at them on my behalf, because they didn't do anything wrong."

The King took a step back, looking at Samuel with a fresh appreciation. Samuel didn't back down—he held his head high as he waited for the King's judgement.

He didn't expect him to look so pleased.

"Well, it seems you have the Aberforth backbone after all. Very well." He inclined his head to Samuel. "All transgressions will be forgiven—just this once."

Samuel couldn't do anything but nod. He didn't trust his voice at this moment, not with the rage that burned inside him.

"But do not expect such leniency again," the King warned. "You are an Aberforth now and will be treated as such."