King's Gambit (11 page)

I was a grown-ass woman, not a dog on a leash. Alex had absolutely no fucking right– I took a deep breath. Right. Zen. That fight was a travesty. There was no reason for me to go off like that. Okay, there was, but that didn’t mean I needed to explode and let my magic run wild. Especially not in my own home – I didn’t have insurance.

I should’ve looked at it from his point of view. I know I’d be pissed as hell if I came to visit Alex and saw him with someone else. But it goes both ways – he didn’t need to be such a prick about it. He could’ve calmly broached the subject instead of being all macho alpha male and embarrassing me. God, mortifying was too mild a word.

Was that really fair, though? It’s not like I would have been calm. I’m almost never calm. Even with my poker face on, there was always a spark, a small glimmer of anger burning inside me. It would rage at even the slightest provocation. Whenever I felt there was anything even the slightest bit off about something or someone, my guard came up and the fire would swell, ready to lash out. People say a temper could get you killed, but I think it’s what’s kept me alive for so long.

I knew it wasn’t healthy, but I couldn’t help it. Deep down, past all my accomplishments and skills, I still didn’t feel good enough. I could face down a gang of mercenaries, take a bullet through the jugular, and do all sorts of insane things, but I couldn’t even hold onto a steady relationship, couldn’t even find anything about my mother. For all I’d achieved, I still couldn’t get my own life together. It ate at me, gnawing through my innards and making me feel that much smaller. I crouched down in the middle of the street, running my fingers through my hair.

What is wrong with me?

Answering that would bring me a world of relief – and possibly even more pain, but right now, it wouldn’t help me figure out what to do next. So, I stuffed all my doubts, insecurities, and other demons back inside, and stood up again. My face burned with oncoming tears but I forced them away. I’ve had enough angst tonight, and any more moping I had to do would have to wait until I was buried in my blankets with a bottle of Jack.

If only I had the balls to go back now.

I didn’t have any money – or a phone – on me, which limited my options on what to do next. Elise was about an hour away on foot, but we didn’t have the kind of relationship where I could show up and ask to sleep on her couch. Plus, the thought of waking up to Dorian staring at me was enough to make me never want to sleep again.

“Don’t even have a goddamn watch to check the time.”

A quick look at the sky told me it wasn’t that late; I still had a few hours until the sun came up. Then, it hit me: I still had a murder to account for. It was a desperate attempt to put off slinking back home, but if I closed my eyes and tried really hard, I could pretend I was doing it for completely professional reasons.

A visit to the king usually called for semi-formal attire, not sweat pants, a loose V-neck sweater, and a messy ponytail I only had because I was too lazy to brush my hair out. But since I had a somewhat legitimate reason for meeting with him and there was no way in hell I had enough spine to go home…

To the king’s we go.

I had no idea where Flavius lived, but the king’s official office was on the top floor of an obscenely high – even for New York – skyscraper. It was a glass giant, and if you looked straight up at it while standing near the fountain out front, the tower seemed to stretch up into the very heavens, a beacon piercing through the midnight veil.

Its interior was a marriage of modern silver and glass. Expensive sculptures stood around like stalwart guardians, complimenting the art nouveau furniture and contrasting the expensive paintings hanging around. Practically everything looked like it was going to stab me if I touched it, which further proved my point about suffering and fashion.

Flavius’ sharply dressed secretary stepped out of the big man’s office, and in a way that would’ve made
Fifty Shades of Grey
fans scream, told me, “The king will see you now.”

The office was a penthouse dream – the apartment, not the magazine – with ceiling-high glass windows that looked over the entire city. I’d been in here when Marcus was king and it hadn’t changed much in terms of décor. It was surprising; I expected Flavius to upturn the whole room just to spite Marcus when he visited.

Flavius had been turned when he was still a young man – no more than sixteen or seventeen, I’d wager – if his looks were anything to go by. He kind of looked like Tamlin. His nose was pointier, his chin thinner, and his blonde hair was slicked back, but otherwise the two of them could have been brothers. They better not actually be related – the last thing I needed was to add vampires to my family tree.

He was staring out at the city when I entered, his hands crossed behind his back. As I approached his desk, he turned to greet me. “Miss Maxwell, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“You too.” We shook hands and he gestured for me to take a seat in front of his desk. “I’m here to talk about Robert Franklin, but first, allow me to congratulate you on becoming king.” Hey, I may be helping to overthrow him, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t kiss his ass a little. Just in case.

“Thank you.” His smile was beautiful but dead. “The inauguration party was busier than I thought. My apologies for not ‘chatting you up,’ as they say. Now,” he said with a single clap of his hands, “about the sudden and unfortunate demise of Mister Franklin. With all due respect to your job, Miss Maxwell, the affair is vampiric. So, while your concern is appreciated, we are more than capable of handling the matter internally.”

“I just wanted to let you know that my assistance is always available if you need it.”
Yeah, that’s why I’m here. Not because I want to size you up or because I’m too much of a wuss to go home.

“How generous of you,” he said. “Actually, perhaps there
is
something you could help with. People remember you going off with Mister Franklin shortly before he was killed.”

“I wasn’t feeling well – too much wine – and he was taking me to a private room so I could rest,” I said, keeping a neutral expression.

“That explains why you didn’t stick around.”

“Yeah, I could barely keep my eyes open, much less give a coherent statement. Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly understandable…” He peered down at me. “Tell me, did you see anything?”

I shook my head. “I remember there were three of them, but not much else. They were moving too fast. One second, Franklin was leading me to a chair, then he was ash. One of the attackers grabbed me and I kicked them away. My heel stabbed them. They ran off. The commotion attracted attention… That’s all.” Hopefully, that didn’t sound as fake to him as it did to me. “Do you know who may be behind this?”

“I can’t speak to having any knowledge of such groups,” he said as I tried to keep the skepticism over his not-denial off my face. “There was magic involved, however, so I’ve tasked the investigation to my arcane advisor: Mistress Zhen. Have you two met?”

The image of an imposing Asian woman standing among the other parliament members during Flavius’ inauguration speech came to mind. “I saw her at your party, but we’ve never spoken.”

“Mm, yes. She excused herself shortly after. Mistress Zhen is not what you would call a ‘fan’ of social gatherings. She’d much rather spend her time researching than networking. Then again, I did choose her for her magical know-how, not her social skills.”

“We all have our strong suits,” I said. “A lot of people have been asking questions, actually.” Lie. “There’s a cloud of mystery surrounding her.” Truth. Bam, karmic scales balanced.

That faux smile came back with a bit of life this time. “I’m sure. There’s nothing people love more than a good mystery.”

“Have you known her very long?”
Do you happen to have a sample of her blood I could steal? Preferably next to a vial of your own.

“Long enough to know she is an excellent addition to my parliament,” he said. “Right now, I’m more interested in learning about you.”

Uh-oh. “I’m really not that interesting. You’re a much more intriguing topic.”

“Is that so?” He raised a single brow, convincing me I was the only person in the city incapable of doing that, but seemed mollified by my blatant ass kissing. He may have been a vampire, but he was still a politician. And a man. It wasn’t hard to figure out which parts to stroke. God, I am cynical. “I can’t say I’m altogether fascinating…”

For someone who claimed to not find himself fascinating. Flavius spent the next two hours entertaining – a term I use loosely – me with stories of himself. It was amazing how he managed to blather on so much, yet reveal so little. If anything, I could at least admire that particular talent of his.

I sat there, listening as he regaled about his childhood in Zurich, his exploits at war, and even how he met his sire. Yet, if you asked me, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything substantial about him. He liked classical music, knew how to use a bayonet, and his sire hailed from somewhere along the French Riviera. That was it. That was everything I could extrapolate from his monologue. Oh, and he hated not getting his way, but that was more of a general observation based on what he did for an un-living.

Scintillating stuff, really.

I guess what he
hadn’t
said was more important. Flavius had no problem speaking about his accomplishments but wasn’t fond of revealing anything about himself, which wasn’t abnormal for the paranoid and secretive creatures of the night. When you had the ability to live forever, it was best to make sure your past couldn’t come back to haunt you. Everyone liked to brag, though. Even Marcus wouldn’t shut up about the times (“Times, dear Morgan,
times
. It’s not an easy feat to rise to such a station once, much less a dozen times.”) he ruled as emperor over a litany of kingdoms whose names I only half remembered. There was Rome and Constantinople and…I was horrible with names. My point is, if you had credentials like that, you’d brag about it.

Flavius didn’t do that. He didn’t even mention being promoted as a human soldier. That told me he was either really humble (doubtful) or he had nothing to brag about. An underachiever with allusions to power? A kid playing in his father’s shoes? Marcus had been his mentor, after all. It’s possible. Those kinds of people were quick to snap up any chance for more power. This was information I could use. Y’know, as an alternative to setting him on fire, which was still my first choice.

Yes, I’m aware I have issues.

He was going on about some embassy party in Vienna when I asked, “Is that where you met Marcus?” I wasn’t that interested, but if I didn’t inject myself back into his monologue, I was going to fall asleep in my chair.

The king made a non-committal sound, more like a whine, as if he were a child interrupted mid-story. “No, Marcus and I met…I believe it was 1841, in Prague. Some party hosted by the local king to introduce his newest progeny. Marcus was an old friend of his, and I was there, well, as a normal guest.”

“I’m not sure how things work in Prague, but usually being invited to a party like that means you must be at least somewhat important.”

“I don’t recall saying I wasn’t.” Flavius’ tone was calm and measured, but the corners of his mouth twisted down. Definitely an inferiority complex. “Anyhow, I overheard him making a comment on Voltaire I found absolutely abhorrent. I felt obligated to educate the man, and we ended up engaged in a lively debate. Then again, dried mud would have been more entertaining than that party,” he muttered. “Before we knew it, dawn was coming upon us. The rest as they say…” He gestured off into the distance.

“When did you advance from being his friend to his protégé?”

“Almost immediately,” he said, chest puffed out. “I suppose he saw something in me. A fine eye for talent, that man, though perhaps lacking in other foresight.”

“Must be hard to fill his shoes.” I peered at him, trying to read as much from his micro expressions as I could – a difficult task when dealing with the undead. “There are a lot of rumors regarding his less than glamorous decommissioning. Apparently, he flew too close to the sun?”

His face went from insulted to tense to relaxed with each sentence. Before I could say anything more, however, Flavius checked his watch and stood up. “Indeed. Well, we all make mistakes. It has certainly been a pleasure, Miss Maxwell. So much so that I seem to have lost track of time. I do hope I haven’t kept you from anything.”

“Of course not, sir. I greatly enjoyed our conversation.”
One sided though it may have been
. I stood up and shook his hand again. “Thank you for your time, and good luck with the Franklin investigation.”

“Thank you. Miss Maxwell,” he said in a serious voice, “I’m well aware you and Marcus had an amicable relationship. Even though you and I haven’t had a chance to speak before tonight, he did speak of you quite fondly.”

“Um, thank you…?”

“I remember he passed on some information to you before your holiday?”

If you can call a three month convalescence a holiday.
“He did. Why do you ask?”