Chapter 37: Affirmative Actions
The heavy throne room doors hadn't fully closed behind them before Sebastian swept Charlotte off her feet, his laughter a bright, unrestrained sound that bounced off the vaulted ceiling of the antechamber. “Did you see his face?” he crowed, spinning her once before setting her down, his emerald eyes alight. “Old Cazmar, swatting at air like a confused kitten! Priceless.”
Lucian’s hand came to rest on the small of her back, a steady, warm pressure. His expression was not one of open glee, but of a deep, satisfied pride that glowed in his molten gold gaze. “You were magnificent,” he said, the words simple and weighty. “The precision of the insult, the execution of the power… flawless.”
Charlotte’s heart was still thundering from the confrontation, the residual adrenaline making her fingers tremble. She leaned back into Lucian’s touch, absorbing the solidity of him, while Sebastian’s infectious energy buzzed around her. “I didn’t plan it,” she admitted, her voice a bit husky. “I just… did it. And I have a screaming headache now.”
“A small price for poetically humiliating a bigot,” Sebastian declared, threading his arm through hers as they began the walk back to the royal quarters. “We’ll have Evette bring you that terrible willow-bark tea you like. And pastries. All the pastries.”
The walk through the castle felt different. Servants—human and dhampir alike—did not just bow to Lucian and Sebastian as they passed. Their eyes flickered to Charlotte, standing between them, wearing their combined insignia. The bows deepened, edged with a new, wary respect. The whispered rumors were already doing their work, twisting the story of the audience into something wilder with each retelling: She vanished into smoke… She stopped Lord Cazmar’s heart for a second… She speaks with the voice of ancient fate…
Back in the cavernous royal bedroom, with the black velvet curtains drawn securely against the strengthening dawn, the triumphant energy shifted, softened, turned inward. The cloaks and pins were carefully set aside, but the marks they symbolized were not. Lucian’s patient adoration and Sebastian’s fiery pride had found a new, almost tangible focus.
It was in the way Lucian, who had ruled for centuries with glacial patience, now found any excuse to be close. He would be reading a centuries-old scroll at his writing desk, and his hand would stray, not to turn a page, but to brush the curls from Charlotte’s neck as she practiced her letters nearby. His lips would find the sensitive spot just below her ear, a slow, deliberate kiss that held less hunger and more quiet, awestruck reverence. “Our little scholar,” he’d murmur, the words vibrating against her skin. “Our little queen of time.”
Sebastian was less subtle. He’d burst into the room after drills with the royal guard, smelling of winter air and leather, and instead of regaling them with tales of his soldiers’ incompetence, he’d simply scoop Charlotte up from whatever she was doing—mending, reading, trying to meditate—and deposit her on the enormous bed, flopping down beside her with a contented sigh. “Just need to look at you for a moment,” he’d say, his grin lazy and possessive, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her hip that had filled out slightly with regular, hearty meals. “Still here. Still magnificent. Still ours.”
The physical changes were undeniable. The sharp angles of hunger were gone from Charlotte’s frame, replaced by softer curves and a strength that came from consistent nourishment, not scarcity. Her storm-gray eyes held a new light, a confidence that had been forged in the throne room fire. And her skin, particularly her neck and chest, was a living testament to their devotion—a constantly shifting canvas of faint silver marks that shimmered in the candlelight, echoes of kisses and bites given in love and claiming. Lucian’s were precise, intricate patterns; Sebastian’s were bold, sweeping strokes.
It was intoxicating. It was also, frankly, a significant logistical problem.
“I can’t concentrate,” Charlotte complained one afternoon, swatting half-heartedly at Sebastian’s hand as it wandered from her waist. She was seated cross-legged on a thick rug before the cold fireplace, a heavy book on elemental vampire magic open in her lap. A simple brass candlestick sat three feet away, her target for the day. “You’re worse than a moth.”
“You’re just more interesting than flame,” Sebastian retorted, nuzzling her shoulder. “And you’re glowing. Literally. Little silver bits everywhere. It’s hypnotic.”
Lucian, observing from a deep armchair, a faint smile playing on his lips, set down his own book. “He has a point, my heart. The visual evidence of our bond is… compelling. And it does explain the whispers from the lower court.”
Charlotte glanced up. “What whispers?”
Lucian’s smile turned wry. “The ones that call you a delightful distraction. A bewitching siren who has the King acting out of character and the Duke perpetually late for meetings. The word ‘whore’ has been used, though not within my hearing.”
A cold splash of reality cut through the warm haze. Charlotte scowled, slamming the magic book shut. “So, nothing’s changed. They just have a new reason to hate me.”
“Everything has changed,” Lucian corrected, his voice gentle but firm. “Before, you were beneath their notice. Now, you are a threat. A rival. A mystery. The insults are a testament to your new position. They would not bother if you were insignificant.”
“Doesn’t make it pleasant,” she muttered.
“Hence, you must master your gifts,” he said, gesturing to the candlestick. “Power is the only language that court truly understands. You gave them a thrilling prologue in the throne room. Now you must write the rest of the story. And you cannot do that if we,” he acknowledged with a graceful nod, “are being overly distracting.”
Sebastian sighed dramatically but removed his hand, rolling onto his back to stare at the canopy. “Fine, fine. Practice your witchcraft. I’ll just lie here and expire from noble sacrifice.”
Ignoring him, Charlotte turned back to the candlestick. She took a deep breath, seeking the quiet, humming core of power within her. It was easier to find now, a steady river instead of a hidden trickle. She focused on the weight of the brass, the smoothness of its surface. She willed it to lift.
It wobbled. Levitated an inch. Then dropped with a dull thud.
A frustrated groan escaped her. “It’s the telekinesis. The time thing… that comes from panic, I think. This requires focus, and I’m…” She gestured vaguely at the two ancient, powerful, intensely attractive sources of her distraction currently sharing the room.
Lucian stood and walked over, sinking down onto the rug behind her. He didn’t touch her. He simply sat, a calm, solid presence at her back. “Then we shall learn focus together,” he said, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. “Close your eyes. Feel the bond. Not as a distraction, but as an anchor. We are your foundation. Your safety. From that place of safety, your power can stretch out without fear.”
She closed her eyes. Instead of blocking out their presences, she let them in. She felt the deep, steady hum of Lucian, like a mountain’s heart. She felt the vibrant, crackling energy of Sebastian, like a watchful hearth-fire. They weren’t pulling at her attention; they were holding it steady. She was rooted.
She opened her eyes, fixed on the candlestick, and pushed.
It lifted, clean and smooth, rising two feet into the air. It hung there, perfectly steady.
A triumphant laugh bubbled up in her chest.
“Show-off,” Sebastian muttered from the bed, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
Charlotte twisted the candle mid-air, then guided it in a slow circle. The control was exquisite, a direct line from her will to the object. This was different from the frantic, draining time-stop. This was hers.
“Good,” Lucian whispered, his breath stirring her hair. “Now, without looking, the quill from my desk.”
She didn’t turn. She extended her awareness, feeling the shape of the room, the light feather-touch of the white plume. She called it. It flew from the inkpot, a streak of white, and came to a gentle rest in her waiting, outstretched hand.
Sebastian sat up, all lazy pretense gone. “Okay, that was actually impressive.”
The door to the adjoining chamber opened a crack, and Evette’s freckled face peered in. “I heard a thud and then… cheering?” Her storm-gray eyes took in the scene: Charlotte on the rug with a floating candlestick and a quill in her hand, Lucian behind her like a proud tutor, Sebastian sitting bolt upright on the bed. “Or… not cheering. Intense staring.”
“She’s a natural,” Sebastian announced, as if he’d taught her himself.
Evette slipped in, carrying a tray. “I brought that tea. And not-pastries, because Cook was in a mood.” She set down the tray, her gaze lingering on the hovering brass. A slow smile spread across her face. “So the stories are true. You really are a witch now.”
“Something like that,” Charlotte said, letting the candlestick descend gently to the rug. The ease of it, the lack of headache, sent a thrill through her. This was progress. Real, tangible progress.
Evette’s smile faded slightly as she poured the tea. “The stories in the servants’ hall are less about witchcraft and more about… other things. The marks. The King’s… attentiveness.” She glanced apologetically at Lucian, who merely inclined his head, granting her permission to speak freely. “They say you’ve ensnared them with more than magic. The word ‘besotted’ is being used. A lot.”
Sebastian barked a laugh. “Accurate!”
“It’s a double-edged sword, Charlie,” Evette said quietly, handing her the cup. “They fear your power, but they dismiss you as a mere temptation. It undermines you.”
Charlotte took the tea, the warmth seeping into her fingers. She looked at the candlestick, then at the men who loved her, then at her friend’s worried, earnest face. The whore comments, the awe, the fear, the disdain—it was all just noise.
“Let them talk,” Charlotte said, her voice quiet but clear in the spacious room. “I’m not a temptation or a witch. I’m their mate. And today, I made a candlestick fly.” A slow, sharp smile touched her lips. “Tomorrow, we’ll see what else I can do.”