Chapter 6 Velvet Doublets

ESTELLA

When the messenger arrived at Ember & Ash just as I was bolting the front door, I didn't even have the grace to act surprised.

The man was a pureblood vampire dressed in a tailored doublet that screamed Dominion authority, and he handed me a sealed parchment like he was bestowing a royal decree upon a peasant. The moment I saw the black wax stamped with the Montreux crest, my jaw tightened. Roman Montreux had sent word. Of course he had. I’d spent the entire walk back from the apothecary's cellar telling myself I had time to piece this puzzle together on my own, but the Vampire King was predictably one step ahead, eager to sink his claws into whatever territory I was treading. It annoyed me to no end—mostly because I was furious at myself for expecting it.

"Tell your King," I said, flicking the wax seal with my thumbnail, "that if he wants a meeting, he doesn't get to summon me to his fortress like a petitioning merchant. If we talk, it happens on neutral ground."

The messenger looked like he wanted to argue, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and bowed out. Two hours later, I was sitting in the corner booth of the Thirsty Gargoyle—a low-ceilinged, dimly lit tavern on the boundary line between the Hollows and the Western Dominion. It was the sort of place where witches, shifters, and low-tier vampires drank mediocre ale and collectively agreed not to murder each other until they stepped outside.

When Roman walked in, the entire tavern seemed to hold its breath for a fraction of a second. He looked absurdly out of place among the scarred wooden tables and sticky floorboards, wearing a dark red suit with silver fastenings that practically dripped ancient wealth and military discipline. He didn't have a retinue with him, which was a point in his favor, though I knew his messenger was likely lurking on a nearby rooftop.

He slid into the seat across from me, his silver eyes taking in the tavern, the corner location I'd chosen, and the small containment charm I’d already chalked under the table to prevent eavesdropping.

"Charming establishment," Roman said smoothly, his voice a quiet rumble that cut right through the tavern's background noise. "I see you value privacy."

"I value not giving your court nobles an excuse to claim I’m trespassing on Dominion land," I replied, leaning back and lacing my fingers together. "And I don't like playing home games when I'm dealing with someone who has eight hundred years of territorial expansion on his record."

"A sensible precaution," he acknowledged, the ghost of a smile touching his lips before vanishing. "Though you sent my messenger back with quite the sharp response."

"Your messenger had a posture problem. Now, suppose we skip the courtly pleasantries and get to why you sent for me, Your Majesty. Your note mentioned Denner."

Roman rested his hands flat on the table, impeccably still, watching me with that unblinking, predatory focus. "It did. Denner is an old mark, long thought dead in Coven registers. But my court archives maintain records that predate your Coven's administrative filing systems by several centuries. We know that Denner isn't merely an old merchant name—it was a front for a black-market supply chain that dealt in harvested dark magic and illegal arcana."

"I already know that part," I cut in dryly, taking a sip of my bitter ale. "Aldric from the Hunters Faction flagged it as an active supplier for illicit reagents in the lower wards. What do you have that I don't?"

"I have the utility and property tax ledgers," Roman said softly. "The Coven believes the old Denner holding outside the city was abandoned eleven years ago. My court tracks the coin moving through the local land registers. Someone has been quietly paying the municipal fees on a second, unlisted property near the timber yard at the river docks."

I paused, the mug halfway to my mouth, before setting it down. "A second property. Near the timber yard."

"Precisely where my trackers lost the scent of the Gnashers that breached our perimeter this morning," Roman added.

I leaned forward, dropping the dry deflection for a moment as the pieces slammed together. "The Gnasher I fought today in an apothecary’s cellar didn't just breach a wall—it retreated in formation. It left a spiral scorch mark etched into the stone, identical to the one at the lot off 9th Street. And when I hit the alpha, it didn't fight back. It took the blow and fled to preserve itself."

"Because it was ordered to," Roman observed, his gaze sharpening. "My captains reported the exact same behavior from a pack near the river dikes. They tested our guards, ignored the livestock, and withdrew in an organized formation. These aren't wild beasts acting on hunger. Someone is training them, testing their limits against both hunters and Dominion patrols."

"Grafters killing hosts, Gnashers acting like infantry, and two pureblood vampires vanished without a drop of blood spilled," I summarized, tapping my fingers against the scarred wood. "It’s one coordinated vanguard. Someone is building a force under our feet, using Denner's old infrastructure to move reagents and beasts right under our noses."

"Then we agree on the scope of the threat," Roman said, resting his forearms on the table. "Which brings us to the response. I will assemble a strike force of elite Dominion trackers and sweep the river docks by midnight."

"Woah, hold your horses, Your Majesty," I snapped, sitting up straight. "You are not marching a battalion of bloodsuckers into the timber yard. The docks border the Hollows. The moment your soldiers cross that line with weapons drawn, the local covens and independent hunters are going to think it’s an invasion. You’ll start a territorial riot before you even find the front door."

"My men are trained, disciplined, and equipped to handle supernatural threats," Roman argued, his tone cooling into that authority he probably used on his court. "A quiet, local investigation by a single hunter is reckless. If there is a fortified position down there, you walk into a trap."

"I walk into a trap quietly and come out with answers," I shot back, matching his hard glare. "You walk in with a parade and give whoever’s running this operation an hour’s advance notice to burn the evidence and slaughter whatever’s left inside! I move in the dark, Roman. That’s my job. Your job is sitting on a throne looking imposing."

"My job is ensuring the safety of my Dominion," he countered, his silver eyes darkening slightly. "Which includes eliminating threats that kidnap my guardsmen."

"Neither of us is wrong about the danger," I admitted, exhaling a sharp breath and running a hand through my hair. "Which means neither of us gets to run this entirely on our own terms."

Roman stayed quiet for a long beat, calculating, weighing my words against whatever political mess he was managing back at his hall.

"A compromise, then," he said finally. "We investigate the timber yard together. Tomorrow night, at midnight."

"Together..." I repeated, tasting the word like it was spoiled wine. "Just you and me?"

"You and I enter the property. Varis and a small perimeter guard will hold the outer boundary near the river—strictly out of sight of the local hunters. If things go wrong inside, I have immediate backup. If things stay quiet, your precious territorial boundaries remain unviolated."

I studied him, searching his face for any sign of a trap, but all I found was uncompromising logic.

"Fine," I said, leaning back and picking up my ale again. "On two conditions. First, you wear something that doesn't scream 'I own half the continent'—I don't need your velvet doublets reflecting the moonlight. Second, if we find whatever's in there, I take the magical leads, you take the physical ones."

Roman’s lip twitched, a spark of amusement lighting up through his icy composure. "My wardrobe is entirely practical, Estella. But I shall endeavor to dress down to suit your refined taste."

"Appreciated," I said, offering him a sarcastically sweet smile. "It’d be a shame if a vampire king got taken down because his coat was too shiny."

"I assure you, my coat has never been the cause of my demise," he replied smoothly, standing up from the booth with that effortless grace that always made me want to trip him. "Midnight. At the southern gate of the timber yard. Do not be late."

"I'm never late," I called after him as he turned toward the door. "I just like making royal figures wait."

He didn't look back, but I caught the slight shift of his shoulders before he stepped out into the night. I sat alone in the booth for a few minutes longer, finishing my bitter drink, staring at the empty space across from me.

The plan was set: midnight at the river docks, walking straight into the heart of a dead merchant mark with an eight-hundred-year-old Vampire King as my only backup. It was practical, it was necessary, and it was entirely insane. But as I rubbed the faint scar on my forearm under my sleeve, I knew there was no turning back. The thread was pulling us both, and tomorrow night, we were going to find out what was waiting on the other end.