Chapter 32: Never two without three kings

He looked at her with an intensity that unsettled her. In his familiar eyes shone a keen intelligence. His hair, impeccably styled, blended simplicity with elegance.

He reached out a hand toward her. Intrigued, she let him come closer… but he froze at once, his arm falling back.

“You look like her,” he murmured. “The spitting image of my Lizbeth… except for the eyes,” he added, his voice tight.

“I have my father’s eyes,” she replied simply.

And suddenly, an absurd question imposed itself: what was one supposed to say to one’s grandfather when meeting him for the first time?

“How did your mother…? How could she…?”

Shaken, he tried to compose himself, in vain. His gaze drifted to Kiyan, where raw anger flooded his aura. Blanche reacted instinctively: in a swift movement, she stepped in front of her teacher, sensing the hostility aimed at him.

But Kiyan took a step forward, positioning himself in front of her in turn, ready to take the blow.

“You knew!” Winter thundered. “You knew I had a granddaughter and you didn’t tell me?! And you call yourself a monarch!”

The word hit her head-on. Monarch? Him? She dared a glance at Kiyan’s profile.

“Elsa made me swear to keep quiet,” Kiyan shot back, proud and unyielding. “And I answer to no one… least of all you.”

Winter drew a deep breath. Warmth slowly returned to his gaze.

“I have a granddaughter,” he breathed, stunned.

His shoulders slumped, as though relieved of a colossal weight. He brought a hand to his face, watching Blanche through his fingers as if afraid she might disappear.

“I need to sit down,” he said flatly.

He had clearly lost his footing. Blanche hurried to fetch a chair from the right side of the room: she had no desire to expose herself further to the figures waiting by the bay windows. The vampire, meanwhile, had not moved an inch. Winter returned to his seat and dropped into it, his head resting against his fist, his eyes fixed on her like she was an apparition.

Kiyan sat beside him, and the three of them found themselves facing the drakion sovereign.

“How is your mother?”

“Fine, I suppose,” she answered distractedly, still caught between the exchanged looks of Winter and Sebastian.

“You suppose?” the drakion king echoed.

“Yesterday, my mother told me I was a Drake, that dragons existed, that magic did too, and… that she had a father and a husband. Then she vanished just like that, leaving her daughter in Mr. Ardachir’s care. As usual. So yes—I suppose.”

The silence that followed was so dense you could have walked on it.

“I don’t believe it,” a clear voice suddenly sang—an artwork in itself—before dropping a bombshell. “A virgin drakion princess.”

Blanche shot him a murderous look—the bare minimum—but couldn’t help the smile that slipped out anyway. The others ignored him, clearly used to the absurdities the elf could spout.

“Though it is absolutely none of your business,” she replied coldly. “And you are?”

Kiyan took the initiative with introductions.

“Blanche, this is William Igniacio Nicolas Terence Heraclio Richard II Drake, known as Winter, king of the drakions. This is also Mircea, the vampire king, whom everyone calls Sebastian Greyson. His bodyguard and head of the guard, Matthew. And his lieutenant—and Prince Benjamin’s personal guard—Kysten: the only elven vampire in all creation.”

Blanche arched a brow. An elven vampire. A walking contradiction.

“Charmed,” she said. “More for some than for others.”

The elf snorted, arms crossed, insolent. Then he flinched. Blanche followed his gaze: Sebastian’s pupils had just turned white before plunging back into black.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

The vampire king gave her a smile, eyebrow raised.

“You’re rubbing off on her,” he told Kiyan.

His deep voice vibrated with a delicious power.

“I understand now why you always refused to show me your new home. One girl wasn’t enough for you? You needed a second? Did you and Elsa—”

“By Babylon! No!” Kiyan cut in, outraged. “I was helping Elsa out. I was babysitting. Blanche became Eva’s friend, that’s all. The girls are inseparable. How can you…?”

“One moment!” Winter growled. “Am I to understand I was the only one who didn’t know where my own daughter was?”

Sebastian shrugged. Kiyan simply took out a cigarette.

“Babysitting?” Winter continued venomously. “And what was your mother doing instead of taking care of you?”

Faced with the lack of an answer, Blanche spoke up.

“I love my mother, but she’s never had a maternal instinct. At least she was aware of it and entrusted my upbringing to someone competent. She prefers to lose herself in work… and I’ve been told she got that from you, Grandfather.”

Sebastian burst into laughter, trying awkwardly to stifle it, in vain. Tears of blood beaded on his now-amethyst cheeks. Blanche stared at him: Mircea, first name of Vlad the Impaler, huh? Charming.

“Winter Drake, being called ‘Grandfather’!” he laughed again. “If someone had told me…”

Blanche cast a worried glance at Winter. Was she allowed…?

“I like it,” he replied gently.

She smiled, radiant. Then, suddenly:

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked very seriously.

She burst out laughing; he smiled, clearly delighted by the effect.

“She doesn’t have one,” Kiyan answered. “She loves them all.”

Blanche kept her thought to herself: now it was pearly white—the color of pearls. No need to tell him that.

“How much time do you have?” Winter asked.

Kiyan checked his watch.

“A few minutes. It’s getting late, and there’s school tomorrow.”

Blanche brightened at the sight of pastries on the table and grabbed one without ceremony: she had missed sugar this week.

“How old are you?” her grandfather asked, absorbed.

“Almost eighteen.”

“In six months,” Kiyan corrected.

Winter gazed at her, blissful.

“I have so many questions, Blanche… I don’t even know where to start. Oh yes: that name doesn’t suit you at all!”

“You’re telling me,” she groaned. “But it’s the only one I answer to. Habit, I suppose.”

“Well, you certainly don’t take after your mother.”

“I’d like to say I take after my father—if only I had met him.”

He frowned.

“That’s right. You don’t know him yet… Who is he? And how can you not know your own father’s identity?”

Blanche glanced at Kiyan.

“I’m not certain yet,” the djinn said, avoiding her gaze.

“I see. Well, when you do know, I’d like to be informed too, Your Highness,” Winter said through gritted teeth.

Blanche shot Kiyan a meaningful look: he would hear about it. Later. For now, she was savoring her grandfather’s presence. She already loved him. And clearly, the feeling was mutual.

“By Sapphire… I have a granddaughter!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

He immediately sat back down, resuming his pose. Blanche smiled, amused. He leaned closer, touched her cheek with the tip of his finger once, twice… The third time, she smacked his finger on reflex—then went pale.

“Sorry! I… it was a reflex!”

“An excellent reflex,” Kiyan commented, surprised by Winter’s behavior. “You’re completely smitten, I swear…”

“Could we see each other again? With your mother?” Winter insisted, ignoring Kiyan.

“Why not? I’ll ask her.”

Even though she already knew the answer.

“What made her tell you about me, after all this time?”

“Age, I suppose,” she replied, grabbing a second pastry.

They all knew she was blatantly lying, but none of them knew whether she realized that creatures like them could detect a lie as easily as breathing.

Kiyan rolled his eyes, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Every time I think you can’t top yourself, you prove me wrong…”

She shrugged, nibbling her éclair. Kysten burst into crystalline laughter.

“My little finger tells me the coming years are going to be fascinating!”

Sebastian sighed.

“Is he always like this?” Blanche asked.

“Unbearable,” the vampire king grumbled. “Do you want him? You can have him.”

“Hey!” the elven vampire protested.

The atmosphere lightened; even Matthew stopped grumbling.

“By the way,” Kysten went on enthusiastically, “Your Majesty… would you do me the honor of being my partner at this weekend’s Vampire Gala?”

Blanche was speechless. For a second, she thought he was speaking to Kiyan—which would have been unlikely… but no. He was looking at her, waiting for her answer.

“Your Majesty.”

He… was talking about her?