“Come on. Everyone has left the dining room, and I have an idea,”Razvan said, extending his hand.
He led me to the kitchen, which was surprisingly spacious for its usual residents. Wooden butcher block counters and a large fireplace gave the space a warm, homey feel.
“I thought we could bake since you didn’t finish your dinner,” Razvan said, strolling to the pantry and pulling out ingredients, pots, and pans. My mouth watered as I realized what he was preparing. We had sweets only a few times a year at the academy, and cake was a rare treat, reserved for special occasions.
“You know how to bake?” I asked, watching him work.
“I used to bake with my mother when I was a child.” His smile deepened when he noticed my surprised expression. “I was turned, not born. It’s a cruel irony; you have fond memories of food you can no longer enjoy. The taste becomes repulsive, even though you remember how much you loved it.”
I had assumed Razvan was like Roman, born into vampirism. There was so much I didn’t know about him. I rolled up my sleeves and twisted my hair out of my face. “I don’t know how to bake, but I’m ready to help.”
Razvan grinned. “No worries. I’ll guide you.”
Baking with Razvan was surprisingly easy. He was patient, knowing when to step in and when to let me try things on my own. Being with him reminded me of my sister, though we had never been this comfortable with each other—perhaps we never had the chance.
“Can you tell me about your childhood?” I asked, cracking an egg into a large wooden bowl.
Razvan shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I had a genetic disease that left me in a wheelchair for most of my life. I spent my days in a hospital, confined indoors, drawing myself on grand adventures. That’s how I got into painting.”
My heart ached for him. He had been trapped, much like I had been. “I’m so sorry, Raz.”
He chuckled softly. “It’s okay. Everything changed when I met Roman. He picked me out of a crowd during his coronation three years ago and visited me afterward. He said he heard my thoughts and knew I was a dreamer. I was dying anyway, so I practically begged him to turn me. It’s funny—only when I died did I truly begin to live.”
I smiled at the thought. Of course, Roman would do something like that. Maybe broken people resonated with him. The thought tugged at my heart. I poured the remaining dry ingredients into the bowl while Razvan stirred the mixture with remarkable skill.
“What about your parents? Do you still see them?” I asked, scooping the batter into the greased cake pan.
Razvan’s face hardened. “There are many reasons my parents don’t speak to me, and my vampirism is one of them.”
I nodded, hoping I hadn’t overstepped. Razvan placed the cake pan in the oven and shut the door. “Thirty minutes.”
We then whipped up some chocolate frosting. Razvan took the lead, whisking the mixture to stiff peaks. I tasted it, humming in approval. Razvan dipped a finger in and winced as he licked it clean. “Still tastes like ash. How unfortunate.”
“Yet blood tastes good?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Razvan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Food fuels living creatures, giving them life. Vampires aren’t alive, so food doesn’t appeal to us. Blood is the life force of another, which is why we need it.”
“Speaking of which,” he said, striding to the cold room, returning with bottles and glasses, “if you’re going to keep asking questions, I’m going to get drunk.”
He poured me a glass of wine alongside his wyne, and I wasintrigued to taste it. We had never been allowed to have alcohol at the academy. It was sweet and bitter. I finished my glass before the cake was ready and started on my second. By the time the cake had cooled enough to frost, a fuzzy, lightheaded feeling had taken over. It was a welcome reprieve. Even Catina’s words seemed distant now.
With a bottle of wine and a plate of cake in hand, Razvan and I settled into the entertainment room. I flopped onto the plush couch and took a massive bite of the cake, moaning in delight as the sweet flavor enveloped my senses.
“This cake is almost good enough to make me forget Catina.”
Razvan snorted. “The wine probably helps, but that was the idea.”
“Well, you succeeded in your evil plan to drag me out of my brooding. Happy?”
Razvan smiled, refilling his glass. “I’m always happy to see a friend happy.”
I blushed. “I’ve never had a friend. Is that what we are?”
“Indeed. Are we close enough for you to finally tell me what’s going on between you and Roman?”
Maybe it was the wine, but I couldn’t stop myself from spilling. I took a deep swig. “We’ve kissed… among other things.”
Razvan’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I knew it. You’re too easy to read. Was he a good kisser?”
