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The whispers in the crowd erupted into gleeful chatter, hundreds of gazes sharpening on Lazarus’s back. Casimir hid an amused smile—the Sanguis Noctis heir had not thought his plan through before he’d dared to broach this subject. “This ‘esteemed member’ of your house took advantage of his position—a positionIgranted him—to abduct slaves all across the empire instead of legally purchasing and registering them, all so he could avoid having to pay the yearly tax on them. And yet you have the audacity to come before me and demand justice for him?” Vladimir bared his fangs. “Have you forgotten who it is you speak to?”
A lesser male would have cowered before the emperor, but though the tips of Lazarus’s pointed ears reddened with humiliation, he stood his ground. Casimir had to give him points for that—the Sanguis Noctis heir was without a doubt the ballsiest of the four of them.
“I am more than aware of the disgrace Vinicius has brought upon our house,” Lazarus said, his voice grating as if every word was an effort to get out. “And I agree he should have been punished to the fullest extent of the law. But that is the grievance I bring before you—one violation of the law does not excuse the other. Vinicius had the right to stand trial before the crown, with a representative from his house, for the alleged crimes he committed. But instead of arresting him and delivering him into the crown’s custody, Maximillian took justice into his own hands. There was no reason I can think of for Lord Starclaw to kill Vinicius so swiftly. Unless,” and here Lazarus turned his glittering gaze on Maximillian, “Maximillian Starclaw has secrets of his own, and allowing Vinicius to speak, to defend himself, would have exposed them.”
The emperor’s eyes shifted to Maximillian, who had remained standing, his hands clasped behind him. Unlike Lazarus, who was practically salivating at the mouth, the Psychoros heir appeared unruffled, as if the vampire accusing him of treason was simply commenting on the weather.
“I do not know what secrets Lazarus is referring to,” Maximillian said. “We vampires have many of them, after all. For all I know, he could be referring to my penchant for wearing lacy undergarments. Or the collection of life-sized dolls I keep in the Tower for the express purpose of hosting tea parties and playing dress up.”
Snickers arose from the crowd at this, and Casimir suppressed a snort. He watched as the Stellaris twins exchanged amused looks, and even his father’s lips twitched. The only two people who did not seem to find Maximillian’s remarks amusing aside from Lazarus was Lysander Bloodmare—who had sprouted a pulsing vein in his temple—and Callix Starclaw, who looked to be grinding his teeth so hard, Casimir could almost hear the sound from across the room.
“Do you think this is funny?” Lazarus hissed, his eyes crackling with pent-up rage. “You may have everyone else fooled, Maximillian, but—”
“Enough.” The emperor’s voice cracked through the air like a whip, pulling Lazarus up short. “Everyone at this court knows you consider Lord Starclaw’s policies to be soft-hearted, but there is no denying he has saved the empire countless time, energy, and resources. And there is little more that House Invictus values above efficiency. So, unless you have specific accusations to levy against Lord Starclaw, cease hogging the floor and get out of my sight.”
But Casimir was enjoying this too much to let it end so soon, and he rose from his chair, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “Your Eminence,” he said, and the hall quieted. “I would like to propose a solution.”
Vladimir’s eyes flared in surprise as he turned to face his son. “I was not aware this required a solution,” he said coldly.
But Casimir stepped forward, undaunted. “Regardless of your judgment on the matter, it is clear Lazarus means to achieve satisfaction against Maximillian one way or another, whether that is here at court or on a potential battlefield in the distant future. Rather than allowing nature to take its course, why don’t we allow them to settle things the old-fashioned way, with a bit of bloodsport?”
For a heartbeat, Casimir thought his father would eviscerate him. It wouldn’t be the first time—the emperor rarely approved of anything Casimir did or said, no matter how hard he tried to please him. The dynamic between them was complicated—on the one hand, his father’s harsh standards had pushed him to excel in every aspect of his life, to exceed the expectations of his role as crown prince and prove he was worthy of the mantle that would one day be passed to him.
But as Casimir had grown older, he’d watched the emperor acknowledge and praise his vampire siblings, while only occasionally tossing him crumbs of approval. So while he was loyal to the crown and to the empire, that blind devotion did not extend toward the male who owned them. There was only so much cold-shouldering he could take.
That was why he’d recently begun to push the envelope. Like he was doing now.
But the emperor noticed the subtle shift in the room's energy—from anger and resentment to anticipation and glee. He knew the value of playing to the emotions of his subjects just like any good ruler, so he leaned back in his throne, a thoughtful expression easing the severity of his face. “Very well,” he said, propping his sharp chin on his fist. “What do you suggest, my son?”
Casimir’s smile widened as he spread his hands, one in Lazarus’s direction, the other in Maximillian’s. Neither seemed particularly pleased with his intervention, but they remained silent, waiting for him to speak. “Tournament Day is coming up in two days. I propose we set aside a portion of the festivities for a match between the two heirs. Fisticuffs only—no magic or weaponry. And they fight either until the death, or until one yields.”
“Now see here!” Callix Starclaw protested, jumping up from his seat. “I am all for allowing my son to pay for his mistakes, but a fight to the death—”
“It won’t be to the death,” Maximillian Starclaw said, his soft voice cutting across his father’s. “Lazarus wouldn’t be so foolish. He’ll yield.”
Lazarus bared his fangs. “Don’t be so sure of that, Starclaw. I’d sooner tear my own throat out than admit defea—”
“You will do no such thing.” Lysander’s voice rang through the hall, and everyone fell silent. “For once, I agree with Highlord Starclaw. With the emperor’s approval, the two of you will settle this with bloodsport, but only until one of you is rendered unconscious, or yields. There willbeno killing.”
“Agreed,” Vladimir said. He thumped his staff, a clear signal that the matter was closed. “Now sit down, all of you, or I will have you thrown out.”
Lazarus snapped his mouth shut, but he returned to his seat, and Casimir did the same. But Maximillian remained standing, and he gestured to Catherine to join him as he approached the dais.
“Imperial Highness,” he said, bowing low. His thrall executed a perfect curtsey, her blue damask skirts rustling like falling leaves around her. Casimir met her eyes for a second, and his breathing hitched in his throat at the expression blazing in her violet depths before she looked away.
She wasfurious. Withhim.
“Before the official events of the summit begin,” Maximillian continued as he and his thrall straightened to face the emperor, “I would like to introduce to you Catherine Seabream, one of my devoted thralls. As a reward for her bravery and loyal service, I would like to present her to the crown and the assembly as a candidate for the Descendency.”
“I see,” Vladimir said softly. There was a cunning glint in his eyes as he surveyed Catherine, who lowered her head, awaiting his judgment. She really was a stunning woman, Casimir thought idly, tracing the contours of her petite form with his gaze. Far more poised than the lost little human he’d found stumbling about the Spire in the middle of the night looking for snacks. She wore a silvery blue gown that made the most of her small-yet-curvy frame, the heart-shaped bodice drawing the eyes to the contour of her large, well-formed breasts and tiny waist before her skirts flared out around her legs. But most interesting to Casimir were the defined muscles he could see shifting beneath her pale skin. This was not a body that belonged to a simpleblood-slave that lounged around her master’s house, waiting for him to come home and feed on her. Those muscles had been honed by hard work, possibly even training.
But what would Maximillian be training her for?
“I’m pleased to see you have finally chosen a replacement for Desdemona,” Vladimir finally said, returning his attention to Maximillian. “I shall grant your request.” He lifted his head to address the delegations, his voice rising. “Let it be known that Catherine Seabream, thrall of Lord Maximillian Starclaw, has been formally entered as a candidate for the Descendency. During this period of consideration, any natural-born vampire may fraternize with her, but no vampire aside from her master may feed from her or cause her irreparable harm for the duration of the summit.”
He slammed his staff to the ground, and Casimir’s eyes widened as a ripple of crimson energy emanated from his father’s body. He watched as it spread throughout the entire chamber, and the hairs on his arms rose as the energy sizzled across his skin. But although nothing happened to him, a blank look passed over every single attendee in the room, and they nodded simultaneously, like puppets being jerked on a string.
Yet in the next second, their expression flickered back to normal. It all happened so fast, Casimir almost wondered if he’d imagined it.
