He gestured to the flask on its bed of velvet. “Youstand before the Flask of Dominion, an ancient artifact responsible for selecting the worthy to enter the trials for over a millennium. Contained within the Flask is a single drop of the goddess’s blood, preserved through generations. If accepted, you will each undergo a series of trials designed to test not just your strength, but also your cunning, your will, and your worthiness to lead.”
His gaze lingered on me a moment longer than on the others, and I felt exposed, certain he could see right through me. His magic was commonly known—the ability to sense emotions. Something about me must’ve alerted him to the imposter in his midst. Yet his attention moved on, and I released a breath.
“The trials begin now,” he continued. “With the new moon and the choosing of contestants. From this night forward, you will no longer be daughters of noble houses. You are aspirants to the throne.”
My inspection of him hardened into hatred. The new regent wasn’t just another obstacle to overcome. He was Nemea’s right hand, complicit in her reign of terror. This bloodsucker had stood beside my grandmother, lent his power to her, and tightened the noose of her reign with every command he obeyed. When the time came to claim my revenge, he would fall alongside her legacy.
“The rules of the Trials of Succession are absolute. No humans. No half-breeds.” His maroon gaze swept the room, dismissive and cold, and lingered on me again with the slightest raise of a brow before moving on. “Any who attempt to withdraw will be unmade by the artifact. The trials own you now until death. If the Flask admits you, you will proceed to the first trial. If it rejects you…” He smiled, and the expression was sharp enough to cut. “Well, rejection by the Flask of Dominion is rarely survived.”
My pulse quickened. No half-breeds. Would my disguise fool the magic at work here?
Mathias gestured toward a spot several paces before the artifact. “Form your line here.”
We shuffled into position, each contestant jockeying for their preferred place in the queue. Low murmurs rippled through the ranks: speculation about odds, whispered assessments of weaknesses, fragments of ancient feuds surfacing in hushed tones.
A gentle touch brushed the small of my back, followed by deft fingers tugging at the ties of my dress. Every instinct screamed danger. My hand twitched toward the concealed dagger at my ribs before I caught myself.
“Did your handmaidens let you go out like this?” a voice whispered behind me, amused rather than mocking. The fingers continued adjusting my lacings, tightening where they had come loose during the carriage ride.
I kept still, though I itched to pivot, to assess, to strike. “What are you?—”
“Seriously, if any of the others noticed this, you’d be a laughingstock before the first trial even began.” The voice was light, almost singsong, with an undertone of genuine concern. “There. Now no one’s the wiser.”
I turned slowly to face my unexpected ally. She was striking in the way only vampires could be—pale skin that seemed to glow in the torchlight, hair so blond it was nearly white, and red eyes that sparkled with mischief. Yet something about her demeanor felt different, less predatory than the others. Almost…human.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, striving to keep Ilyana’s aristocratic tone steady.
She tilted her head. “We don’t all have to bare our fangs before the first bell tolls, do we? Sure, we’ll be trying tokill each other soon, but tonight, some of us are just nervous girls in fancy dresses.” She grinned, revealing her own sharp fangs. “Even though you look like you’re carved from ice.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No, I suppose now isn’t the time to kill each other.” My mind flicked to Ilyana. Had she known this vampiress? Odd that this particular friend hadn’t surfaced during my investigation.
“I’m Felicity Drevanaud.” She executed a mock curtsy that was somehow both graceful and ridiculous. “Fourth daughter of the Drevanaud family, which means I’m here because I have absolutely nothing to lose and everything to prove. Also, I may have accidentally insulted a council member at the last gathering. This seemed preferable to beheading.”
A flicker of relief threaded through me. At least I hadn't overlooked her in my reconnaissance. Caution still coiled tight beneath my ribs. Vampires wore charm like a mask, and behind her smile, something could lurk that was far sharper than fangs.
Her cheer dimmed. “Though the gentle insistence—and by gentle, I mean the complete absence of choice my parents provided—also played a role.” She laughed, a sound like bells. “And you’re either very brave or very stupid to show up here with no devotees behind you. Possibly both.”
Yet beneath the lightness, I sensed something else. A flicker of steel flashed in her red eyes when she mentioned having nothing to lose. I got the impression this was someone who had learned to survive by making others underestimate her.
Mathias’s voice cut through our whispered conversation. “The testing will now begin. Candidates, you will approach the Flask of Dominion and place its necklacearound your throat. The artifact will judge your worth. I suggest you make your peace with the goddess now.”
The first contestant stepped forward, a tall vampiress with elaborately braided hair and enough jewelry to outfit a small army. She held up the chain with reverent hands and clasped it around her neck. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the flask pulsed white once, twice, and settled into a steady glow.
No one moved. Not even a whisper.
“Accepted,” Mathias announced.
A low murmur rippled through the room as the crowd relaxed and conversations continued.
The second contestant was a striking woman with raven-black hair swept into an elegant chignon. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with the deep crimson of her velvet gown. Silver rings adorned every finger, and her confident stride suggested nobility, or at least the pretense of it. She lifted the chain, settling it around her slender neck as if she'd done this a hundred times before. The flask pulsed twice, then settled into that familiar steady glow.
“Accepted,” came Mathias's voice, and she stepped back with a satisfied smile.
The third aspirant stepped forward with an air of supreme confidence. She was a petite woman with auburn curls piled atop her head, her emerald dress cut daringly low. Her lips curved as she practically snatched the chain from Mathias’s hands.
She draped the necklace around her throat, chin tilted upward as if posing for a portrait. The flask began to pulse once, twice, then the glow brightened into a white-hot blaze like a miniature sun. Her smug expression melted into confusion, then pure terror. She clawed at the chain, desperate to pull it away from herskin.
“No! I’m of pure bloodline!” she shrieked.
