If the murderer turned out to be a candidate, she would strike again and again until she was the only one who remained. And the Flask, in the capriciousness of Eona herself, would probably smite her for it and force us to start all over again.
The tension along my back increased. It was my responsibility, as Lord Regent, to make sure that didn’t happen. We would have a new queen as soon as possible.
Ignoring those who tried to catch my attention, I marched straight to the throne room, where the Flask was perched on a velvet cushion atop the high seat.
“You have news.”The voice slithered into my mind without resistance, silky and feminine, a drifting caress of serpent scales with the sweet, addictive ache of venom. I shivered from the pleasure-pain of her sifting through my mind and being, looking for anything new.
“One of the candidates was found murdered in her bed. Genevieve Mercier.”
“Another weakling meets her end.”The red drop of blood within the crystal container continued to drift languidly. Unbothered. “You serve me well, my little puppet. So eager to please, so effortless to lead. You navigate these trials with a heart of stone. So much blood spilled, yet you never falter. You gratify me.”
I bowed to it. “Thank you, mistress.”
Others were overwhelmed by the presence within the Flask. With experience, I no longer flinched when her power poured into me and spoke. I’d spent many hours in discussion with her, seeking relief for questions she never answered.
What was she, really, but an echo of a goddess? The kernel of will and desire left behind for us by a being so vast that a mere drop of her blood had the power to rule us.
I wondered what it would be like to be a devotee to that kind of power. My mouth watered, craving a taste of it for myself. I’d been close once. Nemea had promised me a place in her Devotion. She’d seen what I could do, called me indispensable, stroked my cheek, and told me I’d earned it.
Only, when one of her kings died, she imposed her will on an outsider, Zane, instead. It still set my teeth on edge that she had forced an unwilling man into the spot she’d promisedme.
With Nemea’s death, I’d seen her for what she was—a monster twisted by an endless life and too much proximityto power. She used to perch the Flask of Dominion in her lap, stroking its side like a pet, murmuring to the force that swirled within it.
Inevitably, my mind turned to Ilyana Krudelbach, and I drifted back to the ball held several days ago. Her magic had flared in a way that didn’t match my report. The dossier had been clear:water-aligned, a minor power.Unremarkable. Yet as she’d shoved my power back, I’d found no trace of the sea in her.
Hers was a jagged, thieving strength. It’d felt familiar.
The late queen possessed a knack for stripping the magic from others to fuel her own ends. Ilyana didn't steal; she numbed and repelled, but it was rare and unusual.
There was also a resemblance in the way she carried herself. The same poise. The same refusal to blink when a threat stood inches from her face. And the cool, shrewd edge behind her red gaze. Always calculating something. She occupied the room with the acuity of one who knew exactly how many bodies she could bury beneath the floorboards.
It was unsettling how quickly she caught the reference to the dead queen without me uttering her name. That flash of recognition in her eyes wasn't a comfort. It’d been a warning.
I pictured her on the throne in Nemea’s place. Would she listen to the Flask and cradle it close? A sharp spark of desire tangled with the need to dismantle her secrets. I didn't just want to understand the lie she was telling. I wanted to be the one to decide what to do with the truth she hid.
“Two spaces remain in her Devotion,”the Flask remarked, reminding me of where I stood.
“She is not for me.” I knew how to win this war. I wouldhavepowerthis time, a true seat at the table and a crown on my head. My bond would only be secured by the next queen once she was finished with the trials. She who would rise above the rest with bloodied hands, the sole survivor. I would serve that vampiress not as her right hand, but as a devotee in her bed.
“A pity, for one so blessed to remain alone for so long,”she mocked.
“Better alone than for her to put a dagger in my back,” I remarked.
Despite how little I trusted Ilyana, she reminded me of the better aspects of Queen Nemea too. Her sharp wit and her willingness to challenge me. She wasn’t afraid of me like many others were now that I was Lord Regent. I couldn’t help but look at her and imagine what the future could’ve held had I not been selected to find the next queen and she hadn’t entered the trials.
It was too bad she would die one way or another. I regretted that the Flask spared her after her stunt in the first trial, but in the endless, twisting game of vampire politics, perhaps I showed my hand too soon. She unnerved me. I saw death in her eyes—my death. I’d also seen desire bright enough to burn. But she was merely one of eleven candidates for the throne, and I doubted she had what it took to pass the final trial.
Still, she harbored secrets. I’d sensed them since she arrived, when the Flask derided my demand for her execution.
“Not yet,”the Flask had purred.“This one amuses me.”
So I conceded. I permitted her to draw breath. I watched her amass power, allies, and two devotees who offered their lives. She held up a mirror to my ambition, which I loathed to see exposed.
The distinction lay in my choice. The House demanded priority. The trials required a queen to rise from the bloodbath. If Ilyana destabilized my architecture, if she threatened the sacrifices I’d carved into the foundation of this city, I would extinguish her myself. No matter the cost.
That constituted the burden of the Lord Regent: making the choices that nauseated others. I excelled at being hated. I welcomed it.
An out-of-breath servant rushed into the room. “Lord…Lord Regent!” he gasped out.
