Page 7 of Godless Saints

I laughed despite myself.

Aleksei’s stare snapped to me.

I stopped. Immediately.

“Thorn used to make men piss themselves,” Aleksei said. “Grandfather still talks about this Court like it was held by men who knew their place and made sure everyone else learned theirs. Now half the academy thinks we’re a bunch of bored rich kids waving steel around.”

Misha froze, then quickly hid the knife behind his back. “That’s unfair.”

Aleksei’s pale eyes flicked over him, unimpressed.

“Mostly unfair.”

Aleksei’s voice hushed. “There is a Blood Writ on the table.”

That got my attention.

“Already?”

“Opening night,” he said. “Everyone wants leverage before the first tally.”

“Beautiful tradition,” Misha cut in.

Aleksei folded his hands behind his back.

“Sawyer Whitlock fed us Aster-side dirt. The Whitlocks are notorious for their games. My guys found something interesting… In case he’s feeding us exactly what he wants us to hear.”

Sawyer. Interesting.

Aleksei’s expression changed. Not for the better.

I already knew I was going to hate whatever the fuck came out of his mouth next.

“Target is Aster’s likely Patronage Seat candidate.”

Moon. Of course it was fucking Moon.

Each Court put forward one heir for the Patronage Seat. Win it and, I dunno, you were basically fucking student president or some shit.

Suited Moonshine to a T.

Aleksei met my eyes. “Whether Moon’s part of it or simply standing too close to Whitlock, it doesn’t matter. We treat him as leverage either way.”

Heat coiled in my gut. My cock twitched at the mere mention of his name. Wrong fucking time. Wrong fucking place. Didn’t matter. He was already under my skin.

But now they wanted to make him a target. Pretty fucking terrible luck for him. He still thought he got a choice. I wanted every version of him. I’d take all of it eventually. Sawyer Whitlock wanted him hit without dirtying his own hands. Smart. Cowardly. So fucking Aster.

I rolled my shoulders once, already impatient to move.

They could plan whatever they wanted. Anyone who touched him was going to lose a hand. After that, consequences were their own problem. And when the time came, I was going to enjoy every second of watching him stop fighting what was already mine.

“The objective is not injury,” Aleksei said. “Not spectacle. Not whatever romantic shit you’re planning. Moon is Aster’s Seat. If he stays calm, Aster gains ground. If he reacts, their perfect candidate becomes manageable. Turn their golden boy into a liability.”

“Sawyer wants him out,” I said.

“Sawyer wants him weak,” Aleksei said. “There’s a difference. He won’t go after Moon openly. Too much Aster Favor to lose.”

Misha whistled low. “Pretty boy politics.”