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“My father is dead,” I say. “And I plan to take his place.” I sweep my gaze over the men watching me, making them remember my face, the name behind it, the family that built the room they’re standing in. “I’m running for Sovereign.”

My opponent steps forward before anyone invites him. He wears self-importance like a second suit and manages to make both look cheap.

“You all know me, but I’ll state my name for the record. I’m Patrick Connelly and I’m also running for Sovereign,” he says, grinning as though this chamber belongs to him. “For three generations, no one challenged a Crotavere out of fear or some ridiculous loyalty. I want to change that. I want this Order to reach farther than it ever has before. I want to make every one of us more powerful. More wealthy.”

He turns slowly, performing for them.

“You want that too, don’t you?”

The room murmurs its agreement.

Patrick knows how to stroke the weakest parts of men. Greed. Ego. The desperate ache to feel chosen by something larger than their own useless lives.

Then he turns back to me.

“Edwin isn’t fit to lead. He’s spent months sulking without purpose in his own life. How can he give you strength when he has none? If he takes the throne, this Order shrinks with him.”

The words sting where he aims them because he’s not wrong. My lack of purpose and mental strength has hollowed me out, and now the hole is bigger with my father gone. He sees the hit land too, which is why his smile widens.

I keep my face still.

Liam raises a hand to take back control. “There will be three Dominion Trials. The competitors will be judged by their peers, and a vote will follow.”

He turns to Patrick.

“Mr. Connelly. Who will be your Aspirant to join you in the Trials and potentially become Seraph of the Order?”

“My wife,” Patrick says proudly. “Bridget Connelly.”

No surprise there. Bridget would crawl through glass to help him win if it meant sharing his crown.

Liam turns to me.

“And Mr. Crotavere. Who will be your Aspirant?”

“Zaiya Zapera.”

Her name echoes through the chamber and locks into place. There’s no keeping her at a distance now.

A stillness moves through the room before Patrick breaks it with a short laugh.

“Who?” He tilts his head. “Some girl you picked up off the street?”

My jaw tightens. “She’s my girl.”

His smile sharpens. “Your whore? How much are you paying her for this?”

I see red. A full wash of violence plays out in my mind. Outside these walls, I would already have him by the throat. The image is perfectly clear. My hands. His windpipe. The panic in his eyes when he realizes too late that he shouldn’t have spoken about her.

This is what Zaiya will face when she enters this world. The same disease of disrespect my mother endured until it drained the life from her and left the rest of us standing in the wreckage.

Zaiya won’t suffer that fate. Not for long. When I take the title, the Seraph role dies with the old Order.

I step closer to Patrick until I’m looking down into his eyes. “Say another word like that and you won’t make it to the first Trial.”

Patrick smirks. “You can’t kill me.”

“Accidents happen.”