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Grandpa Wallace sits at the head, spine straight, fingers drumming on the table so I know he’s been waiting. The suit he wears hasn’t left his closet since the retirement ceremony when he stepped down as Sovereign 20 years ago. I only recall it because of the gold embroidery stitched into the green fabric. Symbolism, I suppose.

Liam sits beside him, a pleasant smile carved onto his face, eyes too observant to miss anything. I’m relieved that he’s joined us. He has a knack for keeping hard-headed assholes in line.

His gaze keeps turning to my father’s empty chair across from him.

It’s the first family dinner since Dad died.

And Pearl, loyal to the bitter end, has still set his place. Napkin folded. Chair waiting as if he might come downstairs late, irritated, and very much alive.

But Harold Crotavere passed peacefully in his bed. Survived by his first and best son, Edwin, who is being forced to replace him. His spirit did in fact leave the house and does not require a plate for dinner.

His absence hangs over the room, making every candle burn less brightly.

I wonder what he would think of Zaiya.

My brothers fill the rest of the seats, leaving mine at the opposite end and a chair at my right for Zaiya. I put her beside Reese for a reason. He’s the least likely to enjoy her discomfort.

The moment she steps farther in, her demeanor changes. Her shoulders square. Her chin lifts. Her grip on my hand loosens just enough to suggest composure instead of dependence. The softness in her face becomes more polished. The girl she was trained to be slides into place.

Bringing her here like this changes everything. Saying her name in this room makes her visible in a way she hasn’t been before. Not hidden in my car or shut away in my bedroom. She’s seen for her full potential.

“This is Zaiya Zapera,” I say, my hand at the small of her back as I guide her forward. “My Aspirant for the Dominion Trials.”

No one says anything at first, but I can feel them assessing what I’ve done. Not only bringing her here, but placing her beside me. Making the introduction formal enough that it can’t be shrugged off later as passing interest or private indulgence.

“Pleased to meet you all,” she says.

Her voice is soft but not weak. She doesn’t stumble over the words. She doesn’t let them hear nerves, even if I can feel the tension vibrating through her body.

When I pull out her chair, she folds into it with effortless grace. Even now, her training sits in her bones. Reese gives her the slightest nod as she settles. It isn’t warm, exactly, but it isn’t hostile either. With him, that’s almost generous.

Introductions circle the table. She offers each man the same composed smile, but she adjusts each answer a little depending on who is looking at her. She’s reading the room as carefully as they’re reading her.

“This house is gorgeous, Mr. Crotavere,” she says to my grandfather. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Her tone is admiring without tipping into awe. She knows the game, taught to inflate men’s egos while keeping herself neatly out of the way.

My grandfather lets his gaze travel over her like he’s assessing a horse.

“It was built by my father. Passed down from eldest son to eldest son.” His eyes land on me. “Legacy isn’t sentimental here. It’s duty.”

Hope flashes across Zaiya’s face before she buries it. His words carry weight, full of permanence.

Marriage and creating an heir were things I never imagined wanting until she stepped into my path. My grandfather thinks I’m far past the age of settling down, but he didn’t have to wait to find his wife.

I was put on this earth to rule the Order, and Zaiya was sent to stand beside me. All we have to do is win.

And someday, the title of my wife will mean more to her than Seraph ever could.

Dinner is served by the staff. Silverware chimes softly against porcelain. Wine is poured. Conversation resumes in the polite cadence families like ours use when they’re most actively trying to draw blood without staining the tablecloth.

Reese is the first to address her directly. “Has Edwin prepared you for the Trials?”

It’s a proper question, which makes it more dangerous than someone else asking her to blink twice if she’s here against her will.

She swallows before answering. “He’s told me a little. I know they’ll require discipline and endurance. I’m honored to be chosen.”

Lucian’s mouth twists into a wicked smile. He leans back in his chair, watching her the way one watches an animal before killing it.