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“Overyour people!”The highlord roared, spittle flying from his mouth. “Not over Nightforged who answer directly to the emperor!”
His chest heaved, and I was convinced Maximillian would back down, or at least show some kind of submission to his highlord. Instead, he merely leaned against the wall and surveyed his father, allowing a hint of disdain to enter his tone.
“Only five minutes in and you’re already shouting,” he said. “I think you’re growing feeble-minded in your old age, Father.”
“Catherine.” Stesha’s hand closed around my upper arm, his voice an urgent whisper in my ear. “I think now would be a good time for me to show you to your room.”
I hesitated, but Lucius gave me a swift nod, and I relented. There was a part of me that wanted to stay and watch this confrontation, but there was a good chance Maximillian’s father would take his rage out on me, and I wasn't allowed to defend myself. Better to leave the father-son duo to their family spat than to risk blowing my cover so early on.
Stesha led me out of the room and up a winding staircase. “Forgive my Sire for his abrasive welcome,” he said as we climbed the stairs. “As you may have surmised, the Highlord and his son do not have an easy relationship.”
“I know,” I told him. “Lord Starclaw told me about what happened to his mother.”
Stesha’s broad shoulders slumped a little. “Odessa is very much loved and missed by everyone in our house,” he said as he opened the door to the fourth level. There was a small antechamber with a table placed against the far wall, and a painting of Callix and his late wife hung directly above it. “And no one loved her more than our high lord.”
We paused in the antechamber, and I took a moment to study the painting. It was a formal portrait, with Callix seated and Odessa standing behind him, her dainty hand resting on his broad shoulder. I was struck by how different the vampire in the painting was from the one I had met downstairs. His features were kinder, a soft smile playing around the harsh line of his mouth, and his eyes, while still pale as ice, held a touch of warmth to them.
“I can see that,” I said, feeling a touch of sadness for the couple who had obviously once been happy together. Regardless of what Maximillian believed, his father clearly hadn't discarded his wife from his heart, at least not completely. After all, whywould he still have a portrait of the two of them hanging in the spire, if he no longer cared for her?
“Maximillian informed me you do not have a maid, and that you may require some additional help since you will be expected to act and dress like vampire nobility,” Stesha said as he led me down a corridor lined with doors. “I will lend one of my thralls, Marisse, to attend you for the duration of the Summit.”
“Oh,” I said, a little taken aback by this kindness. Were all Psychoros vampires this nice, Stesha’s sire notwithstanding? “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”
Stesha showed me to my room, then bade me good night and shut the door. I let out a small sigh of relief at finally having some privacy, and leaned against the door, taking in the chamber. It was smaller than the one Maximillian had given me in the Tower, but still luxurious, with an elegant four-poster bed dominating much of the space. The walls were painted in the same soft blue as the sitting room, while the carpet underfoot was a deeper shade of the same hue, creating a soothing, cohesive look. A fireplace occupied one wall, and a large bay window took up most of another, offering a breathtaking view of the castle complex and the city beyond. A comfortable chaise lounge sat in front of it, an ideal spot for reading or simply taking in the view. All in all, it was cozy.
A servant had left my luggage at the foot of the bed, and I knelt in front of it, wanting to unpack my things. There were two trunks—one filled with the wardrobe Maximillian had ordered for me to wear during the Summit, and another filled with personal, practical items. I spent the next hour hanging up gowns and tunics, putting away underclothes and nightgowns, finding places for toiletries and jewelry, and so on.
There were also a few books—one on the legends and myths of Valentaera’s pantheon, and another on House Invictus’s lineage and history—that I hadn’t finished before we’d left. And there was also my armor, stakes, and the pouch of bloodbane Sparrow had given me. These items were hidden in a false compartment at the base of the trunk, just in case anyone came in here to snoop through my things.
Aside from Lucius and Maximillian, no one from House Psychoros knew my true purpose for being here. And we wanted to keep it that way.
After I finished putting everything away, I changed into a knee-length nightgown, then stood in front of the mirror, taking a minute to study myself. Between Eliza’s mysterious elixir, Nyra consistently shoving meals down my throat, and Lucius’s brutal training, I had undergone a complete transformation. My face was fuller, the curves at my breasts and hips more pronounced, the muscles in my arms, legs, and shoulders defined and graceful.
Maximillian’s cohort had rebuilt me into the lethal weapon I was born to be. And in just five days, the vampire king would be dead at my hand.
A firm knock at the door interrupted me from my musings. “Who is it?” I called, hoping that I wasn’t about to be summoned to go somewhere or meet someone. I was dead on my feet and wanted nothing more than to curl up in that plush-looking bed and get some much needed rest.
“It’s me,” Maximillian called back. There was a short pause before he added, “I wanted to check on you.”
“Oh.” A tiny blossom of warmth unfurled in my chest, and I opened the door to find him standing in the hallway. He’d stripped off his coat and waistcoat, leaving only the trousers and white linen shirt, the top three buttons open to reveal an expanse of marble-white skin. A long black box was tucked under his right arm, and he smiled as I raised a quizzical brow.
“May I come in? I’ve brought you a gift.”
“A gift?” Curious, I stepped back, allowing him to enter. His powerful presence filled the small room, and a shiver of awareness rushed over me as I realized that this was the first time we’d been alone together since our conversation in the chapel.
Maximillian set the box on the bench by the foot of the bed, then crossed over to the fireplace to lean one broad shoulder against the mantle. He looked tired, his usually flawless hair mussed, the starfire glow in his eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry about my father,” he told me. “I know I warned you what to expect, but hearing him deride you like that couldn’t have been easy.”
I shrugged. “I was a lot more bothered by the way he treatedyou.” I pursed my lips as I studied him. “Though to be fair, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were riling him up on purpose.”
A shadow of a smirk appeared on his full mouth. “I was.”
“But why?”
A glimmer of pain flickered in his eyes, and for a moment, I thought he would tell me. But then he shrugged, the emotion vanishing like mist in the morning sun. “Father-son things,” he said, pointing toward the box he’d left on the bed. “You should open that.”
“Oh. Right.” I’d completely forgotten. Crossing over to the bed, I flipped up the metal clasps holding the box shut, then opened it. A gasp flew from my lips at the treasure trove that lay inside—a small arsenal of silver blades, masterfully forged, with amethysts winking up at me from the filigreed handles. There were a dozen, ranging from tiny throwing knives to razor thin stilettos to a dagger that was nearly the length of my forearm.
“These are beautiful.” I picked one up and gently pressed the pad of my forefinger to the edge. Blood welled up along the cut far sooner than I expected—fuck, these things weresharp—and I snatched my finger back and stuck it into my mouth. “Deadly, too,” I said around the digit.
