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“Pfft,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Why should I, when the company over here is so much more interesting? Besides, there’s no rule against it. In fact, the emperor encourages us to intermingle.”
Lucius glowered, but he didn’t object further. “What do you mean, only watched?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. “Why not participate as well?”
Viviana let out a tinkling laugh. “The heirs are usually forbidden from participating in these events,” she said, the slightest edge of resentment in her voice. “We are considered too valuable to risk for mere entertainment, even something as harmless as this.” She flicked an elegant hand toward the performers, and a plume of shadowfire danced along her fingertips before snuffing out. “Which is a pity, really. I think I would be quite an asset.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, confusion wrinkling my brow. “Isn’t Caelum the heir of your house? You can’t inherit the mantle since you’re not capable of bearing children.” I also didn’t understand why Caelum was allowed on the front lines, if his status as heir was so precious.
Something bright and sharp flared in Viviana’s eyes as she tore her gaze from the arena to look at me. “Too right, you are,” she hissed, her midnight eyes glowing. “It is only the males of our line who are granted that privilege. But my gift of foresightmakes me equally valuable. My visions are fruitful, even if my womb is not.”
She gave me a bitter smile, and despite the trouble she’d caused during the soiree, I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the female vampire. It was clear she wished for children of her own, something that was impossible due to the nature of the vampire curse.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “I know how it feels when people only want you for what you can do, instead of who you are.”
Viviana’s blinked, and she titled her head at me in surprise. “You are an insightful little creature,” she said. “I can see why both Maximillian and Casimir are taken with you.”
“The Crown Prince?” I asked, resisting the urge to scoff. After the way Casimir had threatened me earlier, ‘taken’ wasn’t the word I’d use. “He has no interest in me.”
Viviana smirked. “Humans really are the worst liars.” She reached out to flick a speck of dust off the sleeve of my dress. “Casimir and I were sneaking back into the castle after a night of debauchery when you and Lord Starclaw arrived. He noticed you right away, and couldn’t stop staring. ‘Smitten’ might be a better word to describe his feelings for you.”
My stomach lurched, and I automatically swept my gaze across the perimeter of the arena, seeking out the crown prince. He sat next to his father in the royal box, the nearly full moon limning the top of his dark head with silver. He wore his usual stoic mask, and I shook my head, amused at the idea that a male like Casimir could besmittenwith anyone, least of all me.
“I can’t presume to know the prince or his feelings,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but I find it difficult to imagine him engaging in any kind of debauchery.”
“Oh, it wasn’t his choice,” Viviana said with a laugh. “My brother coerced him into it, and when Casimir found me at the club, he used my presence as an excuse to escort me back to the Iron Spire so he could escape. He was very eager to get inside until you showed up.”
I had no idea what to say to that, so I decided to change the subject. “Why is this event called ‘Tournament Day’ if there is no actual tournament?” I asked her.
“Because the emperor does not want to waste vampire lives when they are sorely needed during the war,” Viviana said. “That’s why the combat match between Maximillian and Lazarus is so highly anticipated. Watching two heirs fight each other is a rare treat.”
The atmospheric drumbeat faded as the Stellaris performance came to an end, replaced by enthusiastic applause from the audience. The stands were packed not only with the delegates attending the summit, but also Umbral’s citizens, who had turned out in full force for the festivities. Even the humans were permitted to watch from the nosebleed seats, though I wondered how they felt about these displays of power from the monsters who had conquered and enslaved them.
As the shadowfire guttered, Ruslan, the master of ceremonies and one of Vladimir’s three remaining sired children, rose from his seat in the royal box. "And now,” he cried, his voice booming across the arena as a hush settled over the crowd. “The moment you've all been waiting for: the showdown between Lords Maximillian Starclaw and Lazarus Bloodmare!"
The crowd erupted into a frenzy as Maximillian and Lazarus emerged from opposite sides of the arena, dressed for battle. Both were stripped to the waist and dressed in simple boots and trousers—Maximillian in blue, Lazarus in red. The Psychoros heir was a storm barely contained as he stalked across the arena, his features set with a determined calm that masked the tempest brewing beneath. His broad chest was painted with intricate strokes of blue and gold that swirled together to form the astral eye—a hallowed symbol of his house. The war paint was also streaked across his high cheekbones, and it made him look fierce and primal in a way I’d never seen before. The knots of anxiety in my stomach melted away at the sight of him like this, replaced by a fluttering sensation low in my belly.
“Delicious, isn’t he?” Viviana said in a knowing voice, glancing sidelong at me. “It’s rare that Lord Starclaw lets his inner warrior out to play. And to think that he’s doing this all for you, a mere human.”
I ignored that comment, my attention fixed on the arena as the two vampires met in the middle where Soren Ironheart stood, ready to referee. Lazarus was also adorned with body paint, his thicker torso covered in swirling red and black geometric patterns that seemed to pulse with life. Unlike Maximillian, he made no attempt to disguise the savage glee etched on his face, and a taunting grin lifted his mouth. Maximillian, for his part, appeared utterly bored, but my knuckles ached at the smarmy look on Lazarus’s face. For a heartbeat, I wished that I was in that arena, if only so I could drive my own fist into the bastard’s face.
But this wasn’t my battle to fight. It was Maximillian’s. And I was looking forward to watching him trounce that insufferable prick.
“It has been over fifty years since combat matches were allowed during Tournament Day, making this the most anticipated event of the evening!” Ruslan roared over the crowd. “But in keeping with the emperor’s infinite wisdom, the rules for this bout are different from those of times past. No weapons or magic shall be allowed!” he declared, and the audience booed. "Only the raw prowess and skill of our combatants will decide the victor! The match ends either when one of the combatants yields, or is knocked out. And if one of the fighters should take the life of the other…” Ruslan’s voice deepened into an ominous rumble, “their life shall be forfeit.”
Murmurs rustled through the arena, and Maximillian and Lazarus stood in stony silence as Soren Ironheart reiterated the rules. When both vampires nodded that they understood, the Invictus general stepped back, then raised his hand, signaling his permission for the fight to commence.
“Let the match begin!” Ruslan cried, and Maximillian and Lazarus wasted no time. The two clashed like titans, Lazarus opening with a powerful jab that Maximillian expertly dodged before following up with a swift upper cut. The strike connected, and Lazarus’s head snapped back, but the Sanguis Noctis vampire swiftly recovered, avoiding Maximillian’s next blow and countering with a flurry of kicks.
I was on the edge of my seat for the next fifteen minutes as the two vampires fought, reducing Sparrow and Lucius's sparring match to mere child’s play in comparison. The vampires didn’t adhere to the strict rules of a boxing match—the two slashed at each other with their claws every chance they got, and on one occasion, Maximillian lifted Lazarus over his shoulder, then flung him bodily across the arena. The Sanguis Noctis heir snarled as he skidded across the dirt, but he volleyed to his feetas Maximillian sprinted after him, blocking a downward strike with his forearm before launching yet another counterattack.
“He’s winning,” Viviana said, sounding a little surprised. “I’m impressed by how many more hits he’s gotten in compared to Lazarus. I thought he would be the weaker fighter since he relies on his telekinesis so much.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Lucius growled as Maximillian weaved through Lazarus’s relentless onslaught. His strategy seemed to be focused on agility and speed, allowing the larger vampire to exhaust himself, then taking advantage of openings to land powerful hits. “Just because we Psychoros are masters of the mind doesn’t mean we don’t spend considerable time mastering our bodies as well. Evenyourfather made sure that you had adequate training, Viviana.”
“True,” she said with a sniff, “but that was hundreds of years ago, and I have not kept up with it. I have no illusions of how I would perform if I was in the ring instead of your sire. You should be proud of him.”
I tuned them both out as I gripped the railing, watching Maximillian deftly avoid another of Lazarus's flying kicks. Despite the fact that he was clearly overexerting himself, I had to admire the Sanguis Noctis heir’s fighting style. There was a fluidity to his movements, a disciplined elegance born of rigorous training and a warrior's pride. Each kick and punch was executed with precision and an artist's flair, as if each motion was a brushstroke in a blood-red war painting. It was a stark contrast to Maximillian’s controlled and efficient movements, each strike and parry delivered by the Psychoros vampire with surgical precision.
Which was why everyone in the arena was blindsided when the Psychoros vampire, in the midst of launching a punch at Lazarus’s exposed side, suddenly froze, his fist inches away from connecting.
