I knew I didn’t want this. I knew I wanted to pull away—to shout no, but I couldn’t. Because there was only pain if I did. And because I knew Imperator Hart was right. Ka Kormac wasn’t going to let me go. Not without a fight.
Kane grunted and I was led through the end of the corridor, then down a grand staircase draped in purple carpeting. Golden lamps jutted out from the walls all around me as I stepped out onto a white marble floor with thousands of golden stars embedded in its shiny surface. Music played softly as hundreds of trays full of wine floated back and forth across the room. Cascades of gardenias fell from the ceiling, creating canopies across the room. Vines, braided with the flowers trailed across the center of each table, while candles flickered between the greens. The scent was intoxicating, almost overwhelming with its force, becoming more potent with each breath I took.
Moving slowly through the room, their heads held high and their eyes slowly taking in the details of each noble’s dress and jewels were the Empire’s most elite Lumerians. Layers upon layers of fabric in satin, silk, and lace draped across the figures of each woman I saw, all in an assortment of colors representing their Kavim.
My cheeks reddened, and I was suddenly all too aware of how little fabric I’d been afforded, and just how much of my body had been left on display. I resisted the urge to play with my hair, to spread it across the expanse of my chest. The Emperor’s servants had curled my long layers, and twisted the locks to fall over one shoulder. I’d tried my best to center the curls across my chest, to conceal the evidence of my contract with Mercurial. Between that the low lights, the golden lines of the Valalumir could not be seen. But I still felt too on display.
The herald’s voice boomed, and I could feel the shift in attention all at once, feel hundreds of eyes fall on me, on my dress, moving from my exposed cleavage, to the sharpness of my exposed hip bone, and then between my legs where the thin cloth just barely covered me.
I swallowed roughly, willing my free hand to remain at my side, to not try and hide or draw any more attention to myself. But I could already feel the judgment in their auras, hear the whispers and the hushed laughter, mixed with scandalized gasps. Nobles were reaching for each other, their fingers pointing to me. And then to the Arkturion at my side. Imperator Hart hadn’t just marked me as Glemarian. He’d marked me as his whore. And all the nobility knew it.
I held my chin high, but I was trembling, and beside me Kane made a grunt of amusement.
It felt like an eternity was slowly passing as I fought to remain still, but finally our announcement was complete, and we all moved aside. Imperator Kormac was announced next.
Each name read out by the herald filled me with dread.
Imperator Avery Kormac. Arkturion Waryn Kormac. And then, Lord Viktor Kormac. Brockton’s name was notably missing. But I could hear its absence with every fiber of my being. My heart hammered.
The wolves began their descent of the staircase, their silver armor glinting as the flickering flames of the lamps hit each pellet, and the sharpened steel of their blades shined.
“Of course, they’re still fucking armed,” Dario muttered.
“They’re always armed,” I said. Clearly, the benefits of having an uncle for Emperor meant that privilege extended to the capital and inside the walls of the Palace as well.
The wolves of Ka Kormac clustered together at the side of the dance floor, standing beneath a flag boasting their sigil.I’d been so overwhelmed with our entry, so aware of everyone’s eyes on me, I hadn’t realized that each of the twelve Kavim had a flag. They were all delicately blowing against the soft breezes entering from the windows near each flickering lamp.
Without thinking, I began searching through the sigils, my heart pounding as I sought out the one that always made my heart leap—that felt like home. The one I loved most, and missed desperately. A full moon made of silver between golden seraphim wings. Across the ballroom’s dance floor at nearly the other end of the room, I found it painted onto a red flag dangling from the high ceiling. The red was perfect, unlike my garish dress. It was Batavia red. A surge of pride rushed through me.
I eagerly looked beneath it to the members of my Ka, searching for the golden Laurel of the Arkasva, and my father’s dark hair beneath it.
But as the golden laurel came into view, its leaves glinting with firelight, I saw red hair nestled around it. Arianna’s hair. Arianna was Arkasva Batavia.
For just a moment, I’d forgotten. Forgotten my father was dead. That I wouldn’t see him tonight. That I wouldn’t see him on any night. Never again.
Someone grabbed my hand, squeezing tight.
Meera. Her chin quivered as her eyes fell on the same sight. Arianna in our father’s laurel. Standing to her right was Naria in the golden diadem that should have been mine, the title of Heir Apparent that was rightfully Meera’s. And holding her hand, wearing that same angry expression from earlier, with a thick golden ring on his finger, was Tristan.
I felt almost dizzy, my knees shaking as the order to kneel came from the herald. Emperor Theotis’s consort entered, wearing a shimmery dress that was nearly identical to theone I’d seen her in when she attended the Valyati ball. It felt like a lifetime ago.
The trumpet sounded, its notes reverberating, followed by a shout of, “He comes! All kneel for His Majesty, Emperor Theotis, High Lord of Lumeria Nutavia!”
Meera released my hand as she sank to her knees, and I followed, my stomach roiling, while I tried desperately to not expose myself as I sat. The dress left me almost no room to properly kneel. I had to stay high on my knees, and keep my legs pressed tightly together, then readjust the straps over my shoulders before they moved too low. Quickly, I made sure my curls covered the center of my chest.
I could have strangled Imperator Hart for a million reasons. But at this moment, I couldn’t forgive him for leaving me so exposed. It wasn’t just humiliating. It was dangerous. In this lighting my Valalumir mark was still difficult to see. But I didn’t trust it would remain concealed. And I would bet that the Emperor and those closest to him were well versed in Afeyan contracts and would recognize the mark for what it was.
A hush came over the room. Emperor Theotis, and his Warlord, Arkturion Pompellus Agrippa, the man known as the Blade, descended the stairs.
Centered on the dais at the front of the room, Theotis began to speak. His voice had the same eerily soft, yet commanding tone it had earlier. But I couldn’t hear a word he said. Because as I looked up from adjusting my gown again, I realized that standing straight across the ballroom from me was the Bastardmaker. His black, beady eyes were watching my every breath, watching in particular the space where my dress no longer existed. His hand moved to his blade, his reddish fingers tightening on the hilt, his gaze never wavering.
I could see the accusation in his eyes. Feel it in his aura. The anger. The hunger. The hatred.Murderer. Murderer.
Viktor knelt by his side, his blond hair pulled back by the silver claws of his diadem. One by one, the soturi of Ka Kormac, who’d been allowed to stand guard instead of bowing, turned their gaze from the Emperor to me. Slowly, their legs widened into fighting stances, their hands slid down to their hilts, fingers tightening.
“I welcome you to Numeria,” the Emperor said, lifting his arms. “Rise. I thank you all for indulging me on this eve of Asherah’s Feast Day. It’s been too long since we last honored our ancestors with a celebration such as this—with a Valabellum. With so much change in the Empire, it is good for us all to come together. We recently defeated a new threat of akadim, thanks to the leadership of our Arkturion Pompellus.”
Applause broke out. The Blade stepped forward, his keen eyes vigilant and observing, even as he bowed, his red Arkturion cloak falling over his shoulders.
