Callum's hair was wild, his suit torn, one sleeve soaked in blood. He carried a gun—not a ceremonial one, but the ugly matte black of a tactical Glock. He didn’t raise it, not right away. He just stalked down the aisle, every eye in the chamber fixed on him.
“Stop him!” the Chairwoman screamed, but no one moved. The rules of the arena didn’t apply here, but the law of spectacle did. No one wanted to be the first to die.
Callum saw me, and his face twisted, hatred and loss braided tight together. “You think you can just erase us?” he spat, his voice echoing off the marble. “You think you can murder our father and take what’s ours?”
I glanced at Menace. He didn’t blink, didn’t even move. The wolf in him had learned patience.
Callum aimed the gun, finger white on the trigger.
Bronc reacted before anyone else did. One second he was in his seat; the next he was airborne, all six foot three inches and two hundred thirty pounds of him. He hit Callum at full speed, tackling him into the aisle. The gun went off; the shot ricocheting up to the ceiling, a chunk of old stone raining down onto the benches.
They hit the floor hard. Callum rolled, caught Bronc with the butt of the pistol, but Bronc already had his handslocked around Callum’s wrist. They wrestled for it, a tangle of limbs and spit, until Bronc wrenched the gun free and tossed it across the floor.
Callum went for Bronc’s throat. It was animal, desperate, the same rage that had fueled every day of his life. He only managed to bite his forearm, hard, drawing blood. Bronc didn’t scream. He just slammed his forehead into Callum’s nose twice until the cartilage shattered and blood spattered both of them. Then Bronc locked his hands around Callum’s neck and squeezed.
The struggle was brief, brutal, and final.
Callum’s eyes bulged. His heels drummed against the floor once, twice, then went still. Bronc didn’t let go. Not until the guards came and pried his hands off, leaving Callum’s body limp and leaking blood onto the pristine marble.
A silence followed, heavy as a tomb. Bronc staggered to his feet, breathing hard. He straightened his jacket, took a tissue from Juliet and wiped the blood from his face, and casually walked back to his seat. He never looked at me. Never looked at the carnage. He just sat and waited for the world to resume.
The Chairwoman banged the gavel again, louder this time. “Let it be recorded,” she said, voice trembling, “that the challenge to the throne has ended. The blood debt is paid.”
She picked up the silver circlet and set it on my head. It was heavier than it looked.
The crowd erupted, not in applause, but in the low, dangerous hum of power acknowledging itself. Every face turned to us, some in awe, some in terror, all knowing that the world had shifted, and that from here on out, there was no going back.
Menace leaned close, lips brushing my ear. “There will be no other fucking queen like you,” he whispered.
I believed him.
I stood there, bleeding inside, crowned before a chamber of monsters and saints.
It fit better than I ever dreamed.
They gave Callum’s body five minutes before the staff swept it from the marble. The blood lingered longer—a thin, glistening rivulet that ran through the cracks, pooling under the table where the Chairwoman sat. She ignored it. By the time the reception started, someone had scattered enough sand and salt to soak up the worst of it.
We didn’t leave the dais, not right away. There were formalities, a dozen of them, each one more senseless than the last: the stamping of seals, the witnessing of signatures, the muttered oaths between new lieges and their would-be subjects. My mouth tasted like rust, and my heart had slowed to a tired, exhausted crawl.
But when the doors opened for the reception, everything changed. The world rushed in: kingdom envoys in strange, tailored suits, vampires with blood-wet lips, the rare witch who floated across the floor without ever quite touching it. Goblets of wine—red, of course—passed from hand to hand, and the food was a parade of things I barely recognized, each more decadent than the last.
Menace stayed close, always within a hand’s reach, but he let the other monsters come. Rafe was the first, his hug a backslap that would have caved my ribs if I’d been human. He didn’t even bother to hide his delight at being alive and watching someone else do the fighting for a change.
Kazimir shook Menace’s hand next, then kissed my knuckles, lips cool as ice. “If you ever grow tired of dis one, you may call me,” he said, voice soft but knife-sharp.
Menace just snorted. “You wish, bloodsucker.”
Then there was Juliet. She wore Iron Valor red now, the shade of love and heat, her mouth stained with pink and her laugh bigger than her body. She hugged me so hard I thought I’d shatter,then whispered, “You did it, Red. You’re really fucking free.” Her eyes were misty, but not from crying. Just from too much emotion for one body to hold.
The party swirled around us, a hurricane of old money and new wounds. I watched the Council members maneuver—some to congratulate, others to glare, all of them already running the numbers in their heads. Some handshakes were a threat; some smiles, omens.
There were moments of beauty, too: the glass windows throwing shards of morning sun across the floor, the old paintings flickering in the torchlight, the music that thrummed from a string quartet at the edge of the room. Even the food had a strange, animal poetry to it—slabs of rare meat, pomegranate seeds glinting like spilled blood, hunks of cheese so pungent they nearly walked off the table.
Menace and I played our roles, king and queen, but the wolf in both of us stayed wary, never relaxing, believing in the adage: trust but verify.
When the last of the guests had either drunk themselves senseless or been carried out, a guard summoned us to a side chamber. It was smaller, lined with books, the table set for only a handful of people.
Rafe and Kazimir waited there, along with Bronc, Juliet, and the Chairwoman. The air was thick with the smell of coffee and cigar smoke. Kazimir poured himself a glass of clear liquor, took a seat, and gestured for us to do the same.
