The air changed—thicker carpet, corridor walls dressed in old portraits that watched like judges. Every Crow who’d ever thought they were untouchable glared down.
I didn’t look up as we walked.
Damius’ office sat at the far end, positioned like a throne room that never bothered pretending it wasn’t. The door was open.
He didn’t need privacy.
He needed witnesses.
Damius lifted his gaze from the papers on his desk as we entered. Hands folded neatly, gold ring catching the light. His expression didn’t shift, but his eyes did—already calculating what kind of damage had driven both of us up here.
“You don’t visit,” he stated loudly.
“You’re usually busy,” Nikolai stepped in just far enough to be respectful, not submissive. “We thought Villain’s future warranted an interruption.”
We.
He’d done that on purpose—pulled me into the sentence, spread the weight.
Damius leaned back slowly. “Future,” he repeated, tasting the word. “Sit.”
I pulled the chair opposite his desk out and sat. Nik took the one beside me, a half-step back, the way he did when he wanted to let me carry the threat while he carried the argument.
“So, my grandsons decide to visit the dynasty floor. Why.”
“Villain’s future,” I said, voice flat.
His attention tightened, almost pleased.
“You manage Villain,” he replied. “That’s your domain.”
“It’s our inheritance,” I corrected. “And someone is about to buy a back door into it.”
His fingers tapped once against the desk. “Which crest.”
“Marcellus.” Nikolai answered this time.
The name landed between us like a lit match.
Damius’ mouth twisted. “So-called royalty.”
“They believe it,” Nik said. “That’s the problem.”
A short, humorless sound left Damius. “They’ve ridden reputation for generations. Second dynasty inked into the sovereign codex, and they’ve never shut up about it.”
I let him taste the hate as he said it. Let him remember all the times Marcellus had flaunted that line in front of him.
“We were third,” he added. “We didn’t need pageantry to be feared.”
“They want operations in Villain,” I dragged him back before he could drown in history. “They’ll start polite. Partnerships. Board seats. Donations. Then they’ll buy leverage. Then they’ll push politics.”
Damius’ gaze flicked toward the window. “And they’ll use the Thornes as cover.”
“Yes, Marco’s been edging his way into our courts for years. He plays at respect while he counts profit.”
“He ties assets under his daughter’s name,” Nik added, watching Damius carefully. “Nearly all of them. It looks like protection. Or positioning. Either way, if she merges, his dynasty moves with her.”
Damius didn’t blink. “He’s always implied he’d only merge her to the right crest. Briefly.”
