He laughs, a sharp, stupid sound. “The Council will never give you a throne. Doesn’t matter if it’s your blood right. You’re not a leader. You’re a rabid dog, and they’ll put you down long before they hand you reins.”
My fist snaps forward before I even register the thought—but Raze yanks me back a half-second before impact, dragging me off Alistair as Dalton rushes in to shove the bastard out of the path of my swing.
“Not here. We’ll teach the dick a lesson later,” Raze grunts as I rip my arm free.
“Fuck you, Raze,” Alistair spits, chest heaving. “Commander Whitney will have your head for a comment like that.”
Raze shoves him hard against the wall, “Don’t fucking threaten me, Alistair. I don’t give a shit who yourdaddyis. I’ll gut you like a fish and wear your skin like a goddamn jacket if you ever speak to Priest like that again. Keep his name outta your fucking mouth.”
Dalton drags Alistair away, muttering, “Jesus Christ, the two of you are gonna get yourselves killed.” He pushes him through the crowd toward the far side of the bar.
Raze laughs as they vanish. “I’m not dying until I see Alistair’s pretty-boy head mounted on a spike.”
I grunt, snatching a shot off a passing tray and knocking it back in one swallow. The burn does nothing to settle me. Not when my blood’s already boiling.
“I didn’t need your help,” I mutter.
“I know you could’ve pulverized Alistair, but he wasn’t wrong,” he says, grabbing his own drink. “You fucked up enough tonight already. You’re reckless. If you can’t control your rage, someone else will do it for you.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, eyes scanning back to the back. She’s still there.
“I’m not trying to control it. I’m trying to let it loose.”
“And I’m guessing you’ve already picked your target.” He follows my gaze, his grin spreading on his tatted face when he spots her.
Raze doesn’t come from a Sovereign background, not an heir to a leadership position, no legacy blood. He’s a street dog turned soldier, plucked out of the French Foreign Legion after they booted his ass. Men like him—broken, violent, and with nothing left to lose—are exactly the kind the Sovereign thrives on.
He doesn’t wait for confirmation, that grin of his stretches wider.
She’s a fucking problem.
But she’ll make abeautifullesson.
“Did you mean what you told the Senator?” His voice cuts through my thoughts.
“The blood eagle?”
“No.” He turns to look at me. “About taking over. You gonna take your throne when Sterling’s dead?”
I roll the gum in my mouth, the mint bite cutting through the bitter taste on my tongue.
“I told him what he needed to hear.”
“But you meant it. About dismantling the whole fucking empire. Killing Kelly. Blowing it all to hell.”
I exhale slowly. Fists collide in the pit behind us, bones crack, blood sprays—and it’s still not enough to quiet what’s inside me.
“I’ve always meant it.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then huffs a humorless laugh. “You’re one sick fuck, you know that?”
“I’m aware.”
“Maybe youarefit to lead,” he mutters. “The South’s weak. Sterling’s too busy shining shoes and sucking up to politicians to see the rot. What we need is a Sovereign who kills first and talks never.”
I don’t respond. I’m already gone—my gaze locked on her.
Because all I see is a body on the floor, a scream torn from her throat, blood smeared across her lips. I see pain. I see submission. I see her broken.
