CHAPTERONE
An explosive silence hummed in Cassandra Fortin’s ears, as if the Emperor’s catastrophic greeting had blown her mind to pieces.
Tristan Saros was Emperor Erabis’s brother.
Her rebellious, borderline treasonous friend—who had not only once caught her breaking the Empire’s laws, but knew she’d committed many such crimes—was a member of the Imperial family.
Holy High Gods.
She’d kissed a member of the Imperial family.
Had done dangerously sexy things with a member of the Imperial family.
Waslivingwith a member of the Imperial family.
She really needed to stop thinking the wordsImperial familybefore she fainted.
Though the resemblance between the Emperor and the gorgeous, kind, funny warrior beside her was evidence enough, she found it hard to believe that Tristan was related to a male with such notorious disdain for humans.
The Emperor’s only kindness towards her species in the scant two years of his reign had been his upholding of the Accords, the peace treaty that had forced the humans to abandon the continent and crowd together onto the colonies. A hefty price, but one they’d been all too relieved to pay, given the alternative—the decimation of their species due to unrestricted emotion feedings by the Fae.
Locked in some silent, psychological battle, neither Tristan nor the Emperor breathed or blinked as the tension thickened in Vicereine Lykan’s stark, white office.
The Vicereine cleared her throat, gesturing to her leather chair. “Your Imperial Majesty, please have a seat. Take mine.”
Emperor Erabis sniffed, breaking his brother’s gaze and rustling his feathers—the gesture so reminiscent of Tristan that Cassandra’s heart squeezed—then settled into the chair, intertwining his long fingers atop the glass desk.
Tristan refused to sit. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Daggers shot from the Vicereine’s ice-blue eyes.
“Oh, Tristan,” the Emperor chuckled, stirring his short, unruly black waves. “Broadcasting your feelings as baldly as ever, I see.”
“My hatred for you is not easily masked.” Tristan’s threatening grin exposed his sharp, snow-white canines.
“Sitdown.” The Emperor summoned wind into the room, rattling the desk and blowing back Cassandra’s hair. She toppled into her chair, and Tristan reluctantly followed.
The Vicereine remained standing, a portrait of unruffled calm. Already privy to Tristan’s heritage, no doubt. She draped a hand on the Emperor’s chair, behind his wings. A bold, familiar move that he did not correct.
“Why are you in the colonies?” The arms of Tristan’s chair groaned as he clenched them.
“Is a ruler not allowed to visit his subjects?” The Emperor twirled an onyx ring on his finger, the one bearing the sigil of the Empire—a Typhon-steel broadsword bracketed by feathered wings and radiating lines.
Tristan scoffed. “You’ve been theirrulerfor two years and haven’t deigned to set foot here.”
“Maybe I just wanted to personally thank my dear brother for uncovering Councilor Rosopa’s plot to overthrow me.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” Tristan white-knuckled his fists into his thighs, refusing to meet Cassandra’s questioning gaze. “Unfortunate side effect of saving several mortal women.”
“Still harboring quite a fondness for them, aren’t you?” The Emperor eyed Cassandra, his upper lip curling. She returned a blank look, unwilling to let him believe he’d insulted her. “Based on those doe-eyes she’s aiming at me, she didn’t have a clue who you were, did she?”
Cassandra bit her tongue, fighting the urge to lash out at him for speaking about her as if she weren’t even there. But she didn’t dare look to Tristan, didn’t dare confirm that the Emperor had guessed correctly.
The Emperor’s fudging brother.
Her heart hammered in her chest.
“What is she to you?” the Emperor asked.
