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“Yes,” Lucan said at last, voice thick as if drunk. “Yes, our master will desire a show indeed. Thank you, Senna, for telling me of his arrival when none of these feynthak will. It seems since my absence, this court has become far too comfortable.”

Senna snickered at his side as he extended a long, bone-white arm and pointed out Anileta, now spinning in circles in the arms of a vampire dressed in flowing silk robes, purples and deep greens complementing his golden hair. Her long tresses shimmered like an oil spill as her partner lifted her into the air. Lucan noted how one hand cupped her inner thigh.

“They will make an excellent example, my prince. She fancies herself a ruler ruthless enough to replace our hallowed Blooded Prince.” Senna curled his mouth into a sneer, fangs scraping across his lower lip. “She takes him into your bed, Lucan.”

Lucan hissed.

He didn’t care who the countess dragged to her bed or that she only fucked him out of a misplaced sense of loyalty. Even her attempt to take his throne was of little consequence to him—gods knew he never wanted the thing.

But to defile his bedroom? His sanctuary? The one place Aurelion granted him, left untainted by his malicious love, as he called it.

And now the godsdamned bitch thought it was hers.

“Fantastic form, my sweet!” Lucan called out as Anileta caught his gaze. She froze, a look of terror cracking her porcelain face. In a hushed voice, he spoke again to Senna. “You know what to do.”

Senna slipped away into the shadows, a dutiful servant until the end. Lucan made a mental note to ensure a young thing still with her maidenhood intact waited for the chamberlain the next evening. At least someone in this forsaken land, baptized in blood, could still be trusted.

But for how long?

Before Lucan could let the nagging thought take root, the soft, stringed instruments stopped abruptly, and a hush fell over the court. Chills spread across his arms, gooseflesh rising as every fiber of his being twisted with dread. His throat closed, and though he did not need to breathe, he suddenly began choking, muscles spasming until his head shook.

The heavy wooden doors inlaid with a vast, golden sun groaned over rock, hinges creaking in protest.

A torrent of wind filled the Blooded Court, warm and thick with the cloying scent of vanilla and melons. Soft rustles of silk and velvet followed as a hundred and more vampires sank to the floor.

Then, the strike of a cane.

Tok…tok…tok.

The golden tip clicked against marble, followed by the soft footfalls of heeled boots.

Lucan slowly lifted his gaze. Gods, his mouth was so dry. He reached for the bloodwine, then remembered his goblet had fallen earlier—godsdamned elf. Swallowing hard, he plastered a warm smile on his face and bobbed his head.

Billowing shadows slowly revealed the tall, lean form of the Bloodlord Aurelion. Honey-amber hair spilled over his shoulders, kept away from his face by a crown of small braids threaded with spun gold. Rings heavy with rubies, emeralds, and sunstones glittered upon his elegant fingers. Behind him, his blackish crimson cloak spilled like fresh blood.

The Beautiful Kiss of Death, he was once called.

The thought rose unbidden, laced with hate and malice.

Smiling, the Bloodlord Aurelion continued walking in silence. Every vampire pressed themselves closer to the floor. Though he ached to resist, so too did Lucan.

“Father,” his voice bellowed out even as he sank to the marble. The wretched name scraped raw against his throat. Somewhere, another part of Lucan died.

“My son.” Warm amusement colored his voice, as if Lucan had just pulled a rare laugh from his terminally somber master.

Tok.

Tok.

Tok.

Lucan kept his gaze fixed to the floor as Aurelion began to ascend the dais.

“I am pleased to see you,” Aurelion purred. A hand settled on top of Lucan’s head. It took everything in him not to flinch. “I worried you may not return this time.”

Worry.

The godsdamned bastard was such a perfect liar, Lucan almost believed his words. But then he tasted the burning of silvered blood in his mouth, and he only wished to spit in Aurelion’s face.