Dusk was fast approaching by the time I finished penning the last letter. Dropping the wax onto the fold, I waited a moment, then stamped my signet ring into it. The three skulled sigil of House Vrak stared back at me when I pulled it away.

I called for my sentries again. They entered, hands on the hilts of their weapons. After a quick scan of the space, the leader asked, “What do you need, sir?”

“Take these and distribute them. Ensure that each party accompanies you back to Gyor. Settle them in the grand ballroom,” I instructed with practiced precision.

“Yes, My Kral,” he confirmed. “Anything else?”

“Have your Parancsok meet me there. We have some things to plan.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, then distributed piles of notes to those behind him. While many of the nobility were in the capital, the Kormánzó on the southern plains were not in residence. Since I’d recently appointed the one that oversaw Stryi, I didn’t have to doubt his loyalty. In fact, I’d chosen him specifically because he’d been so fervent in his attempts to garner my favor.

I wrote him a note separately, instructing him to carry out a similar test of loyalty to me in the south, and to execute anyone who refused to profess their devotion to me as their Kral.

Satisfied, I grabbed my sword, securing the scabbard around my waist, then lifted my crown from the pedestal in the far corner. The plush velvet had a permanent ring from the weight of it.

Settling it over my brow, I ensured it wouldn’t fall with a quick shove down my head. Then, I fixed my hair atop it so it was tidy. My attire wasn’t as formal as I would have liked, but that was no problem. I didn’t want to stain my best clothing with the blood of the male who raped Kiira.

Grabbing the final note, I set out for the aviary, which was thankfully on the way to the grand ballroom. The Parancsok of the Kral’s guard was already waiting by the time I strode inside.

“Prepare a pyre in the courtyard,” I commanded, my tone cold. He spun away from the windows facing the very place and eyed me warily.

“May I ask why?” he pressed. We were as close as a master and servant could be, and while I normally wouldn’t mind his question, I was in no mood for it.

“Because the nobility of the Demon Realm need reminding that I am in charge and that an attack on House Vrak comes with consequences,” I snarled, nails digging into my palm.

“Understood,” he replied, his garnet armor gleaming under the lights of the ballroom.

“And ensure that they see exactly what you are doing while they approach the front doors,” I instructed. This was part of the psychological attack, and it was paramount to snatching their obedience and weaving it to me and only me.

“As you wish. May your thread hold strong, My Kral.” He swept into a bow before striding out through the large glass doors.

I surveyed the ballroom, devoid of life save for myself. A handful of tables pressed into the far side, behind the gray basalt pillars that held up the floors above. Chairs too were stacked in the shadows. Otherwise, the only adornments were the gilding on the walls.

The real show wouldn’t be in here anyway.

Smacking wood drew my attention to the servants rushed to prepare a pyre outside, the dying sun casting them in an eerie glow. Another group appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later. “My Kral,” the first said, dipping into a low curtsey. “Do you need anything in here?”

“My throne,” I announced. It was the final piece to my regal ensemble, the reminder of who the fuck I was. Unfortunately, its current position didn’t have a view that would serve my purposes.

They scurried away to fetch it from a few rooms over. Minutes after they placed it in the middle of the grand ballroom, the first of the noble houses appeared. House Turrokar, permanently relocated to the capital since the Angels overran their territory, halted as a unit when they saw me lounging atop my throne.

Kormánzó Sorn was the first to step forward and greet me. “We have come at your urgent request, My Kral.”

“Find a place to stand while we wait for the others.” I waved my hand as if I were dismissing a fly from my presence. He gathered his family and relocated them out of my sight. Their whispers echoed in the empty space before the patriarch shushed them.

Several houses followed after them, receiving the same treatment from me. Tension hung in the air like a thick fog while I waited for the one family I really fucking wanted to see—House Varrir.

They were fashionably late, as always preferring to make an entrance. I masked a smile behind rough knuckles. I’d counted on their pompousness, and they had delivered.

Orith, the daughter, dipped into a curtsey so low I was surprised her nose didn’t brush the floor. Veilless, with cleavage on full display, I knew exactly what Ollmund’s designs were. Thank the Fates he’d never used his second term to force us into marrying her. Scorned by Rokath, affirmed by Kiira, he was tossing her at my feet instead. But his attempts to close the distance between us were for his own power plays, and not because he revered me as a God among Demons, unlike many others.

“Please stand,” I commanded, my voice hard despite the pleasantry.

“May the Reaper’s eye pass over you, My Kral,” Ollmund purred like he hadn’t fucking assaulted the female I loved.

A muscle feathered in my jaw as I rose to my full height. “Ollmund, just the male I was waiting on.” I kept my voice courtly, not betraying the anger rising within me at the sight of his lecherous face.

“What an honor, My Kral. What have I done to deserve this favor?” he asked, hands folding behind his lower back. He regarded me with a wide, easy stance that told me he didn’t view me as a real threat.

I took a step forward and let out a sinister laugh. “I’m not sure I would call what I am about to rain down on you ‘favor.’”

The gathered nobles sucked in a sharp breath.

Ollmund’s bushy brows dipped together. “I’m not sure I un–”

Before he could finish his sentence, I stepped forward and punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, wheezing. I didn’t hesitate to throw an uppercut to his jaw, launching him backward. With a groan, he curled up on the ground, still clutching his abdomen.

I stomped on his lower leg with all my might, the crunch under my boot echoing around the ballroom with a satisfying crunch.

A few screams tore from the throats of the ladies of the court, horrified by my violence. They were unaccustomed to such actions. They’d forgotten I’d trained at the military academy for decades and had done patrols on the border for years before returning to Uzhhorod.

Just because I didn’t personally lead the army didn’t mean I couldn’t knock them about.

I dragged my attention away from the pathetic male at my feet, finding his wife and daughter with their hands clasped over their mouths and backing away. “I have received many notes these past days,” I boomed, scanning the crowd with a dark expression. “Though none have been so self righteous as Ollmund Varrir’s.” Not necessarily true, but if he attempted to convince the others to believe him over me, I’d have his tongue. “The Fates have demanded these changes themselves. Why else would they have sent the Szélhámos to mate the Halálhívó? Just today I received word from the High Priestess of their battle prowess. How they took on thousands single handedly and won!”

They’d read Kiira’s full, dramatized account soon enough.

“But that is not why I gathered you here.”

The room fell so silent that when a piece of metal clinked against the floor, many jumped.

“Ollmund Varrir has assaulted a member of House Vrak.” I let the words sink in and snapped my attention back to the male at my feet. He’d gone utterly still. Beneath his weathered skin, he paled. The wrinkles around the corner of his mouth deepened, along with the ones on his forehead.