Prologue
Yophiel Borghese, heir to the Northern Vampire Sect, stood in a throne room made opulent by greed and blood. Gold was inlaid in every surface, jewels encrusted in furniture that had no business sporting such rubies and emeralds as if they were as rich as the Sect. It was all an illusion, a very clever one his father had been using for centuries now. The richer someone appeared to be, the more power they had. Phi hated to agree that it worked, though it instilled fear more than respect. He didn’t agree with the tactic, would much prefer the members of the Sect to respect him, but his father, the King, didn’t care for such things.
Blood. That was the only proper way to handle things. And if blood was not drawn, then a point was not made. The King was cruel, ruthless, and was due to step down from the throne any given day. Phi had been raised to take that position, but he was not a fool. He knew his father would not step down from the throne so easily, not when he was choked by such greed.
Before Phi, Arden Ryker kneeled on the ground, bound by chains. Arden had been Phi’s best friend since they were children, even if Arden was considered beneath him. Phi had seen what many others had not. Arden may have been made from the streets, but he was a force to be reckoned with. The King had never liked the mongrel Phi sullied himself with, but when that mongrel began gaining power quickly, making connections with other Sects, bringing in more money than he knew what to do with, the King started to pay attention. Phi had tried to tell Arden to stop, to slow down, but the vamp was stubborn. Now, they were before the King, facing a problem they had expected, though they had hoped it would have happened further along, once Phi finally took the throne.
Arden was still bleeding despite his healing abilities. It made Phi’s stomach turn, though he hid it well. If Arden was still sporting wounds and healing so slowly, the torture he must have endured was great. They’d chained him like a dog, all for being Phi’s friend and being clever when it came to networking and investments. They’d wanted him to hurt, and hurt he’d been. Though fury filled Phi’s chest, he hid it away. He could not show just how much he cared about his best friend. That would reveal a weakness, and that was something the future king could not have.
“There’s no reason to kill an asset,” Phi said, his voice calm and smooth, devoid of emotion. There could be no clues to his care, or his father would strike like the viper he was.
The King tilted his head, the heavy golden crown upon it glinting in the light. The jewels along the rim were earned by blood and betrayal, each one signifying a fallen King. The Northern Sect was the largest, but that wasn’t by design. It was by brutality.
“Are you sure it’s not because you care for the mongrel?” the King asked, raising his brow in threat. He had to know Phi would not reveal such a weakness, but he still tried, hoping for a crack.
“I assure you, Father, I only look at the vamp as an asset I can use to my advantage. I would not have him destroyed, for one day, when I rule, he will be a good slave.” The words tasted like ash in Phi’s throat, but they had to be said. Arden would never be anyone’s slave—Phi knew that—but to the King, that’s all he was good for. Phi had to play the part to get them both out of the chamber alive.
Arden’s eyes flashed at the words, but Phi didn’t look at him, knowing if he did, he’d reveal his hand. Care was far harder to hide when looking at the one cared for. Phi was good, had been trained by the best, but his father would call his penchant for care a weakness. Phi considered it a strength, but it was a strength that needed to be hidden away until he was calling the shots.
The King was silent for a moment, studying Phi intently, searching for a crack to weasel his way in through. Phi knew he had been trained well when the King leaned back and steepled his finger before him, content with what he saw, but there was still a glint in his eyes that Phi knew was bad. Whatever the King would say next would determine their future.
“It’s nearly time for you to take your place, Yophiel, but I haven’t decided if I’m going to step down or not. Until that decision has been made, I will remain King.”
The fury increased and Phi just barely held himself restrained, his hands folded behind his back like the picture of ease. He’d expected this, was prepared for it, but it still did not soften the blow of his father saying the words. His father would never give the crown over willingly, despite tradition. No matter that Phi had been groomed his entire life for the position. At the age of three hundred and seven, he was more than ready to take his rightful place as King, but his father would sooner kill him than allow the crown to be taken from his aging head.
“A wager then?” Phi said, his tone still just as emotionless.
The King perked up at the words, but Arden tensed, his head whipping toward Phi despite the chains around his neck.
“No—” Arden’s protests were cut off by a sudden grunt of pain. It took everything in Phi not to react when he realized the guard had stabbed his friend to silence him. Phi didn’t flinch, couldn’t, but he marked the guard out well for later.
“The Race Games are coming up next month, to begin again. How appropriate that it’s the Blood Rite for this round.”
“Are you suggesting you race?” the King asked with a raised brow. His wrinkled face belied his age despite being a vampire. At some point, even the oldest vampires showed their centuries.
“I will race in the games,” Phi agreed. “With Arden as my chosen teammate and one other of my choosing. And if we win, not only will I have earned the Blood Rite, but you’ll pass the crown to me as things were meant to progress. Arden will live as the asset I wish.”
The King hummed, glee in his eyes. “And if you lose?”
Phi shrugged. “Then you can do what you wish. I will remain a Prince until you choose otherwise.”
“Oh no,” the King said, shaking his head. “We need higher stakes than that, Yophiel.” The King’s eyes trailed to Arden where he kneeled chained on the floor and those dark orbs glinted. Phi tensed, sensing the direction of his father’s thoughts, but still, he was not prepared for the words. “If you lose, Arden will be put to a public and permanent death. And you will renounce your title to the throne completely, leaving me as the one and true King forever. And if you die in the games, then even better.”
“No!” Arden growled despite the guard thrusting the knife into his side again.
But Phi never flinched, seeing the only true path before them. There would be no other option. Either they raced and Arden lived, or they didn’t, and he died. There would be no in-between. Phi glanced at Arden, saw the worry in his eyes even while hiding his own, before looking back at his father and raising his chin.
His answer echoed through the throne room like a seal.
“It is struck.”