Chapter 3 Freedom from Politics
Casimir Cimmerian
My brothers and I walked through the grand doors of the vampire palace, trailing dirt, dire rat guts, and, in Zane’s case, a thin string of mozzarella.
Gilded chandeliers cast a too-bright glow over the velvet-draped hall, making the three of us look even more out of place than usual.
We were weapons entering an art museum, filthy combat boots on marble floors polished to a mirror sheen.
Father sat at the far end of his office, black hair slicked back, wearing a suit that probably cost more than most people’s homes.
One leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled, gaze unreadable.
He still couldn’t be bothered to stand when we entered the room.
Not that I expected it or even wanted it.
Better to know exactly where we stood with him.
Somewhere below his perfectly polished oxfords.
His silver eyes raked over our disheveled appearance, then he exhaled heavily through his nose.
“I have an entire staff for some reason.”
“Sweet.” Zane wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smirked. “They can clean the floor, then.”
“To be fair, this is better than last time,” I pointed out. Last time being when we’d shown up covered in manticore venom after a very nasty hunt in Arizona. Three servants had quit on the spot. “And you did say immediately.”
Father flicked his gaze toward a line of waiting attendants, stiff-backed, blank-faced vampires holding fresh clothes and towels. The kind of unnecessary luxury that reminded me why we’d chosen a crumbling apartment over anything he might offer.
“Go. Clean up.”
I didn’t move. Neither did my brothers.
This moment was critical, a microcosm of our larger relationship.
If we jumped at his first command, it set the tone for everything that followed.
Father’s expression didn’t shift, but I caught the minute tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes.
He wasn’t in the mood to argue, and neither was I, but this wasn’t about making a scene.
It was about reminding him we weren’t lapdogs to be summoned and scolded.
Five seconds. Ten. The silence stretched between us, crackling with a century of his power and twenty-two years of our resentment.
Zane broke first. Not to obey, but to draw out the moment. He reached into the pizza box he’d carried in, grabbed the final slice, and bit into it with exaggerated enjoyment. A drop of sauce hit the marble floor, and Father’s left eye twitched.
Finally, I sighed. The sooner we found out what he wanted, the sooner we could get out of here. Stalking over to the servants, I grabbed a set of clothes from one and turned toward the shower room.
“Come on,” I said to my brothers. “Let’s wash off the peasant.”
Neither Koa nor Zane argued. They knew when to follow my lead, just as I knew when to follow theirs. Three parts of a single machine, calibrated over years of survival.
As I peeled off my gear, the sound of metal and leather hitting the floor rang sharp against the marble. Four knives, two rifle mags, my sword, and six throwing stars.
“You ever consider lightening the load,” Zane teased, his amber eyes sparkling with mischief, “or do you just enjoy sounding like a walking armory?”
That was rich, since his own pile wasn’t that much smaller than mine. Just less sharp things and more bang-bang things.
“What can I say?” I stepped under the steaming water, slicking my long blond hair back from my face. “I like being prepared.”
“For what? A war?” Zane flopped onto a nearby bench, stretching out like he owned the place. Or didn’t give a shit that the vampire king did.
That made Ko grunt, which was close to communication as he was going to get while we were here.
If Zane and I disliked Father, Ko despised him.
The feeling was mutual, from what I could tell.
Our little brother had always been the one to push back hardest, to question orders, to challenge authority.
Father had broken bones trying to break that spirit. He’d failed.
I envied that sometimes, Ko’s ability to feel everything so deeply.
I’d learned to lock those parts of myself away early, compartmentalizing until I could see every situation as a tactical problem to solve rather than an emotional minefield to navigate.
It made me efficient. It also made me cold, at least according to Zane.
Father probably saw it as his greatest success in ‘molding’ me.
The thought made my stomach turn.
“What do you think he wants?” Ko whispered, rinsing his hair.
His demeanor had shifted from barely restrained fury to focused calculation. He was gearing up for battle, mental rather than physical.
“Nothing good,” I replied, equally soft. “But we handle it like always. Assess, decide, execute.”
“And if we don’t like his offer?” Zane piped up.
“Then we counter with our own terms.” I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. “Stay alert. Watch for tells. And for night’s sake, Zane, try not to antagonize him more than necessary this time!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he grinned, but there was an edge to it.
Zane used humor like a shield, deflecting attention from how carefully he observed everything around him. He was smarter than he let on, more strategic than his chaos suggested. Which is why I knew he’d listen when it mattered, despite his protests.
Within fifteen minutes, we were clean, dressed, and as composed as we were going to get.
The palace servants had worked minor miracles, finding clothes and shoes that fit our varying builds.
Trousers and button-downs and moon-damned dress shoes, although Zane had immediately rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his collar in silent protest.
Father didn’t waste time with pleasantries when we stepped back into his office significantly less bloodstained.
He leaned forward in his chair, fingers laced together like a man about to make a business deal, which was fine with me.
Treating him strictly like another client was always an acceptable approach.
The tension in the room was knife-edge sharp, every word and gesture carrying weight. I catalogued exits, personnel, Father’s body language. He wanted something from us, something specific. The question was whether the price would be worth paying.
A detached part of my mind noted the new painting behind his desk.
A stormy landscape, all harsh lines and tumultuous skies.
A gift from the new queen, perhaps? I’d heard rumors about Kaori, Father’s second beloved.
Sebastian spoke highly of her in his calls and texts, which meant either she was genuinely decent or she had our half-brother thoroughly manipulated.
I was betting on the former. Very few creatures could fool Sebastian, thank the night.
Father cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to the matter at hand. I settled into a chair across from him, positioning myself so I could see both the door and the window without turning my head. Old habits.
Ko remained standing, arms crossed, silent sentinel at my right shoulder. Zane sprawled in the chair to my left, deceptively relaxed, one finger tapping a rhythm against my thigh that I recognized as Morse code: “Bullshit incoming.”
We were ready, a unified front against whatever he was about to propose. It had always been the three of us against the world, especially when that world included our father.
“I have a proposal for you.” He didn’t bat an eye. “A marriage proposal.”
For a rare moment, I was caught off guard. Even Zane, whose mouth ran loud and often, was silent with shock. It didn’t last long, though.
“Cruor. That’s new.” He blinked, then tilted his head. “Usually, you just sell us to the highest bidder.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Father murmured. “This is a strategic alliance, nothing more.”
“Elaborate,” I said, keeping my voice neutral even as my mind raced through every possible angle.
Marriage meant leverage, connection, opportunity, but also vulnerability, commitment, and emotional entanglement. The cost-benefit analysis was already running in my mind, but I needed more data.
Father explained that the Dark witch, Arabesque Harrow, wanted a truce with the vampire court and suggested a marriage between their houses to seal it.
That got my attention. Arabesque was more than just a powerful magic user.
She was ambitious, ruthless, and, worst of all, intelligent.
If she wanted an alliance with our father, it wasn’t for anything good.
I ran through what I knew about her. Claimed her family coven at sixteen.
Responsible for several bloodline curses.
Attempted conquest of the South American Court six years ago.
Wasn’t seen again until a witches’ conference in Grand Rapids a year later.
Disappeared off the map again immediately after.
Too many unknowns. I didn’t like it.
“Okay, now I’m even more confused.” Zane scrubbed one hand through his damp red hair, messing it up even more than usual. “Why do you want to play nice with a Dark witch who’s on multiple watch lists?”
“Because I want to know what she’s up to,” Father replied, silver eyes glinting.
Ah. So that was it. A strategic move. He wasn’t trying to bind us to Arabesque; he was trying to use us to gain knowledge. To spy on her. The game board shifted in my mind, pieces rearranging.
“She’s planning something,” Father continued. “Something significant. And she believes it will take under a year to complete. I intend to find out what it is.”
“And marrying one of her daughters helps with that?” I asked.
“At the very least, you can gain insight into her and her household from your bride. Maybe even discover some useful information about whatever she’s plotting. No one wants another Buenos Aires incident.”