Chapter 6
Sidney
I held my head high and walked toward the massive iron gates. The skirt of my modified dress flowed like liquid shadow behind me. All entrants were gathered in a loose group before the entrance, and I took my place amongst them.
The line moved forward into the great hall, past guards stationed at precise intervals along the walls. Their crimson uniforms blazed against the dark stone, each figure standing at perfect attention with hands resting on sword hilts.
Above us, whispers drifted down from the elevated galleries, where clusters of well-dressed spectators leaned against the ornate railings.
A woman in sapphire silk gestured toward a contestant three places ahead of me, her companion nodding as they exchanged quiet words and a small purse sagging with coins.
At ground level, more spectators had gathered along the sides of the hall, some pressed against the pillars while others stood in clusters near the tapestried walls.
A vampire draped in velvet extended a jeweled finger toward the nervous-looking woman before me, causing his nearby companions to chuckle softly as silver pieces clinked between palms.
A young woman in emerald velvet whispered something to her escort, both of them studying the line with calculating eyes. I caught fragments of their speculation: “too thin,” “promising,” “won't last through the first trial.” Soon, he pressed a handful of gold into her gloved hand.
I swept my gaze across both the watching crowd and the guards’ faces, cataloging threats and weaknesses. My breath froze in my lungs.
The third guard from the left, his pale hair slicked back, wore a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Steve.
My stomach lurched, and my vision tunneled. The room faded at the edges until only his face remained in sharp focus. His dark eyes flickered. In their reflection, I saw myself as a child.
“Hold still, little princess,” he said. His smirk tightened. He thought he was in control, that I would freeze, break, or beg.
I lunged, snapping at him with my tiny fangs. But the restraints limited my movements before I could draw his blood.
“High Priest Bruvor’s orders.” The leather strap bit into my wrists as he finished securing me to the chair, his fingers lingering longer than necessary on my skin. “He wants the special essence in your dirty blood."
The first cut was shallow, almost gentle. A test. When I didn’t scream, his eyes lit up with genuine delight. “Oh, we’re going to have such fun together.”
The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.
The scent of leather and old stone filled my nostrils.
It was all so real, as if I were still a child and back in that chair.
My wrists burned as if the straps were still there, cutting off circulation.
My breathing came in short, sharp bursts, and I had to count to keep from hyperventilating in my borrowed attire.
I forced myself to maintain Ilyana’s measured stride, even as my hands trembled with the urge to reach for the stakes hidden beneath my skirts. Steve’s gaze swept over me without recognition. Why would he suspect that the girl he’d tortured now stood before him in aristocratic finery?
When I could, I’d find him. And I would show him what I’d learned from the Temple of Aetherius in the years since our last encounter.
The contestants approached the artifact in the center of the cavernous room, forming a loose semicircle.
On a black velvet cushion sat the object of their focus: a round flask of clear crystal, wrapped in silver filigree that shimmered like frost beneath moonlight. A chain was wound around its neck.
Inside, a single crimson bead drifted with languid grace through a sea of iridescent liquid, never still, never settling. It swirled in hypnotic spirals, casting faint ruby shadows that danced across the surface of the crystal.
Even untouched, it thrummed with a subtle, unsettling presence.
Beside it stood a figure who drew every eye.
Broad-shouldered and tall, he held himself with the ease of someone who never needed to raise his voice to be obeyed.
Torchlight vanished into his dark brown skin, while his tailored black coat, patterned with charcoal vine-work, clung to him like a shadow.
His finery molded to every contour, the high collar framing his chiseled jaw. Silver embroidery traced the rigid planes of his chest and the lean taper of his waist, each thread catching the light with understated luxury. When he turned, maroon eyes swept the room.
“Welcome, candidates.” The greeting erupted from his throat, but the sound split in two.
Beneath his baritone vibrated a second, ethereal voice that echoed with the cold weight of a tomb.
The dual sound rippled through the vast space like a physical tide, anchoring every heart in the room to the spot.
“I am Mathias Lambert, newly selected regent of the Sanguine Court in the wake of our beloved Queen Nemea’s passing.” The dual resonance faded, leaving only his commanding baritone to fill the silence. His words carried a rich, heavy authority that demanded total focus.
My gaze sharpened on him. His name was at the top of the temple’s kill list, and I recognized why. Somehow, he’d surpassed the two kings who’d outlived Nemea to helm the coven until the next queen was crowned.
My grandmother’s council included many ancient vampires who acquired their seats centuries ago and never stood up from them.
The ones she held in the highest esteem were those with powers to augment hers, such as Mathias and his counterpart, Lord Clement Rodgerson.
In her rants about her council, Nemea always spoke well of them.
I’d taken that as a sign to avoid them both.
Mathias stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, studying each of us with the intensity of a predator evaluating its prey.
His eyes swept the room, yet for a fraction of a second, they faltered when they passed me.
“These trials will determine who among you is destined to rise as queen of the House of the Sanguine. Only a vampiress made in Eona’s own image can lead us.
Her Devotion of kings will serve as her will across our territories. ”
He gestured to the flask on its bed of velvet.
“You stand before the Flask of Dominion, an ancient artifact responsible for selecting the worthy to enter the trials for over a millennium. Contained within the Flask is a single drop of the goddess’s blood, preserved through generations.
If accepted, you will each undergo a series of trials designed to test not just your strength, but also your cunning, your will, and your worthiness to lead. ”
His gaze lingered on me a moment longer than on the others, and I felt exposed, certain he could see right through me.
His magic was commonly known—the ability to sense emotions.
Something about me must’ve alerted him to the imposter in his midst. Yet his attention moved on, and I released a breath.
“The trials begin now,” he continued. “With the new moon and the choosing of contestants. From this night forward, you will no longer be daughters of noble houses. You are aspirants to the throne.”
My inspection of him hardened into hatred.
The new regent wasn’t just another obstacle to overcome.
He was Nemea’s right hand, complicit in her reign of terror.
This bloodsucker had stood beside my grandmother, lent his power to her, and tightened the noose of her reign with every command he obeyed.
When the time came to claim my revenge, he would fall alongside her legacy.
“The rules of the Trials of Succession are absolute. No humans. No half-breeds.” His maroon gaze swept the room, dismissive and cold, and lingered on me again with the slightest raise of a brow before moving on.
“Any who attempt to withdraw will be unmade by the artifact. The trials own you now until death. If the Flask admits you, you will proceed to the first trial. If it rejects you…” He smiled, and the expression was sharp enough to cut.
“Well, rejection by the Flask of Dominion is rarely survived.”
My pulse quickened. No half-breeds. Would my disguise fool the magic at work here?
Mathias gestured toward a spot several paces before the artifact. “Form your line here.”
We shuffled into position, each contestant jockeying for their preferred place in the queue. Low murmurs rippled through the ranks: speculation about odds, whispered assessments of weaknesses, fragments of ancient feuds surfacing in hushed tones.
A gentle touch brushed the small of my back, followed by deft fingers tugging at the ties of my dress. Every instinct screamed danger. My hand twitched toward the concealed dagger at my ribs before I caught myself.
“Did your handmaidens let you go out like this?” a voice whispered behind me, amused rather than mocking. The fingers continued adjusting my lacings, tightening where they had come loose during the carriage ride.
I kept still, though I itched to pivot, to assess, to strike. “What are you—”
“Seriously, if any of the others noticed this, you’d be a laughingstock before the first trial even began.” The voice was light, almost singsong, with an undertone of genuine concern. “There. Now no one’s the wiser.”
I turned slowly to face my unexpected ally.
She was striking in the way only vampires could be—pale skin that seemed to glow in the torchlight, hair so blond it was nearly white, and red eyes that sparkled with mischief.
Yet something about her demeanor felt different, less predatory than the others. Almost…human.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, striving to keep Ilyana’s aristocratic tone steady.