10. Lazarus
Mahogany panels line the walls of the Senate chamber, dark and oppressive, while the vaulted ceiling seems designed to make every voice echo with false importance.
I’ve sat through these meetings since I was a teenager, watching my father command this room with the kind of authority that made grown men tremble. Now, I watch my brother fumble through it like a child playing dress-up.
Konstantine sits at the head of the table, exactly where he’s supposed to be.
The Grand Master’s chair, carved from a single piece of oak, inlaid with gold leaf that catches the light from the chandeliers overhead.
He looks the part, I’ll give him that. Perfectly tailored suit, hair styled just right, that easy smile that’s supposed to put everyone at ease.
But beside him sits Ines.
She has no fucking reason to be here. None.
Women aren’t even permitted in this holiest of chambers, so what the fuck is she doing here?
This is a Senate meeting, reserved for the inner circle of the Brethren, for men who’ve earned their place through blood and sacrifice and years of service.
She’s not a member. She doesn’t get a vote yet there she sits, perched in a chair that was dragged in specifically for her, positioned so close to Konstantine that they might as well be sharing his seat.
I force myself to remain still, to keep my expression neutral as Senator Blackwood drones on about territorial disputes in the Far East. My fingers drum against the armrest of my chair, a nervous habit I’ve never been able to break, and I make myself stop.
I can’t show weakness here.
I can’t show irritation either, even though it’s building in my chest like a pressure cooker about to blow.
Blackwood finishes his report and looks to Konstantine for direction. This should be simple, we’ve dealt with territorial disputes a hundred times before. The protocol is clear, the response already predetermined. All Konstantine has to do is give the order.
Instead, he hesitates.
His eyes flick sideways to Ines, so quick that most of the room probably doesn’t catch it, but I do. I see the way he’s seeking her approval, her guidance, like he can’t make a single fucking decision without her blessing.
She leans in, her lips barely moving as she whispers something in his ear. Her hand rests on the table between them, fingers splayed possessively. Konstantine nods, that easy smile widening, and then he addresses the room with whatever solution she’s just fed him.
“We’ll implement a graduated response,” he says, his voice carrying that practiced charm that’s supposed to make everyone forget he’s weak. “Start with economic sanctions, escalate to direct intervention if necessary. Senator Blackwood, I trust you can coordinate with our assets in the region?”
Blackwood nods, though I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. He’s noticed the same thing I have. We all have, probably. The way Konstantine can’t seem to function without her.
The meeting continues. Trade agreements. A dispute over some minor protocol that should have been settled weeks ago. With every topic, I watch the same pattern repeat itself. Konstantine looks to Ines. She whispers. He speaks. Like she’s a fucking ventriloquist, and he’s the dummy on her knee.
It’s pathetic.
He was groomed for this role from birth.
Our father spent decades preparing him, moulding him, teaching him everything he needed to know about leadership, power, and control.
Konstantine should be confident. He should be decisive.
He should command this room the way our father did, with absolute authority that brooks no question.
Instead, he’s a puppet.
Senator Morrison raises a concern about our operations in the southern territories, something about local law enforcement getting too curious, asking too many questions.
It’s a legitimate issue, one that requires careful handling.
Konstantine opens his mouth to respond, then stops.
His gaze shifts to Ines again, that same helpless look of a child seeking mommy’s approval.
She smiles at him. It’s a small thing, barely a curve of her lips, but I see the way it transforms his expression.
Like he’s just been granted permission to exist. Her hand moves from the table to his thigh, settling there with casual ownership.
The gesture is subtle enough that most of the room probably doesn’t notice, but I do.
I see it for exactly what it is.
An analogy. A perfect fucking metaphor for what’s happening to the Brethren under Konstantine’s leadership, or lack thereof.
She’s taking over everything, piece by piece, decision by decision.
Her hand on his thigh is just like her influence on his mind, spreading like a cancer, consuming everything it touches until there’s nothing left of the man he’s supposed to be.
My jaw clenches. I force myself to breathe slowly, evenly, to keep the rage from showing on my face. This is my brother. My blood. I’m supposed to support him, stand beside him, be the loyal second-in-command that our father raised me to be.
But watching this makes me want to put my fist through the mahogany table.
I clear my throat, realising that this is my moment. That I have to say something now. That with all the evidence I have, it is time to call this out, to present this to the Senate and launch an official investigation into the disappearance of Paitlyn Heseltine.
But as I open my mouth, Ines shoots a look at me and then squeezes Konstantine’s arm in a clear signal. My brother immediately stands and Ines rises with him, her hand lingering on his arm like she’s afraid he might float away without her as the anchor.
It’s obvious what this is, obvious that Konstantine knows what I’m about to do, and he’s determined to not let it happen. What the fuck is his problem? Why is he so against finding the truth?
The senators begin to file out, their voices dropping to hushed murmurs as they exit the chamber.
I move to leave as well, eager to get out of this room before I say something I’ll regret. But as I pass a cluster of senators near the door, their voices carry just loud enough for me to catch the tail end of their conversation.
“…can’t continue like this,” Senator Hartley is saying, his tone low and urgent. “The Grand Master needs to show strength, not…”
“Not what?” Senator Chen interrupts. “Not let his bitch run the show? We all see it, Hartley. The question is what we do about it.”
I should keep walking, should pretend I didn’t hear.
But something makes me stop, makes me turn back to face them. Maybe it’s loyalty. Maybe it’s just the need to defend my brother, even when he doesn’t deserve it.
“Is there a problem?” My voice cuts through their murmuring, sharp enough to make them both straighten.
Hartley has the decency to look uncomfortable. Chen just meets my gaze with that calculating expression he’s perfected over his thirty years as a Brethren Senator.
“No problem, Lazarus,” Hartley says quickly. “Just discussing the meeting.”
“Sounded like more than that.” I step closer, letting my presence fill the space between us. I’m taller than both of them, broader too, and I know how to use my physicality to intimidate when necessary. “Sounded like you had concerns about our Grand Master’s leadership.”
Chen doesn’t flinch. “We have concerns about our Grand Master’s judgment,” he says carefully. “There’s a difference.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“There’s a bitch in the Grand Master’s bed,” Chen says flatly, dropping all pretence of diplomacy. “And until she’s fixed, nothing good will come of his rule. You know it as well as we do, Lazarus. You’ve seen what she’s doing to him.”
The words hit like a slap. Not because they’re wrong, but because hearing them spoken aloud makes them real in a way they weren’t before. It makes them a truth that can’t be ignored or rationalized away as just my own paranoia.
I narrow my eyes, studying Chen’s face for any hint of challenge, any suggestion that he’s testing my loyalty, but all I see is concern. Genuine, frustrated concern for the future of the Brethren.
I should defend Konstantine. I should tell Chen he’s out of line, that he needs to show some god damn respect. That’s what a loyal brother would do. That’s what my father would expect of me, but the words stick in my throat.
Chen is right. Ines is a problem. A big fucking problem. A cancer that’s metastasizing through everything Konstantine touches, every decision he makes. And until she’s dealt with, until she’s removed from the equation, my brother will never be the leader he’s supposed to be.
I don’t say anything. I can’t bring myself to agree, can’t force myself to defend. So I just hold Chen’s gaze for a long moment, letting the silence speak for me then turn and walk away.