64. Lazarus
Documents sprawl across the desk; trade agreements, alliance proposals, reports on Esau’s movements.
Each demands my attention, my focus, but my mind drifts to Leandra.
She’s been… fragile. Broken in ways I can’t fully grasp.
I’ve been careful, patient, giving her the space she needs.
I know her history, the horrors she’s endured, both at the hands of my brother and the men who tried to mould her into Ines.
I’ve suppressed my darker instincts, the parts of me that crave control, possession.
I want her to love me willingly, not because I’ve forced her hand, but patience has never been my strength.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
One of my men enters, handing over the report I’ve been waiting for; the casualties from Konstantine’s attack on the mansion.
Over a dozen men lost in total, but then he mentions Devin.
Against all odds, Devin is alive. Miraculously, impossibly alive.
I dismiss the man with a nod, my mind already turning.
Devin’s survival is a complication I hadn’t anticipated.
It would in many ways be far easier if he had died.
He’s a threat, a big one if I do as my brother planned and quietly dispose of his wife and child, but there is another option.
Perhaps a better one, and having Devin on my side is far more useful than having him in a cold grave.
The door creaks open and Zayn enters, his wheelchair rolling smoothly across the floor. He places a stack of papers on the desk with deliberate precision. “We need to finalize these agreements with the Eastern Coalition,” he says, his tone clipped.
I nod, leaning back in my chair. “Let’s get to it.”
We work in silence, the scratch of pens on paper the only sound.
My mind, however, lingers elsewhere; on Leandra, on the way she looked at me after she killed Isaac.
Fear was there, yes, but also something raw, vulnerable.
I want to protect her, to shield her from the world, but she doesn’t trust me. Not yet.
“What do you plan to do about Ezra?” Zayn asks abruptly, his gaze sharp, probing. “Will you kill him off and replace him with your own blood?”
I freeze, my pen hovering above the paper.
The question slices through the room like a blade.
My heart stutters, a flicker of panic rising in my chest. He knows.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
Zayn knows what I’ve done, knows which brother is dead and which sits before him.
My jaw tightens, and I force myself to remain calm, to keep my expression neutral.
“Ezra is my blood,” I say evenly, though my voice feels too measured, too controlled. “He’s the heir.”
Zayn gives me a look that says it all, a look that pierces through my carefully constructed facade. His eyes are knowing, calculating. I wonder if this was why he was so insistent on speaking during the Guardian Meeting. Was this his way of testing me? Of forcing my hand?
“There’s been enough death,” I add, my tone firm, though my mind races. “It’s time for rebuilding.”
I study his face, searching for clues, for his next move.
This is a test, and I’m acutely aware of the stakes.
Zayn knows my secret, and that makes him a liability.
My instincts scream at me to eliminate the threat, to silence him before he can expose me, but killing a Guardian?
That would be catastrophic. It would sow chaos, undermine everything I’ve worked for.
The Brethren need stability now more than ever.
And yet, the thought lingers, what if he betrays me?
Zayn nods, his expression thoughtful. “I agree,” he says. “The Brethren need to heal, to grow. Killing Ezra would only sow more discord.”
I lean forward, twisting the knife now. “And what about you?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous. “Can I trust you?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication.
I watch him closely, gauging his reaction.
His eyes meet mine, steady, unflinching.
“You can,” he says. “I’ve sworn my loyalty to the Brethren, and to you as their leader.
As long as you continue to act in their best interests, you’ll have my support. ”
In their best interests. The unspoken threat is clear. He’s reminding me of my duty, of the line I cannot cross. I suppress a grimace. Zayn is clever, too clever. He knows how to play this game, and he’s forcing me to play it his way.
“And the woman?” he continues, his tone casual, though his gaze sharpens.
“What about her?” I ask, my voice hardening.
“She is unworthy,” he says bluntly. “But you know that already.”
“I will not put her aside.”
He narrows his eyes, clearly displeased.
“Zayn,” I continue, my tone icy, “I am Grand Master now. I am all that stands between the success and failure of our entire way of life. If you challenge me on this, I will destroy it all. I will destroy everything.”
“For a woman?” he sneers. “How very like your brother you are.”
The insult stings, but I take it, my lips curling into a grin. “Do you wish to support me or not? It is your call. You alone, right here, will decide if, after nearly eight hundred years, the Brethren are finished.”
I see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench on the handles of his wheelchair. He’s weighing his options, just as I am. Finally, he exhales.
“Fine,” he says. “But she has not been selected by the Senate or the Guardians. At least honour those traditions.”
A Grand Master’s wife must be chosen, a tradition we both know Konstantine flouted when he refused to let them inspect Ines’s bloodline. Leandra will fail the tests too; her parentage guarantees it, but she is mine. She always has been.
“She is my wife,” I state, though we are not legally married.
Zayn tuts with annoyance. “She is not your wife until we say so,” he corrects.
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off. “You cannot disregard centuries worth of rules.”
“And you cannot expect me to give her up when I have killed my brother to ensure I have her for myself.”
The admission hangs in the air, raw and unvarnished. Zayn blinks, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. “Lazarus…” he begins.
“Grand Master,” I snap, correcting him. He cannot call me that name. Lazarus is dead. I am not him, not anymore.
“Grand Master,” he concedes, “do not commit the very same sins your brother did.”
“I will not give her up,” I say, my voice firm, though I feel like a broken record.
“Then don’t,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “Hand her over. Let us inspect her. Let us perform the necessary rites to make her worthy of you.”
“And then?”
“And then we will sanctify your union. We will declare her truly as your wife.”
I shut my eyes, my mind racing. I hear what he’s not saying; that it doesn’t matter about her blood, that they will ignore her family’s sin and pass her anyway, but what will those rites do to Leandra?
Is she strong enough to endure them? What if this breaks her further?
I know if I refuse, I’ll be no better than Konstantine.
And what then? Will God turn against me as it did him?
“Grand Master…” Zayn prompts, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Do it,” I growl, my voice low, resigned. “Make your damned preparations.”
The words taste bitter, but I swallow them for Leandra, for the Brethren, for the future I’ve fought so hard to secure. I’ll play this game, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone take her from me.