“You were so lucky that the young Valerio saved you!” said Lord Obsidia.

Lady Pyrite nodded. “What is this kingdom coming to?”

“Heathens,” added a third Ironblood. A Malachite son. “The lot of them. You’re a light in the darkness, Your Excellence.”

The Iron Council was to serve the Emperor or Empress in their ruling of the kingdom, but they had not helped anyone but themselves for generations. If someone assassinated him, each and every one of them had a plan in place to put themselves on the throne.

And none wanted it more than Erik Valerio, who was only twenty years old and already head of the Valerio estates after the murder of his mother.

Erik Valerio had not saved him because he was loyal.

He turned to Erik Valerio. “Thank you, Lord Valerio. Your mother would have been proud of you. I am proud of you. If I can repay you in any way for saving me, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Erik smoothed a smile over his lips that was cold and predatory, and flicked his eyes down to the half-melted Valerio pendant at his throat. The pendant he had used to claim the throne almost six months ago.

“Seeing you alive is enough,” said Erik, his eyes as cold as steel. “We Valerios need to look out for each other, yes?”

The Emperor cocked his head, imagining what it would be like to rip the Valerio’s lying tongue out of his mouth, but instead simply said, “What a charming sentiment.”

“Very. I expect you at my party next week—it will be fantastic. Astoria is beautiful this time of year,” Erik added.

“Yes, of course.”

The HIVE bloomed in the back of his head, relaying that another Metal had been captured, a moment before one of the Messiers in the hallway bowed and said, “Your Excellence, we found an accomplice. We have brought it up to the garden.”

“Thank you. Leave us and return to your families. I am sure they are worried.” He gave a flick of his wrist to dismiss the Iron Council.

As Erik Valerio passed, he very carefully took him underneath the arm, and leaned in. The facade of the dutiful Ironblood slipped away, revealing the envy and rot underneath, and he snarled, “You can fool everyone else, but not me. We both know you’re not a Valerio, and that’s not your crest. Enjoy your time on your stolen throne, because it will be mine.”

The Ironblood let go of his arm and left with the others to the docks.

His throne? A flash of anger spiked his processes, but he wrestled to control it and rolled his shoulders back to ease the tension. The Valerio knew how to poke at him, but he had more important matters to attend. He turned his attention to the Messiers and their captive Metal. They had detained it in another hallway that led to a kitchen, forced it to its knees. It looked up at him with glowing moonlit eyes and watched him wearily.