“Are you questioning me?”

“No! No, sir, no, Your Excellence. I would never.”

You just did, he wanted to point out, but instead he picked up the book he had dropped and returned it to its spot on the shelf. “Send a correspondence to Zenteli, that if they need any assistance—”

“Have I come at the wrong time?” the oily voice of Erik Valerio interrupted as he approached them, his hands behind his back. He leered down at the steward, who shrank into his collar, bowed, and took his leave. After the servant had gone, he lazily turned his gaze back to him. “I hope you haven’t waited long.”

Twenty-three minutes, forty-two seconds, and fifteen— He fixed his face into an impassive look. “Not at all.”

Erik Valerio inclined his head. He was dressed to be impressive—in a sleek black evening coat with geometrical designs across the cuffs, and a bloodred ascot at his throat. His hair was slicked back, but it curled around his ears, like his younger brother’s did, though Erik’s was darker and his eyes were a sharper shade of blue. He had tried to mimic them for months, but while his looked glassy and cold, Erik’s were soulless. It was harder to mimic being an outright bastard than he thought.

“What pleasure do you bring to me today?” he asked Erik. “Should I genuflect to the man who saved my life?”

“Oh no.” Erik dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. His smile turned wolfish. “Although I do come bearing good news! I’ve—”

“You have canceled that party of yours?” he interjected.

Annoyance crossed his face. “No, of course not. I live for parties, and Astoria is beautiful. I’ve found the Empress. She’s hiding in Zenteli—where a shrine just burned, if I heard your steward correctly.”

“It was saved,” he amended. His anger was irrational, and now even his favorite room was soiled with the stench of Erik Valerio. He turned out of the aisle and left the library.

As he shouldered open the door, he called to Erik, “And as you probably also heard, Zenteli is not in our jurisdiction. We would have to obtain permission from the C’zar to visit.”

Erik scoffed, following him out the door and into the long and marbled hallway. “From the rumors I’m hearing? The C’zar’s dead—”

“Then take it up with their Elder Court.”

The Ironblood quickly stepped in front of him and stopped, blocking him from leaving. “Or we can take care of this ourselves. Kill her.”

He raised a single eyebrow.

“If the Empress returns, I doubt you will keep your throne, and she deserves it even less than you.”

“Bold, Sir Erik.”

“She was raised by outlaws,” Erik added.

“And you think you deserve the throne?” he snapped back, even as the Great Dark sang in his head to play along. He could not stomach playing with Erik Valerio any longer. “You can take up finding her on Zenteli with their Elder Court—”