He turned back to the elder Valerio, trying to control the resentment in his words. “Tell me, sir, who do you think controls me?”

Erik took one look at him and retreated a step. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Who controls me?” he repeated, his voice rising, but he did not let Lord Valerio reply before he went on, “You are an Ironblood by birthright and so you are bred and taught to fill a role. Like the HIVE, you are given orders, and you are told to behave with a certain decorum. You are—what is a good word—brainwashed? Conditioned? Why do you bow to me if you think I am not deserving of this crown? Because you are told you should. Why do you ask my permission? Because that is how you are instructed.” He took another step toward the man, and his words were like venom. “It is because I control you.”

Lord Valerio’s blue eyes turned sharp. He could see the fire in them, as deep and raging as an inferno. Good. He liked hatred. It was something he could quantify. “I don’t take orders like some mindless Metal scum.”

Metal scum.

He had never wanted to kill someone more in his life. Electricity crackled across his knuckles.

Above them, the lanterns swirled around like the eye of a hurricane, their orange lights flaring so brightly their bulbs began to whine, fissures cracking across the glass.

“What the . . .” Erik whispered, and slowly sank his gaze back to him. “What are you?”

Not who.

Because he was not a person. He was a tool. A component. A part.

He took a step toward the human, so close he could smell the sweat and fear on his skin, and before he could stop himself, the carefully crafted Valerio blue of his eyes flickered a monstrous red. He whispered, to answer his question, “I am your Emperor.”

Erik took another step back, then another—and then he turned on his heels and fled out of sight. The swirling lanterns above him burst. Shards of glass rained down, plinking against the marble floor. Well, it looked like he had just uninvited himself to Erik’s party.

He began to fix his cuffs when heard a gasp, short and fearful, and turned to the young woman who hid in a doorway. But when he looked her way, she left in a flash of mourning dress and strawberry-blond hair.

Wynn Wysteria.

He had been careless.

He closed his eyes, trying to wrestle them back to blue. He should not have scared Erik Valerio. Mindless Metal scum, that festering flesh sack had called him.

It made him vibrate with anger, fresh against that terrible memory from the library, rubbing him raw and hollow. Another Messier came down the hallway with that familiar vacant look in its blue eyes. Mindless.

He quickly turned toward the nearest room, reaching out for the keylock, and with a flick of his wrist opened the door, locking it behind him so no one else could come inside.