“Perhaps the Nighthawks have word of Goethe’s final hours,” she replied.

“Perhaps.” Barrons looked unconvinced, however.

“Someone tried to kill me this morning,” Malloryn continued. “I was just discussing the matter with Barrons.”

Both of them looked at Malloryn sharply. He shrugged. “They already know they tried to kill me. Why keep it secret?” He glanced at the Council chambers. “They’re right in there, after all. We all just pretend we don’t know.”

“You were not assaulted?” she murmured to Barrons.

“No.” His eyes asked the question his mouth didn’t.

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, feeling that sharp, stabbing ache in her chest again. Even Malloryn saw it, but then he saw a great deal. Too many underestimated the dashing young duke. Of all the members of the Council, she thought perhaps he was the most dangerous. Knowledge was power, after all, and Malloryn had a network in place to rival Balfour’s.

Malloryn leaned closer to Barrons and whispered, “Rather interesting that you weren’t targeted. Looks like someone is trying to remove half the Council.”

The doors chose that moment to open, two unflappable footmen holding them wide.

Malloryn flashed her a cool smile. “I think I’ll go see what Balfour’s up to.”

His departure left her alone in the hallway. The last time she’d been alone with him, he’d pinned her to the console of an airship and done wicked things to her. It seemed a lifetime ago. At the moment, she couldn’t even summon a smile.

“Are you all right?”

She wanted to confide in him, the thought bringing a rush of pain to her chest. My cat, he killed my cat… His men were in my house, in my room… None of it would make sense to him though, and there were too many ears nearby.

Her hesitation spoke volumes. Somehow she managed a weak smile. “I survive. As always.” That’s the one thing I am very good at doing.

“You took a blow, though,” he said quietly. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m tired,” she said. “I didn’t sleep this morning.”

“Mina?” Just that.

Suddenly the urge was too great to deny. “They killed my cat. They left her in the middle of my bed.”

Not a word, nor a single change in his expression, but she felt as though the world faded around them, as if his gaze sharpened until he could see all the way through her. As if he reached out to touch her somehow, but his body never moved. “I’m sorry.” A quick glance into the room. “They’re trying to frighten you, Mina. A warning, that’s all this is.”

“I know.” Somehow she could breathe a little easier. “I’ve said too much.”

“Perhaps that’s the problem. We councilors never say enough to each other. Together—”

The sound of someone coughing cut off his words. This was not the place to be having this discussion. Barrons tipped his head to her in a nod and entered the chambers.

Yet she understood what he meant. Together we could be a threat to him. The idea had never occurred to her before, and it slowed her strides as she followed him inside. The Council of Dukes rising up to overthrow the prince consort?

Half the time they were at each other’s throats. Ridiculous even to assume that they could wield their power to remove this cancerous boil on the nation’s backside. Or that they would.

Never discount any possibility. And if it meant that the prince consort was overthrown sooner, freeing the queen…

A dangerous supposition. All it would take to destroy everything she’d worked for would be one set of loose lips seeking to gain favor.

Wait, she told herself. And see.

* * *

Council was called to order, Morioch taking the Chair’s seat. He flashed a smirk at Leo, who stilled. The cadaverous old bastard had always despised him, and the smile made Leo uneasy.

Beware a blue blood’s smile, for it is full of teeth. An old human saying he’d heard in the streets.

The doors swung wide, hitting the walls with a crash. Every head in the room turned at the entrance, and shocked gasps spilled through the room. The pair of Coldrush Guards at the door both jerked at their blades until the prince consort called for them to be sheathed.

“A guest,” the prince consort said as the man entered, the hood of his cloak fluttering back from his brow.

“What the hell is all this about?” the Duke of Caine snarled, waving a gold embossed letter in his hand.

That wasn’t what had drawn the gasps, however. The duke wore white, from head to toe, his silvery fine hair carefully pomaded back from his pale brow. There was no color in his face, his skin, his hair… Even his irises were no longer cerulean but an almost colorless, milky blue, like a calcium pool.

The Fade, in all its spectacular glory. The final, end stages of the craving virus, a sign that a man was turning irrevocably into a vampire.

Leo’s gut knotted tight.

A hundred years ago, a rash of vampires had torn apart half the city, slaughtering thousands. For that was another effect of the disease, the descent into irrational blood-lust.

By law, anyone approaching the Fade was to be executed once the percentage of craving virus in their blood reached the seventies.

“Blood and glory.” Morioch gasped. He staggered back. “Guards! Guards!”

“I wouldn’t.” Caine cast the guards a filthy look as he strode toward the table. He stared them all down, one eyebrow arched. “My craving virus levels are in the nineties, after all. I’m stronger and faster than any man in this room. None of you could stop me if I chose to tear out your throats.” The Duke of Lannister’s former chair squealed as Caine dragged it across the floor. He flicked the black shroud onto the floor and took his place.

Circumstance put him directly at the end of the table, facing the prince consort. Not a hint of expression explained what this was about.

“Father?” Leo murmured.

“Not now.”

The prince consort looked nonplussed for once. “How…how is this even possible?”

For Caine had not evolved as a vampire normally did, hunched and bent over, his eyes filming with blindness and his voice losing itself to a pitch few humans could even hear. Nor was he ruled by the insane blood-lusts from which they suffered, though his hungers were deep.