His blooded daughter had even gone through the training program, and was mated, with the male’s blessing, to a civilian.

There was no one else in Audience House, other than the receptionist. Unusual, given that it was the start of the evening. Civilians were typically lined up in the waiting room, ready to present their issues to the King.

“Sire,” Abalone said with a bow to Wrath, “with your permission, I will bring your subject in?”

“Yeah. We’re ready.”

Abalone passed through the open doors and disappeared into the waiting room. When he came back, he had a male with him whom John recognized.

“May I present Rexboone, blooded son of Altamere.”

Boone, as the male was known, bowed deeply even though Wrath could not see him. “Thank you for allowing me to come, my Lord.”

The guy was built big and strong, and was classically handsome in a clean-cut kind of way, reminding John of the marble figures in the Hall of Statues back at the house. He’d gone through the training center’s program and not made a lot of waves, a quiet, watchful presence who, as John understood, had done particularly well in physical challenges.

But other than that, John didn’t know much, although he wasn’t on the ground floor of the training program, either.

“What can we do you for,” Wrath said as he bent down and picked up George. Settling the golden retriever in his lap, he stroked the long blond fur that grew out of those flanks. “And listen, I’ve heard you’re working hard for us out in the field. You’ve taken two lessers down. I like that. Keep it up.”

As Boone flushed and bowed again, his response was mumbled, but his blush was loud as a holler—and John liked the humility.

“I’m not sure this is …” The trainee cleared his throat and looked around at the Brothers. “This may be nothing, but my father has been invited to this dinner party. Tomorrow night.”

“What are they serving?” Rhage chimed in. “If it’s lamb, I’m coming, too.”

Wrath sent a glare in Hollywood’s direction, then refocused on Boone. “G’head.”

“Well, it’s being organized by an aristocrat that goes by the name of Throe?”

Instantly, the mood in the room changed, the Brothers straightening, shifting in their shitkickers.

“I know that the Council was disbanded by you.” Boone glanced around again. “But that the glymera is not prohibited from congregating, provided it is for social purposes only. However, my father doesn’t know this male well, and when my sire asked who else was invited, he learned that the other remaining Princeps were on the list.”

“So it’s basically a meeting of the Council,” Wrath muttered.

“Called by a known agitator,” someone else piped in.

“My father is not going to go, and he asked me to come here and tell you about it because I’m in the training center program and he figured it would look less suspicious for me to have an audience with you. As I said, my sire doesn’t want to get involved in any intrigue, and he certainly does not want a civil war within the species.”

The King’s nostrils flared. “Is that all that you’ve come to say to me?”

“Yes, my Lord.” There was a pause. “I beg of you, send someone out there. You must … this is not right. They should not be gathering like this. It is sowing seeds of revolt, I just know it.”

“Anything else?”

“I can provide you with the address.”

“Can you. And what is it?”

Boone gave a street that wasn’t far from the Audience House. “It is at midnight, my Lord. They gather at midnight on the morrow.”

John looked at the King. And then checked out the expressions of the Brothers. When no one said or did anything, he was confused. This was a possible coup in progress—

“Is that everything?” the King prompted Boone once again.

“Yes, my Lord—except … please don’t tell anyone that my father sent me or that this word came from him. He does not want any trouble. He wants to stay out of it.”

Wrath continued to stroke George’s fur, his dagger hand moving over the dog’s golden hair. “Son, I appreciate you coming here and all. Giving us a heads-up.”

“So you’ll send people. And stop them—”

“But you and I have a problem.”

Boone shook his head. “There is no problem. I am utterly loyal unto you. There is nothing I would not do to serve you.”

“Then why are you lying to me?” Wrath tapped the side of his nose. “I may be blind, but all my other senses work just fine. And you are not being truthful here.”

Boone opened his mouth. Closed it.

“Why don’t you take another stab at this, son.”

The trainee crossed his arms over his chest. Stared at the floor. Then he paced back and forth.

“I know you’re in a helluva spot,” Wrath said quietly. “So you take your time. But I’m going to be clear here. Consequences are going to fall where they do and there is no carefully crafted version of reality that is going to stop that. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

When Boone finally halted, he was facing the King, and his voice was reedy as he spoke, like his throat was tight.

“My father …”

“G’head. Just say it. This is not your fault, okay? You are not going to get blamed for anything as long as you tell the truth.”

Boone took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “My father is going to attend. He’s going to the dinner. He’s …”

“Not as loyal to me as you are.”

The male dragged a hand over his features. “I’ve been telling him he shouldn’t go. That this isn’t right. I’m doing everything I can to talk him out of it—I believe he’ll come around. He has to—he just has to. And in the meantime, I couldn’t let this happen—it’s wrong. I don’t know for sure what they’re planning, but why are they meeting like this? My sire doesn’t know this male at all. Throe showed up from out of nowhere, and was part of that meeting to overthrow the throne a while ago. And now he’s living in the mansion of that older male?” Boone shook his head and started pacing again, his words coming faster and faster. “We know who owns that house. He’s related to us. Why is he letting Throe stay with him and his shellan—who, by the way, is just ten years out of her transition? And why is he allowing Throe to be the host of the party? It’s not Throe’s house, it’s not his position of authority. I mean, in the glymera, it is a tremendous breach of protocol for any other person to issue an invitation to a home for so much as an afternoon tea, much less a formal dinner.” Boone stopped and faced the King again. “It makes no sense. None of this makes any sense.”

Wrath’s nostrils flared once more. And then the King nodded. “This is the truth as you know it. Now you are being truthful.”

Boon threw up his hands in defeat. “I keep telling my sire not to go. I’m trying to talk to him—but he is … he has never really been interested in my opinion.” Boone looked around at the Brotherhood again. “And listen, I could be wrong. This could all be paranoia on my part—in which case I’ve embarrassed myself, called into question the loyalty of my father, and brought shame upon my bloodline.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about any of that, son.” Wrath shook his head. “We’re pretty goddamn familiar with Throe and his little party planning committee. Even if there’s nothing going on, you have not wasted our time, and your loyalty to me is never going to be forgotten.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Boone said baldly.

Jesus, what a position to be in, John thought. In the Old Laws, treason against the King was punishable by death.

So this son might well have put his father’s head on the chopping block.

“Come here, solider mine.” Wrath extended his long arm, the tattoos of his lineage flashing on the underside. Switching into the Old Language, he said, “Approach and present your fealty, young male.”

The trainee strode over and lowered down onto his knees. Bending forward, he kissed the enormous black diamond on Wrath’s hand.

“My allegiance unto you and your throne, forevermore,” Boone said in a voice that cracked.

Wrath sat up and reached around his dog. Placing his broad hand on the side of Boone’s face, he said in his deep voice, “Your loyalty brings honor upon the quick and the dead of your bloodline. This shall not be forgotten by me, and shall be held as a service unto both the throne and my personage. Go forth and know that you have performed a vital function unto your King, about which I shall not forget.”

Switching back into English, Wrath continued, “This really is not your fault, son. So don’t blame yourself. No matter what happens, you did the only thing you could.”

“I would beg for you mercy on my sire’s behalf,” Boone mumbled as he stared up into the King’s face. “But I’m afraid he may not deserve it.”

“That’s his choice. Not your responsibility.”

Boone nodded and got back to his feet. After bowing again to Wrath, he turned to the Brotherhood and did the same. Then Abalone escorted him out, closing the doors behind the two of them quietly.

No one spoke. The Brothers all just stared at Wrath, who sat there with his dog in his lap, stroking, stroking … stroking.

After the front door to the house opened and shut, Abalone came back into the dining room, and re-closed things even though there was nobody else except for loyal doggen in the mansion.

“Go scope out the place tonight,” Wrath ordered. “And I want a full complement of fighters there tomorrow.”

Vishous stabbed the hand-rolled he’d been smoking out on the sole of his shitkicker. “I’ll plant some mics around the exterior right before dawn.”