Page 27 of A Dance Macabre

The entire city was shocked.

I’m sure Vainglory Media painstakingly controlled how the story was covered. Outside of the six families, no one knows how the power is handed down. Only that it happens every nineteen years, and that—until three days ago—there has always only ever been one sole ruler.

According to Gemini, the break in tradition has sent ripples of intrigue through the entire city, creating a buzz of gossip and speculation.

I have no patience for any of it.

The commoners can yak all they want—at the end of the day, it doesn’t change that I am stilloneof their rulers now.

The thought of having to share this new Crèvecoeur epoch, and with a Vainglory no less, certainly dampened the victory. Still, a small thrill zips down my spine when I step into Mount Pravitia. My recklessness paid off—I now hold the city in the palm of my hand.

I make my way to the sixth and top floor of the building where the ruler’s private chambers are located. It’s a sprawling collection of beautifully designed bedchambers, living quarters, and receiving rooms, meant to accommodate a large family. Children of the ruling family are expected to live here until they turn eighteen—or until power passes to another god.

Our parents’ generation was the first to decide to solely have one child, so as to prevent the potential anguish of one of their offspring being sacrificed at the Lottery. They offered the gods heirs to continue the bloodline—the six of us—and nothing more.

I hear quickening footsteps behind me and I turn to find one of my servants, who I put in charge of moving my belongings into the ruler’s chambers, looking flustered and wide-eyed.

“Miss Crèvecoeur, there’s uh—” She swallows hard, her red lipstick desperately needing a retouch. “There’s an issue with the living situation.”

Slowly removing my hat, I hand it to Jeremial beside me and I quirk an eyebrow.

“Whatissue?” I say slowly, my shoulders tensing, as I slowly readjust my elbow-length leather gloves.

She seems to shrink in size, and I must admit, I’m pleased by the fear she seems to harbor for me. She stutters but eventually says, “Mr. Vainglory has already claimed the ruler’s chambers as his.”

I bare my teeth at the sound of his name, pinning her with my stare. “Where are the rooms?”

She points a shaky finger in the direction she just came from. “Through there, Miss Crèvecoeur.”

The doors open to an enfilade, a series of connected rooms aligned with each other, which permits me to see all the way into the ruler’s bedchambers at the very end.

My gaze snaps to Jeremial. “Wait here.”

I pass through three opulently carved doorways before entering the fourth and final one, only to find Wolfgang lounging on an imposing four-poster bed like a king without a throne, wearing nothing but a pair of black silk pants.

“Crèvecoeur,” he drawls, not bothering to look up from the tabloid magazine he’s flicking through. “Still alive, I see.”

I ignore his provoking dig. “The ruler’s chambers aremine,” I growl, my gloved hands tightening into fists.

Wolfgang’s gray-blue gaze moves up slowly to meet mine, and every muscle in my body tightens. His glare is hard but seemingly unbothered by my anger. Chuckling dryly, he rolls off the bed. “And what makes you think that?” He slips into a crushed velvet smoking jacket but leaves it open as if purposefully wanting to showcase his toned chest with a dusting of hair and the defined muscles disappearing into his silk pants.

“I deserve it.”

His lip curls into a sneer revealing his two gold teeth. “Bold statement from someone whocheatedher way into power,” he says while stalking toward me.

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin as he approaches, standing my ground.

“A sacrifice is a sacrifice,” I spit out coldly. “I was just quicker.”

He snarls, his hand snatching my left arm as he tries to drag me closer to him. His hold tightens around my still-smarting wound, and I can’t help but hiss in pain. I purposely chose to wear long gloves tonight to hide the bandage around myforearm. I didn’t want Wolfgang to learn that his little stunt had left me injured.

The room falls silent, Wolfgang’s gaze flicks down to where his hand is still tight around my arm, and then back up, studying me. I clench my jaw, trying with all my might to appear unbothered but I’m beginning to sweat from the pain.

Smoothing his tongue over his teeth, he lets me go and steps back. The relief is immediate, but my arm continues to throb.

The air between us crackles with tension as we both glare at each other.

“I have three dogs,” I finally say, sticking my chin out.

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