Page 29 of A Dance Macabre

No.

It runs much deeper. Their power seeps through any kind of media they create. Especially useful to keep the masses compliant and submissive. Their persuasion through media is an advantage that all six ruling families indulge in daily.

Each family wields a power connected to the god they worship. Passed down from firstborn to firstborn, they are the only viable heirs to continue the family lineage.

Like me and Wolfgang.

Luckily, our powers do not work on each other. And considering that we are the first generation not to have any siblings, the powers—and subsequent immunity—have been passed down to us.

This means the Vainglorys' power over the media does not affect me.

I avoid consuming any of their media simply because it’s an unappealing pigswill full of praise for the man sitting across from me. Nonetheless, I would rather pretend to read his precious Pravitian Digest than stare at Wolfgang for another damnable second.

The silence between us is as loud as the storm brewing outside, punctuated by the intermittent crinkle of a page being turned or a cup being placed back on its saucer.

Eventually, the servant returns with my breakfast; two pieces of brown toast, fried eggs, and caviar. Taking a bite of toast, my gaze inadvertently falls on Wolfgang who seems to have stopped reading and is now studying me eat.

“Problem?” I say tersely after swallowing.

His head turns back to the newspaper and he simply shrugs as if dismissing me. I furrow my brows but continue to eat until my attention pauses on his half-eaten plate discarded beside him.

Caviar, eggs, and toast.

My bite turns to wet cement as I swallow it down my throat realizing we share the same taste in breakfast.

“We have a meeting with Claire from the Pravitian Digest at ten a.m.,” Wolfgang declares.

I startle out of my thoughts, my gaze lifting to his closed-off face, eyes still on his newspaper.

“What for now?” I mutter, a heavy dose of impatience spiking my tone as I sip my now tepid tea.

The week has been full of dull people and mandatory meetings, and I long for some time alone back at the Grounds. Or even a night out with Gemini or Belladonna.

From the corner of his eye, he sends me a subtle but exasperated look, and my gaze flicks to his mouth, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip.

“Puff piece to officially announce our—” he pauses, mouth curling upward, his attention back on the silly article he’s reading. “Co-rulership.”

Carefully, he folds the newspaper and lets it fall on the table with a slap. Smoothing his hand over his short beard, he takes a long sip of tea, and my eyes can’t help but dip—again—to his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Standing up, his silk pajamas hang low on his hips as he presses his curled fists onto the table. He leans his weight forward and pins me with his stare.

“You might be plotting my demise behind closed doors.” His mouth transforms into a snarl. “I certainly am plotting yours. But you’d beadvisedto act like we are nothing but a harmonious team when in public. Understood?”

I slam my cup on the table, tea spilling over. “Don’t you dare give me orders, Vainglory. You are not, and never will be, above me.”

His stare is glacial as he lets the thrumming silence settle around us until his snarl turns into a hostile smile. “I cannot waitfor your downfall, Crèvecoeur. The day your god finally comes to retrieve you, tohumbleyou through the one thing you love more than yourself—death,oh,” Wolfgang says with a cold laugh, gold canine appearing at the corner of his mouth. “I will spend my days dancing on your despicable grave.”

With a turn of his heels, he storms out, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to yell back a similar threat, but I swallow it back down, trying to tamper my erratic heartbeat, already so sick of our childish squabbles.

I would rather watch him slowly bleed out from a knife to the gut.

Yes. That would be much more satisfying.

I let the image calm me down and finish my breakfast in peace, as I dread the upcoming morning interview.

19

WOLFGANG

Adding the final touches to my outfit, I fix the gold collar chain on my bespoke three-piece suit and study my reflection in the imposing floor-to-ceiling mirror. I had the thing specially brought from Vainglory Tower. If I were to concede the ruler’s chambers to Mercy, I’d at least have some comforts from home. The mirror was one of them.

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