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I nearly scream in frustration. “But his loyaltiesaren’tdivided—”

“Would you have us plead for our king’s forgiveness, humaine?” At my helplessness, Priscille’s smile grows positively lethal. “Would you have us crawl on our knees and beg him to forget? We arevampires. We will not ask for permission or forgiveness from one soweak, and we will accept his regime no longer.” Eyes blazing, chest heaving, she turns to address the others in a fit of passion. “Friends, the rule of Michal Vasiliev endstonight—”

Eyes bulging, she stops abruptly, and for a split second, my mind cannot process the speed with which Michal moves to stand before her. When it does, however—when I recognize his sleek pale hair and alabaster skin—I nearly sob in relief, sagging in Juliet’s arms. Though teeth marks ooze at his throat, it doesn’t matter. Though one wing hangs half-torn from his back, Michal is here, unharmed, and his merepresencehas terrified Priscille into silence.

Then I see the blood dripping from his hand, the viscera between his fingers, and realize he’s ripped out her vocal cords.

Beside me, Beau gags at the sight and bends double—the vampire holding him has fled, only to be seized by Ivan, who vaults over the parapet and snaps the vampire’s neck. He goes down like a sack of bricks. Choking, Priscille scrabbles at her throat and whirls, desperate to escape, tolive, but Odessa rises to block her path. Dimitri, too, and Pasha. One by one, they debilitate the insurgent vampires in a blur of liquid movement—breaking their kneecaps, seizing their hair, dragging them toward the mahogany doors of the ballroom.

Lou, Reid, Coco, and Jean Luc climb from the limb of the oaktree several seconds later, ashen-faced and grim. None appear seriously injured—thank God—but a bruise already swells on Reid’s cheek from whatever happened below; Coco bleeds from a cut on her forearm. Beau rushes toward her, and Dimitri—

His face snaps toward her too. Toward herblood. For just an instant, his eyes gleam feral, but Pasha snarls, shoving him through the doors and out of sight.

Leaving Juliet with her hand around my throat.

“Let her go,” Michal growls.

Though he approaches slowly, carefully, to where Juliet has pulled us against the balustrade, her entire body tenses, and something seems to snap within her. With a snarl, she attempts to sink her teeth into my jugular.Too slow.Michal descends in an instant—eyes flashing with rage—and seizes her by the throat too, pushing me aside with his other hand. I spin wildly toward Jean Luc, who catches me against his chest. Instead of ripping out her vocal cords like he did with Priscille, however, Michal smashes through the doors to the ballroom.

He nearly flies as he ascends the dais with Juliet in tow.

We all bolt after him—Beau and me stumbling slightly—to find the entire room has gone silent.

Except for Juliet. She still writhes and kicks, hissing and spitting and tearing at his hand, which he uses to hold her aloft by the throat. Despite her struggle, he doesn’t release her. He doesn’t even flinch. Expression cold and cruel—eyes wholly inhuman—he addresses the room in a whisper. “There are some among you who question my strength.”

Pasha, Ivan, Dimitri, and Odessa form a sort of barricadearound Juliet’s debilitated companions. When one struggles to rise, his knees healing, Pasha shatters his tibia, and the vampire screams in pain. Priscille’s relation still snaps his teeth at me, eyes burning with hatred, until Dimitri wrenches the fangs from his mouth by force. Blood spatters the obsidian floor, and I look away hastily, edging closer to Coco and Beau, whose stricken expression mirrors my own. Somehow, this feels so much worse than Yannick in the aviary. This feels like an exhibition, aperformance, except the actors and actresses crawl and bleed upon the ground instead of sweeping across the stage. Unbidden, my gaze creeps back to Priscille and her torn-open throat.

This is—this issick.

“Some of you believe I’ve grown too weak to rule this isle. You believe I’ve grown unfit, perhaps unable to protect you from the dangers beyond Requiem.” A pause. “Is that what you think, Juliet?” Michal asks her softly. “Do you envision yourself as monarch? As queen? Do you think real power stems from preying upon those weaker than you?”

She bares her teeth at him in response.

“I see.” Nodding to himself, Michal lifts her higher, and her feet scrabble upon the dais floor. “By all means... allow me to address your concerns.” Raising his voice, he speaks to the entire room now. “Allow me to addressallof your concerns and, at last, lay your petty fears to rest.”

With the simple flick of his wrist, he parts Juliet’s head from her shoulders, and her entire body shrivels, desiccating to bone, before he drops it to the floor with a mutedthud. I stare at her corpse, unable to blink. Unable tothink. Every thought emptiesfrom my head until only Michal remains. Standing above her, he stares at his people with an expression so foreign, soempty, that I cannot look at him either.

“Holy hell,” Beau whispers, and I follow his gaze to the crowd.

I don’t know what I expected—for the vampires to shriek, perhaps, or hiss as Priscille now hisses. Perhaps I thought they would scatter in fear at such a display of dominion, or else rush the dais to attack. They outnumber us, after all. They could do it.

Nothing, however, could’ve prepared me for the relish in their eyes as they gaze upon Michal now.

Murmuring eagerly, they part to form a crude sort of circle in the middle of the ballroom, and—when the imprisoned vampires begin to thrash in terror—cold dread whispers a warning down my spine. The circle they’re forming—it looks like a pit. Acage. Incredulous, I step toward Michal, but both Beau and Coco seize the back of my gown, and Lou moves her head in a slow, nauseated shake. “This isn’t meant for us, Célie.”

Reid nods gravely. “We should go.”

But we can’t justgo—I look between them in desperation—because the Necromancer is still out there. Despite all our careful planning, he didn’t come, and I still almost died at the hands of vengeful vampires. I just—I don’t understand this place. My throat constricts as the full ramifications of the evening catch up with me.The Necromancer didn’t come.He didn’tcome, and how—how am I going to sleep tonight? My breath comes in short, painful bursts. How am I going toliveif the Necromancer could be lurking around every corner? He could be hiding in my room even now, and if he isn’t, it could be Monsieur Dupont instead. It could be Ivan or Pasha or even Dimitri. Bile rises in my throat at thethought of them—lurking in the shadows, waiting—and unbidden, I glance back toward Michal.

Juliet’s blood still stains his hand.

She would’ve killed me. Theyallwould’ve killed me in a brutal and gruesome fashion if Michal hadn’t intervened. What else could he have done except strike back and strike true? What else couldIhave done to prevent it?

No.

Shaking my head, I back into Lou, into Reid, into Coco and Beau and even Jean Luc, and at the movement, Michal’s eyes flick to mine. An unspoken question stirs within them. I cannot give him the answer he craves, however; I cannot do this any longer, cannot abide suchviolence. Does he truly think I could ever live in such a place? Does he truly think I could survive it?

Lou squeezes my hand in silent comfort, but even her presence does little to reassure me now. When Odessa appears beside us, seizing my other hand, Michal clears his throat upon the dais. “The revelry has officially ended,” he says. “Leave this place, and do not return.” Jerking his head toward Pasha and Ivan, he says, “Do with them as you please.”