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LUCIAN

It all started with a murder. The people of unders always came to me when they needed someone taken care of. If they knew what was good for them.

The beautiful woman fluttered her long lashes, dabbed her pretty, dark eyes—so unlike my own we could have passed for complete strangers—with her monogrammed handkerchief, readingKS. Kore Saltzin.

“Please, kill him.” Proper young lady that she was, my cousin kept her spine straight as she leaned in. “And make him suffer.”

She proceeded to explain to me in great detail all the reasons why I had to kill the guy.

Sadly, I couldn't disagree with her assessment, so I did as I was told. No one wanted to end up on Kore Saltzin’s bad side. I made the mistake of stealing her favorite candy when I was seven, and paid for it for the next decade.

However, the poor excuse for a man and sorcerer that she bade me execute was the fifth man I killed so far that year. And it was April. Even for me, exceeding one cold body per month was a lot.

Naturally, the Guard sent a small army of protectors to escort me to the Hall of Truce, and the Highvale ruling council made a show of having me stand before the entire magistrate.

“This can’t keep happening!” one of the officials yelled over the whispers. “We have a system for a reason. One man cannot go on a crusade and simply murder anyone he disagrees with!”

It was hard to not roll my eyes. The truth of the matter was simple. I could. I really, truly could. First of all, because not a single one of them had the power to stop me, but more importantly, because it was my constitutional right.

I recognized the speaker: Zenya Pendros. Her family had lived in Highvale as long as mine, which meant ever since the gods created the city for their descendants still alive after the fall of Troy. Not everyone in the magistrate was aware of our thousands of years of history, but this woman? She knew.

Automatically after spotting her, my eyes scanned her surroundings for a flash of red hair. I liked to locate any potential threat around me, and her daughter often tagged along with the White Witch. Zenya Pendros was irrelevant; a power-hungry little bureaucrat didn’t bother me. Her kid? That was another story. But Kleos was nowhere to be seen.

I grinned at the severely dressed, beautiful blonde. She looked young, of course. Almost everyone there did, though some amongst us were hundreds, even thousands of years old. But while my own mother had gracefully aged to seem old enough to have two boys pushing thirty, Zenya remained almost child-like.

Her cold blue eyes flashed with many things as I watched her. Fear. Mistrust. Anger. And to my amusement and disgust, attraction.

“I am Lucian Regis, sweetheart.”

The bitch blushed.

This only enflamed the crowd. How could it not? But it was a fact. I was a Regis. The clue was in the name. I belonged to one of the five founding families, and as such, had complete immunity for any and all of my actions. Kore could have murdered the bastard herself in broad daylight, if she hadn’t been at risk of breaking a nail in the process.

“This is what I’m talking about!” one of the new bloods in town shouted over the commotion.

I saw him before a time or two, but I never bothered to learn his name. Contrary to what some assumed, I wasn’t elitist. I didn’t really care whether a person had the right surname, history, or lineage. But I had a tendency to only bother with people who mattered; whether by deeds, rights of power, or simply by being entertaining. The outwardly young, brown-haired man didn’t make the cut.

“It’s asinine that, in this day and age, some people can just kill others without question. What would people say if the royal family of England could just go out there and shoot someone in public? We need to review the laws!”

This again.

Every new blood in town seemed to campaign for a change in our laws, which was what was wrong with their kind, really. They didn’t understand Highvale. They didn’t even attempt to comprehend its history.

In simple terms: Zeus built it, Poseidon crafted the walls, Hades extended the underground—making it so much grander than the rest, likely to remind the world that he was the richest one of the lot—and Athena herself wrote the wards keeping both gods and mortals away if uninvited.

It didn’t stop there. Once word had gotten out that the Greeks were creating a city for their demigod spawns, Kali joined the fun, and Anubis, Frej, and Maheu soon came, just to name a few.

The laws we followed didn’t change since ancient times because they were written by gods, most of whom were still alive and didn’t like their choices questioned.

As a general rule, I believed absent divinities dictating so much of our lives was utter bullshit, and I bent my mind to thwarting most of their decrees. My immunity wasn’t one of the traditions I was eager to break.

I let them all argue amongst themselves as long as I could bear, tapping my fingers on the marble of the speaking booth in the atrium. I lasted about seven minutes, give or take. Then I stood.

All voices died.

It was one thing to speak about enforcing punishment on me. In practice, even if they did somehow agree to a sentence, none of them would have dared approach me to carry it out.