Page 45 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Samuel

S amuel wasn’t ready for this meeting. It was their first gathering since the murder of Lady Holland, their work put to a pause as they grappled with the loss that rocked their little world.

None of them were safe, not while Isaac lived, and Samuel had to admit that there was some insidious part of him that relished watching them squirm.

They had been kept comfortable for too long, and it was time they had felt even a drop of the fear and stress that the Unblooded lived with on the daily.

But his fellow Councillors were not what worried him, no, it was their esteemed guest. No amount of preparation or steeling himself could ease the fear that came with the King letting himself into the Parliament House.

That was a wound that went deep, and it was not just his to bear.

He could feel the tension that radiated off his fellow Councillors, thick as the morning fog that rolled off the sea.

Lady Belrose looked particularly discomforted, her eyes pinned to the table in front of her, hands clenched in tight fists, the curl of her claws an almost protective shell.

He almost felt bad for her—what other disruptions could the King throw their way while it was still her turn to lead the Council?

What would happen now that the one meant to follow after her had been killed?

The King was here to answer that question, his expression as cold and stern as ever.

Samuel’s gaze quickly flickered over him.

His outfit was as fine and proper as ever, his bearing that of a man who had never been questioned, but Samuel did not care about that.

He was used to performance of power by now—what did catch his eye was the way the door had been left cracked open behind him, the flash of color beyond it.

Their new Councillor, waiting to join them as soon as they were introduced.

“I appreciate you gathering so quickly,” the King said by way of introduction. “I know this was very last minute.”

“Quite,” Lady Morse agreed. She was the only one sitting without an ounce of fear to her. “But this Council needs its full strength in this trying time, so I, for one, appreciate the speed with which you made this appointment.”

Belrose stirred, spurred by the barb hidden in Morse’s words. “I agree, Your Majesty. I am eager to meet our new fellow.”

Even now, still jockeying to save face, currying whatever little favor they could. Disgust unfurled in Samuel, as delicate as the first bloom of spring. He could tamp it down if he wanted, but he was so tired of seeing the best in people. It only led to disappointment, again and again.

The King tilted his head forward, an acknowledgment. But they had to at least pay lip service to the one they had lost, even if this wasn’t a public affair, wasn’t a funeral or a memorial.

Perhaps Samuel was being unkind. They had known her all her life, not the scant months that he had. They had considered her a friend and a colleague, not another Blood Worker who had tried to twist him round and round until he had no choice but to follow her lead.

“I mourn the loss of Lady Holland. She was taken from us too soon,” the King said, casting his eyes low, the exact right amount of sorrowful. “Her brilliance and her diligence were unmatched, and if she had the chance to flourish, she would have done Aeravin proud.”

“To Zelda,” Belrose said, raising her teacup. It wasn’t quite the formal toast, but with the thickness to her voice and the shine to her eyes, Samuel could tell that it was genuine.

He mirrored the others, even though he was the reason Isaac had targeted her at all.

“As much as I would like to give her the honor she is due,” the King said, pulling the conversation back on track, “we do not have time to waste. The threat to Aeravin is only growing, and if he thinks he can target one of my Councillors without reprisal, he will learn his lesson soon enough.”

It was a slip, a crack in the impeccable facade that the King had maintained for so long.

Samuel could feel the questions building—the different pieces of information the Council had painting a kaleidoscope of pictures, none of them complete.

They knew more than the average Blood Worker, knew that Isaac had escaped custody, but none outside the Guard knew the truth of what he was becoming.

Would even dare to dream that something as dangerous as the vampire existed.

Samuel was certain the King wanted to keep it that way as long as possible, if only to keep chaos from spreading. This momentary fluster, this slight mistake, felt like a victory. They were getting to him, and it was only a matter of time.

The King had carried on, not allowing the others to press for information he would not deign to share, and Samuel refocused just in time to hear the announcement.

“—our new Councillor of Industry, Lady Amelia Dunn.”

The rest of the council burst into applause as Samuel’s ears started to ring, the sheer shock of it nearly forcing him out of his chair to contest this, as if it would make any difference.

He only maintained his seat by sheer force of will, wrapping his hands around the armrest and pressing so tightly he didn’t know what would snap first—the wood or his bones.

How could it be her ?

The door finally opened, Amelia stepping through with that eternally smug look on her face.

Gliding to the King’s side, she stood there like she belonged, hand on her hip, her exquisitely tailored dress shimmering like gold under the witch light, her dark hair pinned over her shoulder where it spilled down in waves.

Hells, she could have stepped right out of a ballroom, or perhaps a bakery, a layered cake that was all sweetness and fluff.

Samuel knew that he shouldn’t fall for that trick, Shan had told him enough that he knew the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

She was, in every way that mattered, her father’s daughter, and though the Council positions were not hereditary and she would assume a different field entirely, here she stood, taking all that power right back.

Looking over each of them in turn as she waited for their congratulations, like her place on this Council had been a forgone conclusion.

Samuel had been a fool to think it wouldn’t be.

The others had stood, coming to swarm around her like bees to their queen, and Samuel slowly allowed himself to stand as he watched the power in the room start to shift.

It would take time for the new alliances to form, but if there was one thing Amelia Dunn was good at, it was making herself the beating heart of the room.

She was already wrapping Lady Belrose around her littlest finger; he could see it in the way that Belrose leaned in with a smile.

Lord Rayne seemed agreeable enough, but that was just his usual state, the years weighing on him so heavily that he could rarely be moved to fits of passion in either direction.

Lady Morse was the most hesitant, but even he could see the tension ease out of her shoulders the longer that Amelia talked, quickly proving herself to be of the right politics and temperament—not a problem, not like him.

It was a masterful dance, every correct step made to the beat only they could hear.

She was so much like Shan, only without the challenge of having to overcome all of Aeravin’s preconceived notions and old hates.

Shan would be livid to hear this.

The King had idled over to his side, falling back from the center of attention as he studied the reactions of the rest of the Council. Much like Samuel—an approving nod thrown his way—and the sudden harmony he found with his ancestor tripping him up more than any dissonance could have.

“She’ll do well,” the King said, lowly, a private conversation just for them. “I had my concerns, as untested as she is, but my Royal Blood Worker alleviated them.”

The world came to a crashing standstill around him, his senses narrowing just to the man beside him. “I beg your pardon?”

“She was right, of course,” the King went on, as unbothered as ever, even as he was digging this knife deeper into Samuel’s gut. “Our Shan has a wonderful intuition for these matters; it’s part of what makes her such an incomparable Royal Blood Worker.”

“Indeed,” Samuel agreed, because it was expected of him.

Because, as damning as this was, it was correct.

Shan was a master of the chessboard, directing all the pawns.

Once, Samuel believed that Shan would play the game to destroy their enemies, but this…

he had no explanation for. Amelia Dunn was not an ally or a minion to be controlled, so why had she done this?

The King clasped him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture, though the press of his claws felt more like a warning, than anything. “I need to return to my work, son. But I trust you will do your utmost to make her feel welcome.”

Samuel swallowed down the bitterness that burned in the back of his throat. “I will.”

“Good.” He let go, stepping to the center of the room again. “Alas, my duties call me elsewhere. Dunn…” He paused, and she dropped into the most precise curtsy Samuel had ever seen. “I look forward to seeing how you serve Aeravin.”

“You will not be disappointed,” she said, with all the solemnity of a vow.

The King smiled, chilling as ever, then swept from the room, leaving the rest of them standing there in his wake.

“Well,” Samuel said, because if nothing else, he would keep his word, “how about we get you acclimatized, Amelia?”

She turned to him, grinning with too many teeth. “Yes, let’s.”