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Finn was the first one to offer his heartspring a bite of cheese. Then suddenly the strawberry-blond woman had a glass of wine in her hand, laughing at everything Liam Quill said as she sat in his lap.

To Toven’s right was a muscular Bomardi with rich bronze skin whom Briony thought was called Kleve.

He’d been in final year at school when she and Rory started and had been kind as far as Briony could remember.

He looked rather displeased about the entire evening, sipping quietly from his wineglass, while his heartspring, a dark-skinned woman Briony didn’t recognize at all, stood still as stone, eyes a thousand miles away.

Then sat Collin, whom Briony could hardly look at without feeling ill as he forced Cecily to kiss him at the dinner table. Between Collin and Canning sat a man whom Briony thought was the successor to Gains’s place in the Ten, though she didn’t remember his name.

From her left, Finn reached forward for his glass of wine, and a black gemstone ring caught the light. And like a bolt of lightning hitting the sky, she suddenly realized why these men had dining privileges like this.

They weren’t just old friends from school. They were the successors.

Cohle, Carvin, Trow, Gains, Locklin, Quill, Twindle, Hearst, Kleve, and Gidrey—those who stood in line to the Seat—passed their place in line to one person of their choosing on their death or abdication.

She glanced at their right hands. Dark gemstones gleamed back at her from their middle fingers, like Toven’s.

Even Finn, who had previously been successor to his father at fourteenth, was wearing a ring that symbolized the Ten.

He must have moved up. Lorne’s ring had no gemstone encased in it. She itched to ask Toven about that.

These eight men were all on the line, somehow.

In fact, if she matched each known successor to a position on the line, she would probably find that the two other successors not here were women.

She would have scoffed if she could, knowing how much Bomard looked down on Evermore for relying on male-born primogeniture.

Now look at them. Some of their mothers or aunts may be on the line, but the second generation was certainly a boys’ club.

“Toven,” Canning called across the table, his cheeks flushed from the wine. “Since we won’t be getting a taste, tell us a bit about the princess in the bedroom?”

A guffaw burst from someone, and then the table went silent. Briony’s face grew hot, and Toven’s throat clicked as he swallowed.

“What do you want to know?” He lifted his wineglass, draining it. Her heartbeat drummed against her ribs.

Behind Canning, Jellica had tears rolling down her face that Briony couldn’t understand. Jellica’s hands were squeezed tightly into fists, and her chest and neck were flushed.

“I seem to remember she was aloof in public, but fiery in private.” Canning smirked at Briony, and she remembered the way he’d stolen her for a dance at the state dinner. “Is she just as blazing in bed?”

Laughter clattered against the spoons, and she lifted her head to find every eye on her, hungry with lust or cruel amusement.

“In the beginning,” Toven said finally, a low hum through her back. “Now she knows how to relax.”

She felt a shiver at her shoulder blades, spreading outward and sinking into her skin.

“What’s her cunt like?” Lorne asked, biting back a smile.

“Delicious.”

There was stillness, and Briony thought perhaps Toven had said the wrong thing. Because it wouldn’t be necessary to … it wouldn’t be something that he’d … that they’d—

“You go down on her?” Collin asked, voicing her concerns with a grimace.

“Well, if she’s misbehaving I don’t bother,” he said, as if he’d been asked about the weather.

“That’s what the elixir is for, Toven,” Canning said with a laugh.

Behind him, Jellica whined in her throat. Canning beckoned her forward and sat her across his lap. Briony’s stomach churned as Jellica finally calmed once she was touching him. Canning shushed her and whispered, “Just a bit longer.”

Briony hid her disgust as Jellica pressed her face into Canning’s neck and began to kiss his skin desperately. Jellica was on the elixir at this very moment. This was what it did, Briony realized.

“We get on fine without the elixir,” Toven said.

“It’s so much more satisfying to have them moaning and begging for it all by themselves, don’t you think?

” Toven’s hand lifted off her hip and reached for a curl, twisting it lightly.

“That rush of Sacral Magic is so much sweeter that way. No offense, Canning.”

Canning’s lips twitched without smiling. Jellica was writhing in his lap, pressing herself closer, kissing his skin, and trying to get her fingers under his collar. Almost lazily, Canning pulled her hands off his buttons and pushed them into her lap.

“But you have used the elixir?” Canning asked. There was a challenge in his expression.

Briony felt every eye on them, the men and the women. All but Jellica who sobbed against Canning’s neck, as if she’d die if he didn’t allow her to touch him.

“No. Rosewood doesn’t need it,” Toven said conversationally.

Liam picked up his glass and said grandly, “Oh, that we might all be blessed with Toven Hearst’s sexual prowess.” His eyes glinted.

Toven breathed deeply against Briony’s ribs. “The stones bless us all with different skills,” he said dryly. “I’m sure you and your heartspring will find your own rhythm, Liam.”

The table chuckled lightly, and Liam glared at him. Liam’s heartspring was a man. Briony had heard rumors in school that Liam preferred men, but he was always quick to deny it and quick to anger over it.

Toven sipped his wine as Liam opened his mouth to retort—

“We’d be honored to have Miss Rosewood partake next week,” Canning said. The room went quiet. “Seeing as you won’t be sharing her, we’d love to have a glimpse at what she’s like.” Canning ran his tongue over his teeth. “On the house, of course.”

There was a tense pause. Every eye flickered between Toven and Canning. Toven tilted his head, and she could feel the breath he drew before replying.

“That’s kind, but quite a waste. Like I’ve said, we get on fine without.”

Toven ran his hand up her hip, over her rib cage, and Briony’s body froze at the sensation before she could mask it. She glanced up at Canning; a slow smirk was curling over his face.

“No need to be shy, Toven. You know what happens in this room, stays in this room. I want to see her gagging for it, like you’ve described in such detail to us,” Canning said.

It had an air of finality. He snapped suddenly, with an idea.

“And it doesn’t need to be a waste. You could sign up for the arena next week! ”

Briony had no idea what that meant.

Toven set down his wineglass. “I assume that’s why Miss Reeve is currently gnawing on your neck?”

With a laugh, Canning softly instructed Jellica to leave his lap and return to the wall behind him. She whined, pressing herself closer. He kissed her cheek and gave her a push.

“Yes, you’ll see me in the arena tonight,” Canning said. “Jellica will give me a bit more strength, won’t you dear?” He blew her a kiss. Jellica shivered, her hand running over her skin.

The men started trading stories about the women in their laps or women in the past, as if they were all back in the boys’ dormitories.

The laughter started again. The man to Canning’s left, Gains’s successor, told a particularly nasty story, and he bounced the woman on his lap in a crude imitation of it, jostling her until she spilled her glass.

Briony tried to focus on the women, the exits, the sharp cutlery—anything but the vileness happening in her father’s old dining room. Or the way Toven’s hand stayed in her curls, threading and twisting softly.

One of the women passing out fruit and sweets smiled demurely every time a wandering hand squeezed her backside or drifted up the side of her thigh, and Cecily looked as if she might be sick as Collin turned her to straddle him in the chair.

Briony felt acid in her throat, burning away at her lungs. Toven had told her that behind locked doors, things were worse. She braced herself for the evening to spiral further. Not even the slow rub of Toven’s thumb behind her ear could distract her from the tightness in her chest.

The men were talking over one another, louder and louder.

She felt Toven laugh when Liam made a joke, bellow when Finn dared Canning to chug the rest of his bottle, chuckle when Kleve left to grab more wine from the attached serving room.

As her eyes followed him out, they landed on Collin pushing on Cecily’s shoulders, urging her down to her knees.

She gasped, choking on the air. No one batted an eye. One more glance showed Cecily’s shaking fingers unbuckling Collin’s trousers. Her face was pale but resigned, as if she saw no other option.

Briony couldn’t breathe.

“Who’s against you in the arena tonight, Canning? Not Carvin, I hope,” Finn said.

“No, Carvin takes a break this week,” Canning said.

“After what happened to Hardstark last month, I’d be hesitant to get anywhere near Carvin,” said Liam.

Briony’s ears pricked at the mention of Cordelia. She looked away as Cecily took Collin out of his trousers, bile rising in the back of her throat.

“Cohle was too ambitious,” Canning said. “He should have known Hardstark would be husked.”

Her eye twitched. Her shallow breath felt like ice in her chest.

Husked. Cordelia had been husked—all her magic taken, used up, with no promise it would ever return.

Briony squeezed her hands into fists.

A glass shattered—a spray of crystal shards across the dinner table, fruit and cheese exploding outward and bouncing away. The men scattered to their feet, and a pressure released in her chest as Toven stood with her, spinning her body away, his hand outstretched to cast protections.

Collin’s fist was bloody where his glass had been just a second ago. Looking down at his hand in amazement, Collin flexed his fingers. Cecily crawled out from under the table.

Briony breathed deep.

Her magic.

She’d just let her magic loose in front of the successors to the line.