It hurt to return to the Grand Hall so soon after what occurred only a night before, but Frederick had been summoned. They'd all been summoned.

Thescan courtiers filled the space, the Hendlemark soldiers and their pepper-colored armor splattered throughout the crowd. A somber air hovered over everything despite the polite conversations and forced laughter, as if they were now aware of just how serious it had become.

Saebane himself sat upon the gold-and-velvet throne in his black sorcerer leather and spikes, laughing with a group of vampyres. Urnald and Rycard spoke a short distance away from them, and Frederick met Urnald's eyes briefly before looking away.

A stiff-backed Arabella knelt at Saebane's feet and watched the crowd, held in place by a chain attached to that collar. Though she was naked, she'd managed to make it somehow modest. Her dark unkempt hair spilled over her shoulders and covered her breasts, the scraps of white sheet covering the lower part of her body. She seemed so still she almost resembled marble.

Frederick nudged through the crowd, courtiers scurrying out of his path when they realized it was him. He needed to get close to her. Needed to see if there were any new marks on her body or if she'd been tortured in some other way. Saebane noticed him and regarded him with an amused glance.

"Why do I keep her around after all that she's done to me?" Saebane swirled his wine, a thoughtful expression stealing his pale face. "Well, she has a cunt that could fell a god."

The men snickered, but Arabella showed no reaction.

This seemed to displease Saebane, and he gave her a glare of annoyance. "And what is the bitch herself thinking about?"

Arabella raised a pale shoulder. "You know it's true. I certainly know it's true, so you'll get no indignance from me. If you want everyone else to know that you're going mad from wanting me, then let them know. Pathetic disgusting bastard."

All chatter stopped.

Saebane rose from the throne, dangerous intent flickering within his eyes. Within moments, her hair was wrapped around his knuckles, and he yanked her from her platform and dragged her down the shallow steps. But she evinced no reaction. Showed no pain. She merely waited as he pulled her along, trailing after him like a rag. The crowd drew away from them as they entered the floor.

"Such insolence," he spat, "when you can afford none."

"Don't be stupid," she droned, cringing as the chain clanged around her throat and stopped them from advancing. "Being insolent costs me nothing."

"Then prepare to be corrected. I think it's time for tonight's entertainment, don't you?" He snapped his fingers, and cries sounded from all around Frederick.

A group of people appeared, bound, gagged, and forced to their knees below the thrones.

The King's Council.

"These are the traitors of Thescan," Saebane announced. "The orchestrators of the Gentle King's mad reign. The conspirators against the House of the Moon." He gave Frederick a mocking salute. "To show the King of Thescan that I hold no ill will against him for yesterday, these men will be punished tonight in his honor. But this won't be fun without the proper guests." And with another wave of his hand, he conjured a group of people.

They were children of every age, their mothers at their sides. Frederick stilled.

These were the families of the King's Council.

All of them were bound by rope, but unlike the council members, none of them were gagged. They were free to weep with fear, the cries of the smallest children smashing Frederick's soul into a thousand pieces.

He didn't know what Saebane intended to do, but this had to be stopped.

At some point, Urnald had joined his side. "Whatever you do, do not interfere."

Frederick could hardly speak against the rage that threatened to send him over. "And know that whatever happens next, it rests on your head as much as it does on mine."

"Tonight, we'll do things a little differently," Saebane announced. "We're going to need a judge and executioner, and I know just the person." A man appeared at his feet, and Frederick recognized his blood-red hair instantly.

Gheorge blinked at his surroundings, scowling as he realized where he'd been taken. His pale skin was covered in more blood and bruises. The vampyres from the Spiderweb must have given him another beating, and it enraged Frederick to see.

Gheorge looked up at Saebane with loathing. "What do you want now, you bastard?"

Saebane grinned and rested a booted foot on his back. "You are back to entertain us tonight."

"Two nights in a row?" Gheorge said, widening his eyes with mocking. "Surely the other prisoners are getting jealous over how much you fancy me. I'm starting to think you want to be more than just my friend."

"They'll all get a turn," Saebane said, lowering to pinch Gheorge's cheek. "For now, you are my favorite."

Arabella remained motionless all the while, watching the scene unfold with empty eyes.

Saebane dismissed Gheorge and turned to the crowd. "Because Arabella refused to play along last night, I've decided to bring in Gheorge—one of her generals and closest friends. Gheorge," he said, raising a brow at him, "because you were last night's winner, you get to be tonight's judge and executioner. Your task is simple: before you are the families of the former King's Council of Thescan. You get to pick one person for me to kill. Who do you choose?"

Gheorge's face went even paler as he cast his eyes over the hostages. "You want me to choose from these people? Women? Children? That hardly seems sporting. Why not swap them out for every member of the Spiderweb and we can kill all those silly fuckers in one go."

"This game isn't intended to be sporting," Saebane said, circling Gheorge. "It's meant to punish the traitors of Thescan, and mass execution just didn't seem sporting at all." The vampyres laughed. "So, I'll take them all one by one. You have the honor of picking which of the filth I should kill first."

Gheorge's eyes roved over each face. "I won't be part of this. Kill me if you want. But I won't be killing one of them."

With a minute movement of Saebane's hand, dozens of swords appeared in the air, hovering over each person huddled on the ground.

"Good gods," Frederick muttered. "Are we just going to let this happen?"

Urnald remained a statue at his side. He didn't seem to be breathing.

"Did I forget to mention that if you don't pick one—I kill all of them but one?" Saebane said. "The person I keep alive, I pick completely at random, and they'll be the ones who get to pick who dies tomorrow. Just think, the person I leave standing might be no more than ten years old. So, the choice is yours, Gheorge. Will you kill one to spare all? Or will you kill all to spare one." His eyes flitted to the place Arabella knelt on the marble. "Of course, your queen could end it all by choosing me, but she's unlikely to play tonight just like last night. The choice will be up to you, I'm afraid."

Gheorge looked over the prisoners, several minutes of excruciating silence thickening like fog.

Frederick couldn't stand it. Watching Gheorge and Arabella reduced to this. She did nothing all the while, simply staring at Gheorge as she waited for him to make this decision.

And the families ...

The women were barely keeping their composure, their babies screaming on the floor for them. Their children called for their fathers on the council. And the members of the King's Council could do nothing but watch it unfold. Some of them had thrashed so much in their restraints that a vampyre from the Spiderweb had come to hold them still. Some of them refused to give Saebane a reaction, including Hethrensen, who regarded the scene with steely calm.

"What's it to be?" Saebane hissed, the swords glinting.

"None of them," Gheorge said.

"No?"

"No," Gheorge said again through gritted teeth. "I won't take part in anything you tell me to do unless you force me to do it with that cowardly power of yours. I won't pick a single one. So fuck you and whatever hole you crawled out of. Beat me or better yet, kill me and be done with it. I won't do it of my own free will."

Saebane raised a brow. "That means you've killed them all."

Some of the prisoners whimpered.

Gheorge viewed them with tired eyes. "I haven't killed any of them. You chose to kill them all. Not me. This is their blood on your hands. If I pick one—even one—then it's their blood on my hands. I won't live with it. So many innocents ..." He shook his head. "You couldn't make Arabella pick last night, and you can't make me pick today. So fuck yourself, you evil prick. I won't play any of these games with you."

An unseen force swept through the room, causing the courtiers to scream, and it swirled up to the roof before crashing down, pummeling Gheorge into the ground.

"Choose," Saebane said.

Gheorge did nothing.

"Choose," Saebane commanded again, the force of his magic sending Gheorge flying across the floor until he slammed against the wall.

Gheorge groaned. "Go t-to Hell."

Saebane advanced on him, assaulting Gheorge with invisible hands. Gheorge could do nothing but accept all the pain as Saebane unleashed. Bone cracked. Blood spilled. His hair and clothes wet with it as the beating went on and on.

"You have ten seconds to pick one," Saebane warned. "Ten seconds or I kill them all."

Frederick's muscles tensed. He couldn't watch this anymore. Gheorge ... wasn't going to do it. He wouldn't make a decision. All of them would die.

Unless Frederick did something about it.

"Quite right," Frederick announced, pushing through the crowd. Gheorge dropped to the floor, released of whatever hold Saebane had on him as the latter whirled to face him. "After spending months with the vampyres, I know just how weak they can be. Why, they're subject to their emotions worse than humans are. But these are vipers that existed in my court. It's only right that I be the one to punish the enablers of the Gentle King."

Saebane straightened. "Now this will be interesting. You mean to come and entertain us all?"

"For me this is a matter of uprooting the evil from my kingdom," Frederick said, his boot steps echoing on the marble as he approached the prisoners. "But if it amuses you and all gathered here today, then please. Let me oblige you."

Saebane's eyes brightened with wicked delight. "And who do you nominate I kill?"

"No one at all. I mean for you to give me your sword so I may do it personally."

Saebane's lips twitched into a smile, and he waved all the swords away except for one. "This I must see."

Frederick plucked the blade from the air and nodded. "Then you'll see it with no further delay."

He marched before all the people gathered there. Women. Children. Every family. Dirty. Neglected. Underfed. They all trembled like twigs, some of them not-so silently weeping. He passed them all, forcing himself to view each child and mother, before reaching the end and halting.

"Please," he wept—Lord Hethrensen's heir, Marcon.

Marcon was the spitting image of his father with his dark eyes and shoulder-length black hair. Not quite a boy but barely a man. Only recently he'd come of age.

But Frederick hated Marcon more than even Hethrensen.

Hethrensen was a self-serving glutton for profit and greed. But his son was a spoiled monster who'd been responsible for the rape of several peasant women who lived on the farmlands past Aldren Heights. They'd summoned the courage to approach The House of the Moon with the crimes committed against them, and Frederick had sworn he would grant them justice.

He brought the evidence to the Gentle King and demanded an arrest, but Hethrensen successfully manipulated the madman into pardoning his entitled son. Marcon had smiled smugly as Frederick left court that day, but Hethrensen had been unable to look anyone in the eye. He knew his son was pure evil. Knew the bastard deserved to die but pled for his mercy anyway. There was nothing Frederick could do about it. He'd failed the women who'd trusted him to serve them justice.

Until today.

"I beg your mercy," Marcon said.

"You have two sisters and three brothers kneeling next to you," Frederick said with genuine disgust, "yet you dare put them in harm's way by pleading my mercy? You put the children of other families in harm's way for your own selfishness."

"I am the heir to my house," Marcon stuttered. "I cannot let my other siblings suffer from my responsibilities. Pick some other family."

Hethrensen made a pained sound that was muffled by his gag, tears spilling down his face. The man had finally broken.

Frederick looked to Saebane. "If it pleases you, then I am certain."

Saebane gave a gracious gesture. "If you are certain, then it pleases me. Proceed, Your Highness."

"With thanks," Frederick replied.

He seized Marcon by the hair, causing him to cry out. Marcon tried to squirm away, refusing to accept his fate. Even now he begged and cursed. But Frederick was stronger, and he brought the curve of the sword to rest beneath his throat before letting it sigh along Marcon's flesh. He cut deeply. Cleanly.

Frederick released Marcon and let the body tumble to the floor. Marcon gripped at his throat, but it would do him no good. His fingers couldn't contain all the blood.

The court was silent as they watched the man gurgle and twitch toward his death. Only the cries of his siblings and Hethrensen could be heard, coupled with the overwhelming shrieks of the babies still writhing on the floor. And Frederick stood over Marcon and watched it all, watched as his skin paled and eyes rolled to the back of his head. It took minutes for Marcon to finally let go and his body to still. Blood crept along the floor, inches from touching Frederick's boots.

A tinge of regret stole Frederick's consciousness. No, he wasn't sorry for killing Marcon, but he was sorry that his siblings had to watch. Marcon's sister's skirts were soaked with his death, the young girl barely holding it together. That there were women and children who were prisoner who had to watch it all and wonder if they would experience the same fate.

He was even sorry for Hethrensen—a father of flawed love but a father all the same. He didn't dare look at any of their faces. Made sure not to look at Urnald, even on accident. And he couldn't bring himself to check on Gheorge and Arabella. Couldn't afford to show that he cared what anyone thought of him.

Another mad king in the making.

Saebane clapped, and the court followed suit. "Marvelous, Frederick!"

Frederick bowed deeply, shame burning the back of his neck. "I thank you, Saebane. I plan on proving my loyalty to you once more. That I promise you." So I may get close to you and learn how to destroy you.

"Then you are off to a fantastic start. You have pleased me well this eve. Come. Drink with me tonight."

Frederick joined him, and both of them took a seat on each throne. It was his first time to sit in it, and he was doing it with a being he despised more than anyone.

With a subtle wave of Saebane's hand, all the prisoners vanished, including Gheorge, returned to live another night in the dungeons. Music erupted, conversations resumed, and Saebane called for someone to bring them some wine.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Saebane said with a warm smile. "But you are well on your way to proving yourself, Frederick. Well on your way."

Frederick lowered his head with thanks, fighting the nausea bubbling in his stomach.

A servant brought a tray with two goblets, and Saebane took both before sniffing each one. "Just checking for poison," he said, handing one to Frederick. "You can never be too careful."

Frederick accepted and viewed the contents, finding a wine as dark as the blood he'd just shed. He didn't drink. Couldn't afford to. But to get closer to Saebane, he would do it tonight. And his father would watch it all in silent disapproval, but he would leave him alone. Frederick needed to be left alone. "What shall we drink to?" he murmured, remembering the toast he'd shared with Gheorge.

To your health, old boy, as vampyres have no use for it.

"Let's drink to new friendships," Saebane suggested. "To spending the night learning about one another."

Frederick glanced at the back of Arabella's head then viewed the cup. He longed for this to be over, and the wounds he'd inflicted on himself chaffed against his sleeve. "I'm honored."

They brought their goblets to toast. "Indeed."

Saebane didn't move to drink, meaning that Frederick would need to be first, and he lifted the goblet to his lips. The wine over against his tongue, and he already knew he would regret it later. Saebane observed him with those cruel black eyes, and the sorcerer joined Frederick and drank deeply from his goblet.