Previously on "The Otherworlders" - Prince Julian, prince of the Vampyrs and Sebastian's mother's distant cousin, is holding court in celebration of his engagement and the boys are there as a cover for their mission.

Vampyric courts are notorious for their political machinations and Emilie, Prince Julian's first cousin, is hard at work at it.

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Prince Julian's cousin, Emilie, and her husband, Raphael, are lounging in their chamber, taking a break from the night's ceaseless celebrations.

While Emilie paces restlessly, Raphael takes a seat on a small, tufted settee situated at the foot of their bed. He slumps back into the couch, and with a tired groan, kicks off his boots, and tucks an embroidered cushion behind his head.

Emilie strolls over to a silver bar cart sitting on the other side of the room and pours them both a glass of rich, crimson wine.

"I don't understand why you're so upset, my love," Rapheal says with an exaggerated stretch and a loud, gaping yawn. "This union will put your family in an even more advantageous position."

"It will," Emilie concedes cooly, "but it's simply not enough."

Raphael's face creases in confusion. "Enough for what?"

Emilie returns and hands her husband a drink, then takes a seat on the matching settee sitting on the other side of the gilded coffee table in between them.

"Raphael," she replies tersely. "Do you not understand that we're losing ground, both as a family and amongst our kind?" She looks at him intently, assessing if he could really be so naïve, then resigned, takes a slow sip of her wine.

Deciding to try again, Emilie softens her voice and says, "In all honesty, I don't believe either my uncle nor my cousin truly understands the risk they're putting our family in by supporting this ridiculous Otherworlder integration. I mean, did you see..?" She tilts her head imperiously. "Did you see Sir Geoffrey's First Son, the bratty one, Sebastian, parading around the palace with those lesser beings as if they were our equals, as if they were his best mates! It was appalling!" She sweeps her honey blonde hair over her shoulder, rests her arm on the back of the couch, and drains the last of her wine in one long, deliberate swallow.

"Yes, I did see him," Raphael replies, however knowing his wife, he decides to tread cautiously. "But, darling, I still don't see what that has to do with-"

"Oh, Raffe, Raffe, Raffe!" Emilie rolls her eyes. "Are you truly that thick?" she snaps, irritated.

Then after a beat, she sucks in a deep, calming breath and slides her empty wine glass onto the gilded coffee table sitting in between them.

"All right. Let me explain," Emilie offers. "You see, The High Council's push for Otherworlder integration is only growing in popularity amongst the Lower Houses. I mean, good gods! It's actually emboldened them! They're getting more audacious by the hour! And based on what I've heard, many of the Lower Houses see this as an opportunity to finally violate their long-held oaths of devotion to the Great Families, who have provided them with their lands, their careers, and their riches."

Exasperated, Emilie flings herself back onto the couch and mutters underneath her breath, "Those ungrateful bastards!"

Rapheal scowls, having come from one of these apparently reviled and ungrateful Lower Houses.

But Emilie remains oblivious to the insult she's just so callously thrown her husband's way.

Instead, she leans forward and jabs a finger at him, stewing in her self-righteousness. "Do you realize that there's a group of minor nobles currently planning to petition for the reformation of the Council of Great Houses?!"

Rapheal stares at his wife, occasionally blinking, doing his best to look attentive given that's what he's expected to do.

"And if that reformation passes, Raphael," Emilie continues, "it means all of the Houses become equal, both in status and in the eyes of the law. That also means that the Council of Great Houses becomes nothing more than a ceremonial body that meets two, maybe three times a year."

She leans forward, her ire visibly uncoiling before him. "The issue is that this shift in power provides the Lower Houses with just the excuse they need to push for a change in the political equation. It moves us towards a more progressive society, where everything becomes flat, and the playing field... leveled! Don't you realize? Under that scenario, the hierarchy is gone! Our influence is gone!" She makes a sweeping gesture. "Our power... gone!"

Raphael purses his lips, giving his wife's words serious consideration. "Hmm... I hadn't thought of it that way."

Emilie reaches across the coffee table and takes her husband's hand in hers, a condescending gesture, something you might do when encouraging a small child who's clueless but at least makes an honest attempt. "Of course you hadn't, my love," she says. "You weren't born into a royal or even a Great House. So your mind simply doesn't work that way." She gives him a condescending smile.

Unfortunately, now very used to his wife's largely unintended arrogance, Rapheal swallows his pride and asks, "So what do we do?"

"We have no other choice but to go to war," Emilie declares, a bit too casually for Raphael's liking.

"Emilie..." He chuckles awkwardly. "Surely you jest."

"Oh, no, dear," Emilie assures him. "I'm quite serious. I even have backers - financial backers - who believe, as I do, that this is our only option."

Raphael takes a moment to assess just how serious his wife is. Then he stands and starts to pace before her, all the while rubbing the back of his neck. "Financial backing is all fine and good, sweetheart, but you're going to need an entire army to pull off something like that." He slants her a skeptical glance. "Just how do you propose to commandeer the royal army without your uncle or your cousin's consent?"

Emilie calmly pours herself another glass of wine. "I have a secret weapon and I'm going to use that weapon to raise an army of my own."

Raphael halts and looks down at his wife, every last pretense of trying to placate her gone. "Emilie," he says. "You're venturing into very dangerous territory with that kind of talk. Possibly even treason."

"Don't you think I've considered that, Raffe?" Emilie snaps back. "What you don't understand is that it wouldn't be treason if the army was raised merely for the defense of our family."

Concerned his wife is planning to go rogue, Raphael sits down next to her. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees and bows his head, keen to hear exactly what his wife has in mind. "So, mon chéri," he says, "what is this secret weapon of yours?"

Emilie chuckles and wags a playful finger at him. "No, no, no. I need to know that I can trust you before I elaborate any further."

Raphael's head jerks back as he stares at her, stung by the insinuation. He pouts. "After everything I've done for you, after all I've sacrificed for you, you treat me like this?" It's clear that he's truly hurt. "Emilie," he continues, "I gave up my military career; I disavowed my family who had stood against your house for decades; I broke ties with friends and fellow soldiers all in order to marry you. And after all that, you still doubt me?"

Emilie looks over at her husband and a long moment passes between them.

She realizes that she's gone too far.

She reaches out and gently strokes his cheek. "You're right, my love. There's no room for doubt in our relationship anymore, not after all we've been through." She hikes up her gown, climbs over his lap, and straddles him. Then she leans in for a long, slow kiss, occasionally sucking his tongue and nibbling his lips, just the way he likes it.

Raphael groans as Emilie's hand slides across his surprisingly smooth chest, popping open each button on his shirt as her hands descend further.

"I'm more than happy to share my secret weapon with you, my love..." she coos in between kisses, her hand continuing its journey down his chest before slipping beneath the waistband of his pants. "But it's a rather inconvenient time since my surprise is in the basement," she says, her voice playful and frisky.

Raphael hisses as Emilie's hand finds its target, and he lets his head fall back against the sofa. Closing his eyes, he lets out a long, satisfied moan as his wife has her way with him.

But after a moment, he comes to his senses.

Although he revels the feel of Emilie's skillful touch and aches to reciprocate before ripping her stockings off and burying himself deep inside of her, he knows there are much more important issues that must be dealt with.

"Emi, my dear," Raphael murmurs as his lips skim the base of her neck.

"Mm-hmm..." Emile purrs back, gearing herself up for a 15-minute quickie before they have to return to the throngs of social climbers and sycophants.

"Since we've got a few minutes before we must go back," he says as his hands skims his wife's thighs. "Why don't we go down into the basement and you can show me this little secret weapon of yours."

Emilie's hand stills. She pulls back and looks her husband dead in the eye. "You're serious?" she asks him, slipping her hand out of his pants and pushing him back into the couch.

Rapheal stutters, eager to apologize. "Well... I, uh... I just thought since everyone is busy—"

"I don't believe it," Emilie retorts angrily, rising from Raphael's lap with such swiftness it leaves him breathless for all the wrong reasons.

Standing before him, she glares at him as she adjusts her dress with a cold precision that sends chills down Raphael's spine. "It seems you're far more interested in my secrets than you are in me tonight, Raphael. So I will keep you no further."

Her face hardens as her eyes flash with fire. "And you're a big boy," she adds with bite. "Why don't you go wandering alone in Julian's 10,000 square foot basement by yourself. Hmm? I'm sure you'll stumble across my little secret... eventually."

And with that, Emilie turns sharply on her heels and storms out of the room, leaving her husband stunned in the wake of his wife's defiance.

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A/N - I know it's been a while since we've delved into the political side of the story. If I have time, I'll try to put together a political timeline so something. Just know that each race has a player, bent on seizing power. :-)

~ Paula ❤️