Constantine's POV
Constantine's jaw tightened as the Rex's words echoed in his mind.
Sacred Creatures.
He hadn't misheard. The Rex had said it plainly, as if invoking ancient power was no different from ordering wine at supper. But Constantine had read the textbooks since childhood, as had every other child who studied the lores of the kingdom. He knew what those words meant—and what they cost.
Benedict fell into step beside him as they exited the council hall. "You went quiet in there."
"The village near the Diseptum," Constantine said. "The one on the border."
Benedict raised a brow. "What about it?"
"There are rumors. Sightings." Constantine stopped walking and turned to face him. "I need you to go. Talk to the people there. Find out if there are still accounts of the Sacred Creature of Fire."
Benedict studied him for a moment. "You're well aware those might just be rumors."
"Rumors always have their origins, Captain." Constantine held his gaze. "Find out what you can. The truth will come out, no matter how deeply it's buried in lore and legend."
Benedict nodded. He knew better than to ask questions Constantine wouldn't answer. "I'll leave tonight."
"Captain."
Benedict paused and turned.
"Whatever you find." Constantine held his gaze. "Bring it to me with no delays."
Benedict nodded once. He understood.
Constantine watched him go, then turned toward the road that led back to his home.
He wouldn't quite call it home. There were things that had happened there that had never allowed it to feel like comfort. It was never a place he wanted to return to.
The mansion of the Valerius loomed against the darkening sky, its windows like hollow eyes.
Constantine braced his shoulders and pushed through the front doors without announcing himself.
He didn't get far.
Vanriche stood in the foyer, arms crossed, leaning against the bannister as if he'd been waiting. His dark hair was slicked back, his coat immaculate. Everything about him was controlled—except for the venom in his gaze.
Constantine's footsteps slowed.
Here they go again.
"Cousin." The word dripped with something far from affection.
Constantine gave a curt nod and moved to walk past him.
"Tomorrow is the last day of the month."
Constantine stopped.
"You remember what that means." Vanriche pushed off the bannister, stepping into his path. "Lock yourself in. I don't want a repeat of what happened in the east wing."
Constantine said nothing. His fingers curled at his sides.
"I'll have them sent," Vanriche continued, waving a hand as though discussing livestock. "Something to keep you... sustained."
"The women from the pub again?" Constantine's voice was flat. "I've grown tired of them."
Vanriche's expression twisted. "Tired." He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You're tired. Do you hear yourself?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to something venomous. "You're handed everything. Fed. Sheltered. Given allowances no one else in this house receives. And still you stand there, ungrateful, like a man who deserves more than the scraps he's already been given."
Constantine's jaw tightened. "Scraps."
"What else would you call it? You're a curse on this family." Vanriche's eyes darkened. He descended one step, then another, his voice rising with each word. "Every month, I have to bury the damage you've caused. Do you have any idea how much money I've slipped under tables to cover your tracks? How many lies I've told to keep your existence hidden from the court?" He stopped just above Constantine, looking down at him. "And still, you stand there with the audacity to complain about the quality of what keeps you from tearing this house apart?"
Constantine turned slowly, squaring his shoulders.
The best to deal with this was to keep his mouth shut. Because if he opened it, he would've murdered the his own cousin on the spot.
"You're like a fucking dog that needs to be tended to," Vanriche's voice cut through like a blade. "One I've kept fed and collared out of obligation. Nothing more."
Silence.
Constantine stepped forward. His voice dropped low, barely above a whisper. "Then don't." His eyes held Vanriche's, unblinking. "Cut the leash. See what happens."
Vanriche's jaw tightened, but he didn't step back. "And then what? You tear me apart, and by morning, the house is surrounded. The court finds out what you are. They'll put you down like the beast you're so desperate to pretend you're not." His voice steadied, though something flickered behind his eyes. "Think, Constantine. For once in your miserable life, think."
The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating.
Constantine's hands trembled at his sides.
It was not from fear.
He wondered why he had been hiding beneath this man's protection when he could've just built a life on his own and disappear from their world.
But he couldn't.
Not now.
He needed to do something first.
Vanriche exhaled slowly, composing himself with deliberate precision. When he spoke again, his tone had shifted. Colder. More calculated. "The Rex has made his intentions clear. He's no longer hiding it."
Constantine forced himself to listen.
"He wants to find the remaining Wielders," Vanriche said. "One, two—however many still exist. Summon the Sacred Creature. And from it, acquire the Santelmo weapons."
Constantine's stomach turned. "He's insane."
"He's the Rex." Vanriche's expression didn't change. "Sanity is a luxury he doesn't need."
"And you're going along with it."
"He also spoke of Berfin."
Constantine's eyes narrowed. "Berfin."
"Liberation." Vanriche met his gaze. "He intends to free it from the Empire."
The words hung in the air. Berfin had been under Imperial control for decades. The idea of liberating it was either revolutionary or suicidal. Possibly both. This region would never win, and Vanriche knew it.
Constantine searched his cousin's face for something—doubt, hesitation, anything. He found nothing.
"What did he promise you?"
Vanriche's jaw tightened. For a fleeting second, something human flickered behind his eyes. Then it was gone, smothered beneath layers of cold ambition.
"The house's rank has been elevated," he said. "Our standing at court is higher than it's been in three generations."
"That's not an answer."
Vanriche turned away, moving toward the staircase. "The marriage to the Richelieu family has been confirmed."
Constantine went still.
Richelieu had only one daughter. Mademoiselle Sakeia de Richelieu. The only princess of the South of Kordiya, the Kingdom of Sirona. A political alliance that would bind their house to one of the most powerful bloodlines on the continent.
"Congratulations." The word tasted like ash. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."
Vanriche paused on the first step, his back to Constantine. His voice was ice. "Lock yourself in tomorrow. I won't remind you again."
He climbed the stairs without another word, his footsteps fading into the silence of the upper floors.
Constantine stood alone in the foyer, the shadows lengthening around him. His hands were still clenched at his sides. The anger hadn't left—it never really did. It just sank deeper, settling into his bones like an old wound that refused to heal.
The Sacred Creatures. The Wielders. Santelmo made into weapons.
The Rex was playing with fire he couldn't control. And Vanriche, for all his cold pragmatism, was letting himself be pulled into the flames.
Constantine exhaled slowly and turned toward the west corridor, toward the room where he would seal himself in tomorrow night.
To his right, he caught his reflection in a mirror—the first time he'd seen himself in a while.
Skin pale as moonlight. Silver hair blanched white beneath the moon's glow. But his eyes...
The crescent moon slipped beneath the clouds, and hunger seized him from chest to toe.
His eyes flared a bright, burning red.
He blinked hard. Black again.
Whatever was coming, he couldn't stop it. Not yet.
But he could prepare.