Page 43

“Attendance is mandatory at the Sanguine Ascension Gala upon the eve of the Blood Moon. Failure to present oneself shall be deemed treason against the Treaty of Shadows, forfeiting all Veil wards and inviting lawful execution.”

I clear my throat, arching an eyebrow. “Gotta love a lawful execution.” I nearly drop the card as the text swirls, disappearing in a vortex of red ink, before new words reappear in blood red letters.

PROTOCOL OF THE BLOOD COURT:

In accordance with the Ancient Accord of 1492, the Sanctity of the High Courts shall be observed. Armed retainers, household wardens, and common mercenary guards are strictly barred from the palace grounds on pain of immediate slaughter.

Each Head of House is permitted entry for themselves and one titled companion of equal peerage: an acknowledged blood consort or legally sworn betrothed.

Come prepared to toast your peers, or bleed beneath them.

“At Sanguine House?” Lachlan asks, the question dripping with derision. “The red gives it away.”

“It says I can’t bring a guest,” I swallow hard, suddenly terrified. “I thought you could go with me.” The thought of not having Lachlan there is… they’re going to kill me.

“Let me see that,” he says curtly, and I hold the stationery out as he mumbles his way through the fine print. It sounds a lot nicer in his accent than mine. I’m pretty sure Lachlan reading the phonebook would sound nice, though.

“What’s a blood consort?” I ask as he finishes, staring at me.

Kirk meows at me from the floor, and I pick him up without a second thought. Which is a weird experience for us both, considering he’s a warm, wriggly piece of wood.

I set him back down gently and decide not to do that again.

“You don’t have a blood consort,” he says slowly.

“Which is?” I press.

Kirk lets out a forlorn chirp and rubs his head against my jeans.

“Someone you’ve married. Shared the blood with. It’s not a normal wedding.”

I snatch the heavy card back from him. My—my gaze drops to the fine print again, and I tap the card with my finger.

"Are they going to kill me if I go alone?" I ask him, tilting my head.

"The odds are not in your favor, lass," he says.

"I can't—can I do anything to break the rules myself, though?"

"They'll kill you for breaking them. You might just have to take your chances."

"Or..." I say, slowly drawing out the word and trying to force the rest of my idea out.

"Or what, lass? There's no fine print way out of this. You didn't have a betrothed, because you've been lost to the Eternal Society since the day you were born. Which, by the way—" He arches an eyebrow at me, crossing his arms, which only serves to make him look even larger. "—is something that we need to talk about one of these days. Exactly the circumstances surrounding your birth. You're supposed to be dead. You shouldn't even be here."

"Well, I am, and I have a solution." I steeple my fingers in front of me, or try to, almost succeeding in dropping the card completely then managing to make a bumbling idiot out of myself as I have to catch the card out of thin air before it falls on the floor again.

Lachlan gives me a long, disgusted look as I collect myself.

"I'm a lot less concerned about my birth than I am about my impending death, so here's what I am going to suggest." I'm suddenly struggling to say it. "You go with me."

"Are you out of your mind? Did you not hear anything I just said?" Lachlan explodes, closing the distance between us until his nose is nearly brushing my forehead as he tries to look down directly into my eyes. "It says you cannot bring a guard or a mercenary. They are actively trying to keep me from taking care of you, lass. If I show up there in my official capacity, which is the only way I'd be invited access into House Sanguine during an Eternal Society ritual, they'll fucking kill us both for the impertinence, and they'll be happy to do it. You can do this without me, lass."

"I can do it with you," I insist, giving up on any pretense of trying to make my suggestions smoothly. "Will you marry me, Lachlan?" I ask him, tilting my head.

"What the heck are you on about?" he says grumpily. "Can't—marry me? Is that even—what has gotten in your head? Do you have a fever? It's a good thing the doctor's coming, I swear to God."

"Or you could come with me as my betrothed." I tap the word on the card as I say it.