All men are not created equal.
I stand near the back and feel my chest swell. Pride. Hot and fierce and so slagging pure it hurts.
Iron gods everywhere around me—senators who hold asteroid stations, fleet commanders who won the campaigns, strategists who shaped the Conquering before I was born. They've come to our home. To our mansion on the cliffs above Como where the old families built their estates. They turn toward my father like he's the sun in their darkness.
He is mine.
My father stands at the head of the terrace. Damn straight despite the years, despite earning his rest a thousand times over. The scars on his hands catch the lamplight as he grips the stone balustrade. I know every story behind them. Tried to earn my own to match.
"Before the Conquering, mankind devoured itself. Not through malice—through shortsightedness. Through pleasure over all, damn the consequences. The brightest minds enslaved to an economy that demanded toys instead of space exploration. Technologies that could have revolutionized our race, wasted on entertainment and comfort."
My father shifts his weight. Old wound in his left leg. The one from the American campaign. I see it even though he hides it well.
His fist comes down on the stone once. Sharp. The sound cracks across the terrace like a shot.
"So when we conquered mankind, it wasn't for greed. It wasn't for glory. It was to save mankind. To still the chaos." My father's gaze shifts, lingering on Senator Valerius in the front row. "But order is not a cage. A shepherd who starves his flock to keep them weak is no leader—he is a butcher. To ensure our future, we must stop looking at the humans as fuel, and start looking at them as the foundation."
The applause is slow. I see Senator Valerius tighten his jaw. He doesn't clap.
My father's gaze sweeps the crowd. Lands on faces he knows. Men and women he fought beside. Bled beside.
"I am honored," my father says. Simple. Direct. "Honored by your presence tonight. By your trust." A pause. "The Axiom has allowed me this seat. I will not fail him. Or you. Or the generations who fought so we could stand here on this terrace, on this healed world, and speak of the future instead of merely surviving the present."
The words are genuine. I hear it in his voice. The weight of service that doesn't end when the shooting stops—it just changes shape. "I accept this seat in the Senate with humility."
"I will serve the Hierarchy as I served it in war—with everything I have."
The applause starts and I am already clapping. Hard enough that my palms sting.
He catches my eye across the crowd.
I grin. Can't help it.
My father nods once. Slight smile. The one he gives when he's satisfied with how something turned out.
I nod back.
***
Adrian finds me as the crowd begins to move. I feel him approaching before I see him—that reckless energy he carries like a storm cloud.
He tries to clap me on the back. I shift left.
His hand hits air.
"Bloodydamn reflexes." He drops into the space beside me with that easy confidence he wears like armor, grinning. "You still won't let me win one."
"You want me to let you win?"
"Gods, no. Where's the fun in that?" He's already half-drunk. Already performing. "Just saying—you could afford to be a little less paranoid around your precious friend."
"Not paranoid. Prepared."
"Same thing, Julius." He punches my shoulder. Not gently. Nothing about Adrian is gentle. "Training yard tomorrow morning?"
"Dawn," I say immediately.
Adrian groans. "Of course dawn. Your father just became a Senator and you want to celebrate by beating me senseless at sunrise."
"You could always say no."
"And miss the chance to finally beat you?" He grins wider. "Never."
I taste the wine on my tongue. Feel the warmth spreading through my chest. The celebration around me hums with voices and laughter and the certain weight of nobility honoring its own.
I see Sebastian approach.
"Brought something special," Sebastian says. Unlike his twin, he doesn't raise his voice to be heard. He never has to. "Figured tonight deserved it."
He's holding two bottles. Dark glass that catches the lamplight. He sets one on the stone balustrade beside us and uncorks the other.
"Where'd you get this?" Adrian asks.
"Called in a favor. Took me three months to track down the right vintage." Sebastian pours three glasses. The wine catches the light as it falls. Deep red. Almost black. "Lucky they had two left."
He slides the cork back into the opened bottle. Then picks up the other one—the unopened one—and weighs it in his hand.
"This one's for your father," he says, and hands it to a servant to pass along.
I taste the wine Sebastian poured us. Feel it burn down my throat. Complex. Layered. The kind of flavor that takes decades to develop.
"It's perfect," I say. "He'll be delighted."
Sebastian almost smiles. "I know."
Adrian snorts. "He almost smiled. Did you see that?"
"I did not," Sebastian says.
Adrian slings an arm around his shoulders anyway, dragging him half a step closer. "Mark the date. Write it down. Sebastian smiled."
"Let go of me."
"Never."
Sebastian doesn't let go either. Stands there like a statue with Adrian hanging off him, expression flat. But he's not actually trying to escape.
I laugh. Can't help it. The absurdity of them. Then movement catches my eye.
I watch her.
Octavia moves through the crowd like she owns it. That unconscious grace that makes grown men step aside without realizing they're doing it. Her dress is the deep red that only certain families can afford—fabric that catches light like it's holding fire underneath.
She's not alone. Her brother Darius follows half a step behind.
She catches me looking.
Our eyes meet across the terrace.
She smiles.
I should smile back.
I do.
Adrian makes a sound. Half-cough, half-laugh. I don't look at him but I feel his amusement radiating off him like heat.
"Shut up," I say.
"I didn't say anything." he's grinning. And he doesn't push his luck anymore.
"Are you three having fun without us?" She steals Adrian's wine before he can protest. Takes a drink. "That's rude. I thought we were friends."
"We are friends," Adrian says. "We are just better friends when you're here."
She rolls her eyes. But she's smiling. We're all smiling.
"Your father's speech was impressive," Darius says. "The Senate seat is well-earned."
I see him eye the bottle. Adrian pours without asking.
"Even if his views are... controversial," Octavia adds "My father says your house is becoming dangerously sentimental, Julius. He worries the Senate might lose its teeth if your father has his way."
"My father doesn't want to lose the teeth," I say, meeting her eyes. "He just wants to make sure we're biting the right things."
Adrian drains his glass. Pours another. "This conversation needs more wine."
"Everything needs more wine with you around," Darius says.
"Someone has to stay diplomatic." Adrian grins. "Since you'll be too busy plotting."
"Someone has to." Darius doesn't miss a beat. "Since you'll be too busy trying to charm your way through life."
"It's worked so far."
"Has it?" Darius raises an eyebrow. "I seem to remember you charming your way into three duels last year."
"Only three?" Octavia asks.
"Four," Sebastian says. Quiet. "You're forgetting the one with the praetorian-brother."
Adrian grins wider. "That one doesn't count. He apologized."
"After you broke his jaw," I say.
"After he ran his mouth." Adrian shrugs. "Wasn't my fault he couldn't back it up."
"Ah how barbaric." Octavia's tone is pure exasperation. "That's not how civilized people handle things."
"Good thing I'm not civilized then."
I taste the wine again. Feel it warm in my chest. The celebration spreads around me like a living thing. Friends. Family. The certain weight of a future I've been preparing for my entire life.
I would live in this moment forever if I could.
But my enemies brought me war.
***
I wake up.
Sweat soaks through my shirt. My sheets. My skin cold despite the heat of the nightmare still burning in my chest.
The room is dark.
I'm alone.
Have been for weeks.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Breathe. Once. Twice. Control first. Emotion later. That's what my father taught me.
The floor is cold beneath my bare feet. Good. The cold helps. Grounds me. Pulls me back from the terrace and the wine and Adrian's laugh, Octavia's smile and —
Stop.
I stand. Cross to the window. Pull back the curtain.
My reflection stares back at me from the glass. I look like shit.
Haven't slept more than three hours at a stretch since the funeral. Since I buried him in the family crypt and listened to senators tell me how tragic it was. How sudden. How no one could have known.
I turn from the window. Look at my room.
My desk drowns in papers. Medical reports I shouldn't have. Autopsy findings I paid a Even to steal. Toxicology screens that all came back clean because whoever did this was smart. Professional. Knew exactly what they were doing.
The wine bottle sits on my nightstand.
The nightmare plays again behind my eyes. Adrian punching my shoulder. Sebastian almost smiling. Octavia catching me watching her. Darius being careful. Being exactly what we all expected him to be. And my father falling with blood on the marble. Darker than the wine.
My heart burns with rage. My soul with vengeance.
I dress slowly. Pull on the Academy uniform.
My whip blade sits across the room. I reach with my Will and feel it snap into my palm.
I holster it and grab my bag.
I look at the wine bottle one last time. Empty glass catching the pre-dawn light.
Deep red. Almost black.
Who poisoned him? A senator? One of the politicos? Some Even or Odd human servant who passed the glass?
Or did the Axiom himself order his death?
My father taught me patience. Strategy. How to hunt. They're going to wish he'd taught me mercy instead.