The citizens of Arthandica, though disgruntled, were not yet in a state of open rebellion. Unless a creature went rogue, it still retained the ability to think rationally.
This was the predicament they found themselves in. They loathed the very idea of an illegitimate child—arrogant and stoic at that—being crowned empress over their noble lineage. Yet, they couldn't act rashly. Not yet.
Looking on the bright side, Keket's defiant and headstrong nature worked in their favor. There was a near certainty that she would never set foot in Arthandica again.
She had disappeared six years ago, and the royal family had done little—if anything—to search for her. Everyone had secretly sighed in relief when she left on her own before Victoria could throw her out. Her time in Arthandica had been quiet, too quiet. She was the kind of person who lived by the philosophy: if you don't bother me, I won't bother you.
And that was precisely why they hated her.
Such an arrogant bastard.
Victoria's otherwise pleasant mornings would sour the moment she laid eyes on her husband's unwanted daughter.
Keket, being perceptive, had learned early on that she was unwelcome. She had stopped attending family gatherings, soirées, and any event that involved the citizens of Arthandica—especially those from the Amber Kingdom. She kept to herself, spending her days in her chambers with Musk.
She had never been prone to cruelty, never bullied or tormented anyone. Yet, eighty percent of the people hated her, not because she had wronged them, but because they feared her.
Their pride, however, would never allow them to admit such a thing. It was easier to hate her, wasn't it? After all, she was a nobody. Just an illegitimate daughter with a vampire king for a father, an unknown mother, and—perhaps most terrifying of all—powers beyond comprehension.
For now, the people would remain still, watching, waiting. They would not move against her unless she returned, flesh and blood, alive and breathing in Arthandica.
The kings convened to discuss the matter, their concerns heightened by the rumors of King Bathory's visit to the imperial palace. Nothing remained hidden in Arthandica—not if one was determined enough to uncover it.
---
"I don't care how you do it—just find her before the high priestess comes knocking on our door."
Victoria's tone was sharp, her patience razor-thin. Did Arnold truly think she wanted that thing back in her sight? She was simply playing along for now, biding her time. Besides, she had no desire to endure another lecture from Akeeva. That insufferable priestess was always ready to remind her of her terrible temper whenever their paths crossed.
Ambrosia had always been an eyesore.
Her mere presence had the power to ruin Victoria's entire day.
Of course, if she were being honest, she hadn't raised the girl at all. But just knowing they breathed the same air had been torment enough.
Disgusting.
She had always been grateful that the girl was born female. If Keket had been a boy, Victoria would have killed her without a second thought.
Victoria would never rest knowing there was someone—anyone—who could threaten her son's rightful claim. She would sooner have her own head roll from the guillotine than allow a bastard child to take what belonged to her bloodline.
Of course, Akeeva knew better.
But this wasn't the end. Not yet.
Had she known from the start, she would have killed Keket the very second her unfaithful husband had brought her into their home.
That bastard had been filling another woman's womb while I was miscarrying my child.
At the time, she had thought that sparing the girl—keeping her alive merely to suffer—was punishment enough.
Fate wants to play a cruel trick on me, but it's not too late.
Victoria consoled herself with that thought.
I will not rest until I erase that thing from this world.
Even if Elisabeta didn't become empress, it wouldn't matter. So long as Keket was denied the throne, she would be satisfied.
Victoria clenched her fists, silently vowing to herself.
"You are being ungrateful and childish," Arnold snapped, his patience running thin. "I am a man of status, and it is perfectly acceptable for someone of my caliber to have as many concubines as I wish. That means more illegitimate children, Victoria. Accept it."
His words were meant to put an end to her tantrum.
But Victoria's fury burned hotter.
She would accept nothing.
In Arthandica, it was entirely acceptable—expected, even—for a man of status to have more than one woman in his life. A king, with wealth and power beyond measure, certainly had the resources to keep as many wives or concubines as he pleased.
But Arnold had never wanted more.
He had only ever loved Victoria.
He had only ever had her in his life.
Ambrosia had been a mistake. A moment of weakness. But did he regret her existence? No. Though he had never shown her the same affection he lavished upon Elisabeta and her brother, he did not regret having her.
Victoria, however, was no fool.
How else could she have outmaneuvered her competitors to become Queen? She had won not just the crown, but Arnold's undivided attention.
And now, that hard-earned victory had been mocked.
She understood perfectly well what her husband had meant by "Don't be ungrateful and childish." She knew that in Arthandica, men took multiple women without consequence.
But it was different when it was her husband.
The man she had bragged about endlessly, the man who had seen no one but her, had suddenly presented her with a child.
"You call me ungrateful and childish over an illegitimate brat?" Her voice trembled with barely restrained fury. "Arnold, you disrespect me for your useless daughter."
"Victoria, I am not disrespecting you," Arnold said, his patience fraying. "I am not asking you to love her. I am asking for basic respect. That is all."
He leaned back, sighing. "And don't trouble yourself about Akeeva. I will find Keket before the next moonrise."
His words carried finality. The discussion was over.
Victoria swallowed her next argument, but not her anger. Not her hatred for that vampire girl.
Nothing short of the gods descending upon Arthandica would ever make her show that thing an ounce of respect.
---
The maids moved swiftly, pouring tea for the kings, their hands trembling as they served the most powerful men of their time.
One could imagine their fear.
To serve a single king was already a daunting task—one misstep could mean death. But to serve four? It was a miracle they remained standing at all.
The kings, however, were far too engrossed in their discussion to notice the servants' terror. Or perhaps they had long since grown indifferent to it.
"Arnold," Halfclaw began, setting his teacup down with a firm clink, "I think you should find a way to convince the imperial couple to retract their statement. We all know an illegitimate child can never be empress."
He paused before adding, "Moreover, your daughter is not stable. You don't even know where—"
"Enough, Halfclaw!"
Arnold's voice cut through the room like a blade. His crimson gaze burned with warning.
"Ambrosia is my daughter. I know where she is. And I will not tolerate anyone speaking of her in such a manner. If you have grievances, take them to the imperial couple yourself."
"I don't think you understand what Halfclaw is saying, Arnold," Haldir, the elven king, interjected, his voice rising with frustration. "Even if you find your daughter, she still cannot sit on the throne. She is an illegitimate child."
He exhaled sharply. "The only way we can resolve this is if you convince the imperial couple that your daughter is incapable."
A quiet chuckle broke through the tension.
All eyes turned to Kami, the King of Salem.
The wizard rarely spoke, and when he did, his words often carried a double meaning.
The witches and wizards of Salem were known to be cunning, greedy, and—above all—silent. They spoke only when it served their purpose.
Kami's snake-like eyes glimmered with amusement.
"You think the imperial couple are stupid?" he asked, his voice slow, deliberate, stretching each syllable just enough to command attention.
His gaze swept across the room.
"What we should be doing is confronting them, not wasting our time and fury on Arnold. The imperial family does not joke with tradition. And yet, they have made an announcement that violates it." He smirked. "That means there's something they're not telling us."
Silence settled over the room.
Halfclaw, now deep in thought, finally spoke. "The high priestess has yet to say anything against this arrangement... which means she approves of whatever the imperial couple has planned."
Kami's piercing gaze settled on Arnold.
"Is there something we should know, Arnold?" He enunciated each word slowly, as if daring the vampire king to reveal something.
Arnold's jaw clenched.
"The imperial couple is not stupid," he said evenly, standing from his seat. "If you want answers, ask them yourselves."
Without another word, he strode out of the conference room, his coat billowing behind him.
He could feel Kami's smirk even as he left.
The fury brewing inside him was beyond words. If there was a term to describe his level of rage, it had yet to be invented.
At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to rip Kami's insufferable eyes from their sockets.
"Oh, how I hate those bloodsuckers," Haldir muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.
The other kings heard him, of course.
Their heightened senses ensured they caught everything.
"They pretend to play fair," Haldir continued, "but in truth, they are nothing more than greedy bastards."
No one disagreed.
None of them liked how the vampires lorded over the other kingdoms.
But what could they do? Their ancestors' mistakes had bound them to this fate.
---
Arnold exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain teacup in his grasp.
A loud crack echoed through the silent chamber.
The cup shattered into tiny shards, scattering across the table like broken pieces of his patience.
His men had failed him.
Two moons had passed, and still, they had found nothing.
It wasn't their fault, of course.
If Ambrosia did not want to be found, then no power in the world—not gods, not kings—could track her down.
But that didn't stop the frustration from boiling over.
The high priestess, the imperial family, Victoria—none of them would give him a moment of peace.
And Victoria, of course, was no help.
Her endless tantrums tested his patience to the very edge.
Perhaps it was time he took on more women.
Not because he wanted them.
But because it would remind Victoria exactly who held the power in their marriage.
For far too long, he had allowed her to believe she had the upper hand.
It was time to remind her.
He held the power.
Not her.