A man strides through the same doors as the nobles and enters fully into the Golden Hall. His robes are a waterfall of white and gold; a golden circlet rests on steel-grey hair. His movements are deliberate, measured – there’s only one man he can be.

  Around me, nobles rise to their feet and bow. Those nearest the doors dip so low they risk colliding with their plates; by the time the King reaches our table, the gesture has been reduced to a small incline of head and shoulders.

  Fortunately, Nicholas taught me the correct depth for greeting King Ionith, and I mirror the motion without hesitation. As he passes, a faint tang of ozone teases my senses – as if a storm had swept by, not a man.

  Ionith mounts the dais and pauses behind his seat at the oval table. Great Lords and Ladies greet him with nods, mirroring the way their heirs greeted one another. Ionith returns the gesture, his nod a fraction of theirs. I notice the seating mirrors ours, except that none of the Great Lords or Ladies sit with their backs entirely to the hall. Goldmine and Flameform are at opposite ends of the oval table, only slightly around its curve.

  King Ionith surveys the hall for one lingering moment before sitting at the centre of one long side, facing the hall. That's our cue to resume our seats. Chairs scrape softly, the sound briefly filling the hushed hall before the low hum of conversation begins anew.

  A series of doors open silently in the panelled walls – so cleverly concealed I hadn’t noticed them – and a flotilla of servants emerges.

  You may eat in the Golden Hall during dinner without fearing too much for poison or treachery. Nicholas’s voice slides into my mind unexpectedly. The Starblades have made it clear that an attack here during dinner is tantamount to an attack on them – treason of the highest degree. Which isn’t to say it never happens… but only the desperate are foolish enough to try.

  Thanks for the heads up, I thank Nicholas slightly wryly. I hadn’t considered that I might need to be worried about poison tonight but I suppose that that was a little naive of me. So I should be safe tonight…but other meals, not so much?

  Correct. Dinner in the Golden Hall is the only protected meal: it’s the only one with mandatory attendance. And never share anything but tila with other nobles unless you trust them – it’s almost impossible to poison that without changing its scent, colour, or taste. I have a ring in our rooms that you should have – it detects most common poisons, and some rare ones.

  Great, I tell him, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. But, magical ring or not, I’m not all that happy about poison needing to become a normal concern.

  A flicker of Nicholas’s amusement reaches me, but my attention is pulled to Jareon across the table.

  “So,” he begins, lounging back, one arm draped over his chair, his position the picture of relaxation. A servant slides a plate before him, filling his glass with green-tinged liquid. “You’re the wild card.” His grin flashes predator-white. “The man from nowhere.”

  I cock an eyebrow at him.

  “I’m sure you have all had enough information from your lords or ladies to know that I’m not from nowhere,” I remark. I don’t refute the wildcard designation, though – I suspect that’s exactly what I am. Jareon flicks his hand.

  “You’re not from Moriax,” he answers with slight derision, as if it’s self-explanatory. Like Moriax is the centre of learning and advancement in the universe and being from anywhere else is to be a dreadfully uncultured barbarian. Then he leans forwards and fixes me with his sharp brown eyes. “And considering that your first interaction here allegedly consisted of a brawl with a Lesser heir, I question whether ‘nowhere’ might have been a better origin.”

  His tone is deceptively light, but venom flows thickly through his words, reminding me far too much of a brightly-coloured snake. A servant places a plate of food before me and fills my own glass.

  “Thank you,” I murmur to the servant and see him give me a slightly startled glance before he dips his head and hurriedly withdraws.

  “How many of those ‘lesser heirs’ have it coming?” Kyrian interjects with a scoff, glass raised but untouched. “Or does Flameform think his vassals should go unchallenged no matter their conduct?” I might have been grateful for his defence except that it’s very clear Kyrian is only taking the chance to needle his rival again.

  “I believe in order and protocol,” Jareon replies smoothly. “You may not be familiar with those, being from a House where shouting loudest seems to win the day.”

  “Oh, do go on,” Elyra drawls, tone light but her gaze hawk-sharp between them. “Perhaps you’ll throw silverware next. Again. That would be such a good demonstration of how Great House heirs should behave, wouldn't it?”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Better that than hiding behind double-speak and neutrality,” Kyrian mutters into his goblet, but the jab is half-hearted. The table settles, for now, but the lull just draws all eyes back to me.

  I drum my fingers lightly on the marble tabletop. Flameform defending a Lesser House in his territory isn’t surprising, but opening with it feels… pointed. A test. My eyes flick around the rest of the table; they’re watching me, some openly, some with polite disinterest that’s too careful to be real. Whether they expected this or not, they’re interested in my response.

  I meet Jareon’s gaze steadily.

  “Tell me, what would you say if someone pinned one of the ladies here against the wall and forced her to endure…unwanted advances?” My eyes drift over Lady Elyra and she stiffens slightly as she catches the implication. Jareon follows my gaze and his brow furrows a touch.

  “Well,” he answers slowly. “I reckon that any of the Ladies here could defend herself well enough if it came down to it.” I don’t miss the approving glance that Elyra sends him – she appreciates recognition of her lethality. Good to know.

  “And if, for some reason, she couldn’t? Would you just walk on past and say that it was none of your business?”

  Jareon glances to his right, almost reflexively. I wonder briefly if perhaps Heir Torrent isn’t the only one with an interest in the Goldmine heir. She is stunning – though dealing with Lady Goldmine as a family member is something of a deterrent.

  “No,” Jareon answers finally, slow with reluctance. “No, I wouldn’t just walk past. I’d help.”

  I nod sharply.

  “That is exactly what I did.”

  Confusion flickers between the heirs.

  “Pardon me, Markus, but I didn’t hear that Heir Fell had assaulted any noble ladies,” Elyra comments, polite but a little sharp. “At worst, the rumours say that he was trying to coerce a servant.”

  “I heard that he was just making use of a slave,” Kyrian interjects carelessly. “No need to call it assault.”

  “Why not?” My voice stays even – Nicholas’ advice about temper still in the forefront of my mind. Meetings back on Earth worked the same way: the first one to lose their cool lost the argument, regardless of their reasoning. “She’s a slave, yes. But she’s human. She should have the right to refuse certain advances.”

  That earns me a silence heavy enough to hear the faint clink of glassware and the murmur of voices elsewhere in the hall. Four pairs of eyes search me, all set in unreadable expressions.

  “Does that mean you believe we should not be able to treat our property as we please?” Elyra asks, her tone deceptively light.

  Careful, Markus. The quiet warning isn’t from Nicholas but from Sarran, standing with the other attendants near the King’s table. His gaze is fixed on me; I wonder if it’s sharp hearing or an enchantment that lets him follow our quiet words. Either way, I don’t need the reminder – I already know I’m treading on thin ice here. I don’t want to alienate the other heirs from the start, but I won’t agree with something of this magnitude – or pretend that I would walk past it in the future either.

  “Of course, I agree that someone’s non-living property is theirs to use as they wish,” I state easily.

  “Non-living property,” Elyra repeats, identifying the key word there.

  “Yes,” I agree. “Where I come from, living beings are considered different from a table.” I tap the marble. “Whether domestic or working animals, wild creatures…or other humans, the law demands they be treated with more care than a pile of rocks or a working of wood.”

  Of course, I’m generalising, and painting a far too pretty picture. I keep the human abuses that are perpetrated in every human society on Earth to myself – the blood diamonds people have died for, the children labouring to harvest materials for throwaway gadgets, the way indigenous rights are erased in the name of profit, and far, far too many more. Those truths won’t help me here. The principle is what matters, and presenting it as an outsider’s perspective might make them think rather than dismiss it outright.

  “That’s a radical idea,” comments Jareon, surprisingly neutrally. Before I can answer, Elarion speaks for the first time.

  “And how do you marry this moral standard with your family’s Class, Heir Titanbend?” he asks, his voice edged. I’m startled enough by the challenge that I answer without much thought.

  “I prefer to Bind willing companions, and to make sure they benefit from the Bond as much as they give.” Then my own tone hardens. “Unless they attack me. I’ve suffered too much loss to allow a threat to me or mine to stand.” Loran’s face drifts into my mind and I have to stop myself from wincing. At the time, I thought that Binding him was the best option, but looking back, I think that it might just have been the most expedient for me.

  When we return, as long as he’s done his best to aid my companions, I’ll convince Nicholas to give me his contract or to let me pay it off. Then I can give him a proper choice of whether he wants to stay with us or go his own way with my blessing. With my new stipend, that should be possible, unless service contracts are way more expensive than I thought they were.

  “But you’ll Bind people if they or their families have done you wrong?” Elarion asks with bitterness in his voice drawing my thoughts back to the present. I frown a little – something about it feels…personal.

  “The perpetrator, yes. Their families, no. I’m not a huge proponent of the sins of the fathers being visited on the sons.” Even if I know it happens too often in practice.

  Elarion examines me for a long moment, then exhales a short huff and leans back.

  “We’ll see, I suppose.”

  What’s that meant to mean? I send the question to Sarran along with the memory of the most recent snippet of conversation. His response is non-committal.

  You should ask Nicholas.

  Lovely. Secrets.

  Enough of this topic.

  “So,” I say, pivoting without even trying to be subtle. “Are you all joining the competition?”

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