Her Strength

Conference

Cronan's POV

There are ten Kings around the world, each occupying a vast wealth of land and resources within their respective territories.  Most of the United States is under the control of the Thanisius family while Aurelia’s family, the Oscillias group takes over most of southern North America and northern South America.  These two families, alone, operate nearly eighty percent of the wealth of the Americas, albeit fifty percent of it automatically falls to the Thanisius family, if only because my father is a bully.

    Aurelia’s father was the first to greet me as I stepped into the conference space. “Glad you could make it.”  A clap on the shoulder and a stiff smile from Cortez who looked anything but happy to see me.  He and my father got along fairly well but that’s only because my father is a narcissist and Cortez is a kiss ass.

    The Valentin Imperial Riviera Maya located in Playa del Carmen, Mexico was just as showy as it was practical.  An all-inclusive resort, surrounded by beaches and beautiful views, each King was offered the Imperial Privilege Suite which included a concierge, spa packages, and basically every luxury amenity you could dream of.  Each one could hold three guests comfortably which was perfect for each man’s Queen and Bond.  Both were expected to be present for the closing dinner after the conference.

    Breaking bread with thine allies and all that.

    Glancing about the room we were going to hold the conference, I saw that only nine Kings had arrived and, glancing down at my watch, I wondered how that could be.  The only King missing from the group was never late.

    “Your father hasn’t arrived yet,” Cortez added breezily, eying me warily.

    “Odd,” was all I was willing to comment on that subject.  It really was odd.  He should he here.  I half expected him to be causing a scene of some sort in my absence.

     “It is,” Cortez agreed.  Pursing his lips, his grip on my shoulder tightened and my eyes sliced to his hand, watching as he quickly retreated at the look.  I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries of any sort and as for being touched—rolling my shoulder, I forced myself to maintain my composure.  “You seem tense,” he pried, searching.  I narrowed my eyes, waiting, watching.  Cortez started sweating under my scrutiny.  There was no hiding the quickly arranged alliances he’d made with the three most powerful Kings as soon as he’d taken the throne—the only one to seek out protection from all three, it was obvious that he didn’t particularly like the idea of conflict.  The only one to deny him outright was the Rosario’s.  Though the Rosario’s had proven to be anything but traditional in their decisions.

    “Cronan, my boy!” loud, boisterous—I’d recognize that voice anywhere.  It was Batholomew Tobias, a giant even among Purebloods standing at nearly seven feet tall and still managing to be a stout man. When he raised his glass to me in cheers, I felt the corner of my lips lift despite my chagrin at my current situation.  Despite controlling the least square footage of land, he probably accrued twenty-five percent of the total wealth within the room.  He owns nearly every Island off of the coast of Asia and runs world-renowned exclusive resorts.  “How’s the old man?”

    Glancing about, I wondered the same thing.  “He’s well.”

    “I was wondering about that.  Where is Ezekial?” Vincent Semerov pressed.  His Russian accent was thick, his short sleeved black t-shirt easily doubling as armor.  I’d seen the design of that fabric—it’s amusing that he’d found yet another way to make himself bulletproof.

    “I’m sure he’ll show,” I said, giving a light shrug as I made my way to the round table.  The room was in a conference set, a wine glass of fresh blood resting next to each treaty.  It was tradition for each King to sign the contract with their own blood, thus legally binding them for another year.  We would have to go over revisions first which always seemed to go the same way each year.

    “It’s unlike him to be late,” Semerov pressed, pursing his lips.  Like two peas in a pod, he and my father got along perfectly.  Not only were they like-minded when it came to where humans should fall within the hierarchy of “beasts” but they too believed in the potential benefits of multi-bonding.

    “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Maddox Cassius chuckled, his Australian accent tangible.  “I’m sure he’s just caught up with a maid or two.”  Younger than most of the Kings, Maddox was just as quick witted as he was short tempered.

    Semerov quirked a smile.  “Maybe we should send someone for him.”

    “I can make a call,” Cortez offered immediately.

    Batholomew just waved his hand dismissively.  “Let the man live!  His son is here in his stead anyhow.  I’m sure he can handle things just as well.”  He gave me a friendly wink and Semerov just snorted, taking a swig of his bloody wine.

    Ignoring Semerov’s jab, I took a seat next to Maddox who was chewing on some kind of gum, offering me a grin.  I narrowed my eyes, annoyed.  Just because we may be close in age doesn’t mean we’re close in stature or ability.  I didn’t want him to confuse a treatise with friendship.

    “We’re missing one,” Fariq Utkash muttered.  King of India’s providence, he has a substantial amount of humans within his territory and the warfare waged within his lands have made feeding just that much easier for our kind.

    “Xavier Rosario,” Virote Jung answered the unspoken question.  The silent brooding type, I was surprised to hear his voice.  He had perfect posture even as he was seated, his laptop opened in front of him.  A technological genius, he would be revising the document as we discussed all of the disputed points.

    “He’s never late,” Maddox grumbled, glancing about with obvious disbelief.

    Younger than any of us, the infamous Xavier Rosario rarely made a mistake.  He’d never spoken out of turn or offered so much as a sideways glance that would suggest that he has any kind of vested interest in any of the documents presented—it was ironic how passive and calm he seemed considering the brutal rumor I’d heard about how he’d brutally his own father and eldest brother for the throne.  Apparently, the second son of the Rosario estate still lived but only because he’d surrendered the throne to Xavier with zero contest.

    The Rosario family currently controlled the entirety of Europe uncontested.

    The elder Kings had originally attempted to sway the young boy to give away some of his family’s investments but were met with nothing but rebuttal and a reasoning far beyond the understanding of a creature with so few years behind him.  When Semerov attempted to “visit” the boy, he was met with harsh security and found that the Rosario family had many alliances outside of the vampire community.  Strong allies within the shifter community, the elven community—even a few faeries and faeries, I’d come to understand, can be fierce enemies when pressed.

     Checking his watch, Virote grumbled, “Should we move on without him?”

    “He’ll be here,” Teferi Keita spoke up, eying Cortez pointedly.  “I suggest we wait.”  Teferi was another one who rarely spoke out, not because he was unable but because he seemed like a careful man, his every move well-calculated.  Skin dark, hair cropped short, he had a strong jaw and adorned himself in African garb, uninterested in “fitting in” among these suited mongrels.  I appreciated his authenticity and, after having heard him speak up for Xavier, realized they were often seated next to each other for these events.

    “Wait?” Semerov spat.  “The Circle of King waits for no—”

    The door swung open and in strode Xavier Rosario.

    Semerov noticed and fell silent, glaring at the boy.  Giving a slight nod toward Teferi who tilted his chin in turn, he shamelessly took a seat next to what I was quickly beginning to realize was his ally, his dark eyes flickering across the faces at the table.  When they landed on me, he quirked a brow.  “I’m surprised you’re here in Ezekial’s stead.”

    My tone was hard, skeptical.  “And why is that?”

    He shrugged.  “No reason.  This never seemed to be your cup of tea.”

    Arguably, it wasn't, but who was he to point that out?

    “Does the tardy one get to have an opinion?” Batholomew asked, quirking a brow at Xavier.

    Xavier smirked.  “Bartholomew, how’s the baby?”

     “He grows by the day,” Batholomew said proudly, instantly softening at the mention of his newborn.  “My Maddy, she’s round in the stomach again.”

    “Congratulations, friend,” Xavier said, giving him a nod.

    I glanced between those two now, surprised.  Xavier had always been considered the black sheep and yet here he was with more knowledge about my own allies than me.

     Checking his watch, Virote tsked.  “Let’s get this started, shall we?”

    Semerov grimaced, glancing toward the door in disapproval.

    Ten minutes past and my father hadn’t shown up.

    He wasn’t going to show up.

    Relieved and irritated, I wondered what that old man was up to and, gritting my teeth, watched as Cortez called the first topic up for discussion:  Trade agreements.

. . .

Halfway through the conference, you would’ve thought a war was about to break out.

    It was Semerov and Teferi going at it again.

    The human slave trade was always a topic of controversy and, as the years passed and new Kings arose, it seemed that it’s time of practice may soon come to an end.

    At least, that’s what Teferi argued, pressing for laws prohibiting the mistreatment of humans.

    Semerov, classist by nature, argued that he wanted to expand such a profitable industry.

    “They are humans,” Teferi hissed, outraged at Semerov’s direction.

    “Yes, humans,” he snapped back, voice tinted with disgust.

    “Living beings with feelings and emotions—”

    “They’re food,” Semerov snorted.  “Like a cow or a pig.”

    Teferi’s hands slammed down on the table, eyes flashing a deadly silver.  “We reproduce with them.  They bear our children.”

    “So the women are prized pigs,” Semerov shrugged, rolling his eyes.

    And so on and so forth.

    It was Bartholomew who eventually suggested we just keep our beliefs to our own territories.  Leave the decision to legalize or abolish that practice to each King.

    “That was what we agreed upon last year,” was Virote’s comment.

    “And it kept the peace,” Cortez added.

    “So it’s best to just avoid an important topic to keep the peace, Cortez?” Fariq asked, quirking a brow at the man.  I smirked at the way Cortez had just been called out for his passive ways.  It seemed only right that Fariq would make the comment—he’s always enjoyed a good dispute.

    “What is a King if they do not have the ability to decide for themselves?” Cortez argued.

    “Responsible to their subjects,” was Xavier’s automatic rebuttal.

    We all turned, surprised that he’d entered the conversation in such a manner.

    “You have an opinion on the matter?” Fariq wondered.

    “I’m interested to hear it,” Virote said, eyes finally raising from his laptop.  “You’ve never spoken up on this particular issue before.”  Virote would know—he probably has every transcript of every prior meeting memorized.

                “Cortez asked a question and I just answered it,” Xavier said, sloshing his drink in his hand.  “What is a King if they do not have the ability to decide for themselves, right?  Well, a true King shouldn’t make decisions based on self-gain.  They should be made in the best interest of his subjects.  Am I wrong?”  he quirked a brow, challenging, glancing about the table.

    “I’m responsible to the vampires in the area.  I am their King,” Semerov stated.

    Teferi was the first to argue, “But you have many humans within your territory, subject to the decisions of your rule—”

    “Pigs and cows,” Semerov cracked, smiling.

    It was a disgusting smile.

    And with that, the bickering continued—back and forth.

    If I were a lesser being, I’d have a raging migraine after dealing with that mess.  And in the end, it was Bartholomew’s initial suggestion that would remain in place—leave it at the discretion of the King.  All that fuss and nothing was changed.

    Pureblood politics—avoiding the big issues to keep the “peace”.

    Rolling onto my back, I let my arm flop over my eyes, annoyed.

    I was still hungry.

    I’d drank bloodied wine after bloodied wine—it wasn’t strong enough.

     Not just the wine but the blood.  It was human blood.

    It wasn’t filling.

    Satisfying.

    A knock on the door.

    I didn’t move, didn’t bother.

    Then a key in the door.

    A part of me, some really dumb, hopeful part of me felt a trill of excitement.

    What if it was Violet?

    Peeking at the door, waiting, I hoped it was her.

    That this nightmare could be over.

    That my bond would be close again.

    Here.

    But when the door opened, it was a different girl.  Auburn hair, caramel eyes—the disappointment as the sight of Aurelia was almost overwhelming.  “Sleeping?” she wondered, shutting the door after herself.

    I slumped back onto the bed, growling.

    She didn’t make a move toward the bed.

    A good decision since I wasn’t in a good mood at all.

    “You should know that I told my father.  About Violet.”

    Stiffening, I didn’t move.

    In that moment, I’d imagine closing the distance between us and ripping her throat out.

    “Somebody had to know.  Her eye were gold Cronan, she threw you across the room—”

    “Get out.”

    The air in the room went still.

    Cold.

    “Please, Cronan, I was just trying to—”

    When I sat up, she must’ve seen it in my expression.

    The bloodlust.

    The rage.

    The door clicked quietly behind her as she fled the room.

    Crumpling the bed sheets, I ground my teeth, recalling Cortez’s comment earlier, about how I’d seemed tense.  Of course I “seemed tense” to him, he knew my pregnant bond was missing.

    Treason.

    The word kept bouncing around my head, haunting me.

    Closing my eyes, I knew it would come up during the dinner.

    I’d have no time to search.

    To find the answers for myself.

    There would be no discretion in this situation.

    No privacy.

    I could already see it unfolding—the questioning, accusations, unavoidable trial—Violet, or whoever took Violet, had committed treason against the Circle of Kings, and now it was inevitable that somebody would have to be held accountable for the a*******n of an unborn Royal.