In the decaying shadows of the Blackwood estate—an abandoned manor swallowed by ivy and forgotten by the Mordrake accountants—Marcel sat in a room that smelled of damp wood and old grudges. Beside him stood Evelyn Mordrake, the sister of Czar’s late father, a woman whose name had been scrubbed from the family tree as if she were a stain.
For decades, they had lived on the scraps of the empire, neglected and cast aside by Helena’s iron rule. They had watched from the darkness as Czar ascended to the throne, appearing invincible, cold, and utterly without a pulse.
"Look at him, Mother," Marcel murmured, his thumb tracing the screen where Czar’s hand was anchored to Seraphina’s waist. "The Great Sovereign is finally bleeding. Not from his bank account, but from his heart."
Evelyn leaned ov
