Minute Ago
Pyris moved through the ranks of the empresses like a seasoned predator among rare and delicate prey. The men—emperors, lords, and kings—stood at a distance, their expressions ranging from simmering irritation to carefully crafted neutrality. But none dared to interfere. Not here.
Not in this hall, where power wasn't merely dictated by status or lineage, but by influence, wit, and presence.
For men like Dracula, it was almost amusing—watching powerful rulers, men who commanded armies and territories, stand helpless as a teenager openly charmed their women. He could only thank his foresight for not bringing one of his own, lest he find himself among the teeth-gnashers.
They all knew Pyris was doing this on purpose. If he had any intention of subtlety, he would have played this game with far more finesse, waited for private moments, built intrigue behind closed doors.
But he wanted them to see. He wanted them to know.
And yet, they were all wrong about the reason.
