Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,138

the disbelief from his uncertain smile. But there’s something too proud in the way he stands. He won’t back down easily—not for some punk kid trying to snatch his victory, no matter how well he knew my parents. “Grateful as we are that you’ve survived, the empire’s not won yet,” Iral says, and some of the officers around him stiffen.

“And when you win the empire, who do you win it for?” I ask, stalking closer. I lower my hands to my sides, slipping one of them into my pocket. “You’re the Shield of Archon, Maxo Iral, but you don’t have the blood to rule it.”

In one quick motion, I draw Wen’s switchblade, flick it open, and trace a thin line over the palm of my left hand. The pain sinks in like a burn, and I clench my fist around it. The general takes a step backward as I uncurl my fingers and offer him the red mess of the imperial blood in my veins.

There will be genetic tests later, I’m sure. They’ll all confirm the truth I’m shouting into this room. But I don’t have time for the science with Gal mere feet away from Maxo Iral. Right now I have to be the heir they’re expecting. I have to be imperial, and that always comes back to bloodshed.

“Your oaths to Archon are meaningless without this,” I tell him, my voice swelling to fill the vaulted ceiling overhead. I will not ask for my throne. I will not beg for it. I am the son of Marc and Henrietta emp-Archon, and I will stand here bleeding until I am recognized.

Iral knows what I want. I wait for his pride to allow it. Even with my ring, my features, and my blood, I’m still a bone-tired kid dressed in dirty fatigues, and I’ve spent years relying on how hard it is to see past that.

Iral’s spent five years preparing for a revolution he thought he’d be leading. Maybe he expected to lead the people of the Archon Empire too. If he was in it for power, he’s showing his true colors with every second of hesitation. If he’s in it for the sake of our people and everything we’ve lost, he knows exactly what he needs to do.

I’m gracious. I give him time. The court’s silence holds.

General Iral comes down like a skyscraper, and I swear the ground shakes when his knee hits it. He bows his head like he’s meant to, like he used to when he presented himself in my parents’ court.

And slowly but surely, every Archon soldier in the room follows his example. I’m the epicenter of a shockwave, the focal point of a hundred kneeling citizens who never dared to hope for this day. I glance back behind me to find Wen bent at the waist, my gun tucked behind her back, peering up at me with her half-burned, crooked smile. I smile back, my fingers tightening on her knife.

We’ve done it. My heart is racing, my back is damp with sweat, my muscles shake with fatigue, my toes still hurt from kicking that table, and blood is leeching steadily out of the cut on my hand, but here I stand. Recognized by my bloodright. In command of the Archon resistance. With Rana under my feet, completely mine for as long as this army can hold it. With a rightful imperial to guide it, Archon will rise again.

But most important, Gal’s fate is now entirely in my hands. Now I can keep him safe from Berr sys-Tosa, safe from Iral, safe from the wrath of Archon’s vengeance. No one can stand against my authority.

I turn to face the dais again, and the grin fades from my lips.

Because there’s one person in this room who isn’t bowing. One person who doesn’t have to, the only one who stands as a true equal—even if he’s an equal in chains. Gal emp-Umber looks at the truth of me, and his gaze is scorching. Fury twists his lips into a sneer, narrows his eyes, makes his hands shake so much that I can hear the cuffs rattling.

My throat remembers the gentle feeling of his fingers around it. That quiet moment