"This is a debate for another night."
"So be it. Back to your missing Bride . . ." He trailed off, his gaze landing on Trehan's desk-on the invitation. Before Trehan could reach the parchment, Viktor had snatched it up, swiftly perusing the writing. "Abaddon? I've been there! Used to go watch the fights. The mist blends with that fog so seamlessly, you know. Wait, this is her, isn't it? 'Challenges inherent'? I should say so. She's a godsdamned tourney prize!"
"Enough, Cousin."
"Not even close! Why are we wrangling over this crown when you can just go get another one?"
"I have no interest in that kingdom-solely the girl."
"The one who just happens to be under the protection of a Deathly One and the most powerful sorceress ever to live? Did you try to steal her from them this eve?"
"I did," Trehan admitted. "But she's bound to that plane."
"Wait, she's a . . . a demoness? Again, why are you not bedding her right now?"
"For the record, she's half sorceress. And she knows my target. They're . . . close. She will hate me forever if I kill him."
"You don't have a choice."
"And why's that?"
Viktor rolled his eyes. "Because you're a slave to your duty, to your house."
Over the last millennium, Trehan had sacrificed everything for the good of Dacia. For once in his life, would he have what he desired? "What if I . . . wasn't?"
Viktor backed away, unsure what to do with that. "Perfect, selfless Trehan Daciano entertains selfish thoughts? This I must explore. Truce for one eve?"
Trehan exhaled. "Pour the mead." Once he cautiously sheathed his sword, Viktor did as well.
"Tell me about her." Viktor traced to the sideboard, selecting a crystal decanter filled with mead-laced blood.
"She's young. Lovely." Talented, creative, innately sensual. With the sweetest skin I've ever imagined.
"How young?" Viktor handed him a glass topped off with crimson.
After a hesitation, Trehan said, "Kosmina's age." Mirceo and Kosmina were so much younger than the elder cousins that they called each one "uncle."
Viktor's lips parted. "You're jesting."
"Not at all." He took a drink, but found the blood tasteless. Again he wondered what Bettina's would be like.
Observant Viktor narrowed his eyes. "Did you bite her?"
Came so close. He recalled how his fangs had ached to pierce her-completely beyond his control. Like an ungovernable erection.
Would he be able to stop himself from tasting her blood if given a second chance? How did other Dacian males keep themselves in check?
Is something . . . wrong with me?
"You did!" Viktor raised his glass. "How very deviant of you, Trey! Did you mark her skin? Did you take her memories into you?"
"Don't be absurd." One of the reasons Dacians disavowed drinking from the flesh was because of the cosaşad-the ability to read memories through blood. When a cosaş took blood directly from the flesh, he took his prey's memories into his own consciousness, even from the merest drop on the tongue. The coldly rational Dacians believed this to be a pollution, an intrusion into their pure minds.
If I'd taken Bettina's memories, what would I have witnessed? Probably scenes of her lusting after Caspion. Trehan just stopped himself from crushing his goblet.
"Thinking about it even now?" Viktor said. "I can't believe you used your fangs on her-Trehan the Perfect is actually perverse!"
"I didn't bite her." He glanced up. "You look disappointed. So eager to see me fall?"