Beryn said, his tone clipped in a bid to temper the former Nalorean.
Maylin scoffed, but she didn’t engage Danika or Acheron any further. Clearly, respect for the Lord and Lady Supreme could only stretch so far for creatures like her and Beryn. They weren’t afraid to speak their minds, and I was willing to bet it was because they’d been turned, thus standing a better chance against their makers.
“It’s natural that there are disagreements between your species,” Esme replied, trying to recalibrate the mood around the table. “The Aeternae are the supreme predators, the top of the food chain, and the ruling class, while the Rimians and Naloreans are comfortably subjugated and subservient. When one ascends from a lower to a higher level, that’s when the more uncomfortable truths come out. I think it’s okay for you all to disagree on certain things. To not like one another, even. I’d have been more suspicious if you were trying to sell us some utopic fantasy in which everybody gets along with everybody.”
Acheron laughed. “I like you, Esme Vaughn. You speak your mind without fear. It’s a rare quality in people.”
“Yes, she’s quite the firecracker, isn’t she?” Petra said, her eyes small and charged with venom as she looked at my sister. I didn’t like her. I didn’t like her one bit, and the fact that she wasn’t hiding her animosity toward Esme was all the more concerning.
Kalon shot his mother a cold stare. “She’s infinitely superior to most of the Aeternae women I’ve come across. Present company excluded, of course,” he said, and it was enough to soften Petra’s expression.
I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to see him stick up for Esme, though I did wonder what Petra had in mind regarding my sister. This was something I’d have to investigate later down the line. Maybe tomorrow night, when Esme and I had agreed to do our invisible tour of the palace, unsupervised.
Valaine smiled. “As you can see, we’re not a perfect society. Not even a perfect species, as much as we’d like to think otherwise.”
“Perfection is overrated, if you ask me,” I said to her. “There’s more charm and excitement in a family drama or a territorial skirmish than in permanent peace and harmony. I don’t think we’re designed for such dreamworlds, anyway.”
“We definitely aren’t,” Zoltan replied. “Hence our Blood Arena and predilection for deadly duels.”
“You know what? I’m going to go ahead and say it, since no one else will,” Acheron interjected, looking at Kalon. “You handled yourself very well today, Lord Visentis.”
“I’m thankful for your grace and righteousness.” Clayne Mefithi finally spoke. The rest of the noble Aeternae had been murmuring among themselves at the other end of the table, occasionally smiling and nodding at anything that Danika and Acheron had to say. They didn’t seem all that happy to be with us tonight, but to be honest, I didn’t really mind that. It meant that maybe they had something to hide. I was always a fan of a good mystery. “And I apologize for the offense that my son committed today. I cannot stress that enough.”
Unlike his son, Clayne was a slender Aeternae, with ginger curls and bright green eyes. Kindness radiated from him like scorching heat waves—the complete opposite of Demetrius. How had his son turned out to be such a bloodthirsty psychopath? I didn’t believe in the nature of monsters. I was firmly convinced that they were made, not born. Demetrius couldn’t have been designed evil from his mother’s womb.
Kalon gave Clayne a faint nod. “I know you bear no responsibility for his actions, Lord Mefithi.”
“It’s why I invited him for dinner tonight,” Acheron said. “What happened in the Blood Arena should stay in the Blood Arena.”
“Only it won’t,” Petra cut in, still angry about the duel. “Call off your fight with Demetrius, Kalon, before it’s too late. Let him pay Krassus’s family and be done with it.”
“You think gold will make Krassus’s children feel better?” Kalon shot back. “What would you do if someone killed me after I yielded in a tournament, Mother? I guarantee you’d want their head on a spike. You wouldn’t take anything else from them.”
“It’s bad enough I have to watch you fight in those mindless tournaments,” Petra hissed. “There are better things you could do with your time. A Nalorean died, and the referees drew their conclusions. Leave it at that!”
Clayne shook his head slowly, staring at his crystal cup. “I must apologize. It’s because of my son’s