Page 62 of Vicious King

I glanced at my watch. My final trial was in twenty minutes. I gave Tatum one last look before stepping inside and running downstairs toward the nearest Catacombs entrance. My mind was buzzing, my limbs so charged with excitement that walking simply wasn’t an option.

“Elias.”

I came to a skidding halt at the sound of my father’s voice. I turned to face him, plastering on a genial grin. “Hey. I was just on my way to the chamber.”

“I’m heading there too, obviously,” he said with a knowing nod. His eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at me, and he tilted his head to the side. “Before we go in, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been acting quite strangely these last few weeks. Is there something I should know about?”

Shit. He always saw right through me, no matter how many fake smiles I put on for his benefit.

I sighed and ran a hand over my chin. “There is something, actually. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m your father. We can talk about anything,” he said sharply.

Sure.

I feigned an embarrassed expression. “It’s just… I’m worried I won’t make it to the third level. I didn’t want to tell you how nervous I am because I figured you’d think I’m a pussy.”

Not true at all, but it seemed like a believable enough excuse for any recent reticence or weirdness.

Dad chuckled and patted my shoulder. I wanted to cut that fucking hand right off him. “I understand. I felt the same way when I was under consideration for third. It’s nerve-wracking,” he said.

I nodded slowly. It was strange to try and imagine my father at my age, not yet in the upper echelons of the society.

“Don’t worry about it,” he went on. “Obviously I can’t say anything yet, but the fact that you’re even being considered by the council at such a young age bodes well for you. It’s very rare. Some members aren’t considered until they’re well into their forties. I was twenty-seven myself when I was sworn into third, and I didn’t become president of the council until I was fifty.”

“Right. Well, that’s a positive sign, I guess,” I said, keeping my tone level and amiable.

“I’d say so, yes. And if you do make it in, it wouldn’t surprise me if you replace me as president one day,” he said, lifting one brow. “The King name certainly helps.”

No shit. When he was younger, his father—my grandfather George—was the council president. Before that, his great uncle headed up the society. In fact, over Crown and Dagger’s two hundred year history, nine of the elected presidents had been Kings.

If I’d gone down a different path in life, turned out to be a different kind of guy, this opulent den of sin might very well have been mine to control one day. I’m sure the thought of that power and influence was tempting for others in the society, but unlike them, I actually had a fucking conscience. A soul.

I smirked. “Yeah, and I bet the fact that our family owns most of the Crown and Dagger real estate wouldn’t hurt my chances either.”

My father laughed again. “I’m sure it wouldn’t. Anyway, I need to go. Wait another five minutes before heading down there.”

“Sure.”

I watched him go, wishing my gaze could turn him to stone.

Five minutes later, I breathed in deep and stepped into the dark mouth of the north wing Catacombs entrance. From there I made my way to the same chamber all the interviews and trials had been in so far.

It was the same as every other time. Darkness, shadows, a laser pointer directing me to a particular spot. I knew there were thirteen council members, but aside from my father, I had no idea who any of them were. Some of the voices sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place them.

“Elias James King, you have showed great potential in recent weeks. You share our ideas, our vision, and our morals,” a voice boomed out from my left.

Morals? What fucking morals? I almost laughed.

“But there is one more test,” the voice droned on. “One more aspect of your personality must be examined before we make any decisions.”

I set my jaw. “I’m ready.”

“Bring him in,” said another voice.

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