Page 183 of Golden Eagle

“Which would leave you, your grace,” Liam continued, turning to Vlad, true deference in his voice now. Even if he thought himself superior, Vlad was his bonded master, and that carried considerable weight. “To serve as the emperor of Ancient Rome.”

“By default,” Vlad said flatly.

“By birthright. Your uncle, the first king, sired no offspring that lived. By every law of succession, his oldest living nephew would inherit his title.”

Vlad’s expression didn’t change, save the slightest upward tick of one brow. “So you’d have three Roman emperors. What then?”

“Together, you’d defeat Romulus, of course.”

“Of course,” Vlad echoed, mocking. “Or I could simply continue forward with my own plans, kill him myself, and my brother and the Romanov boy don’t have to get dragged into any of it.”

Val was aware of his brother glancing his way, and frowning. He said something – his name, Val thought. But he was removed from the scene; the astral plane tugged at him, as he wrestled through a veiling of old cobwebs; as the past rushed up around him, flickering at the edges of his vision like candle flames. As he remembered the warm, soft chuckle of the reluctant emperor he’d called friend. Who’d wanted to embrace him, and comfort him, when Val was just a stupid, sobbing, spectral child standing in the middle of his study.

His heir? How could that be true in any capacity? How could anyone look at him, the sly-tongued golden whore, and call him emperor?

“Valerian,” Vlad said, low, firm, and right in front of him.

Val blinked, and his brother’s face filled his field of vision, close enough to see the lines that bracketed his mouth and eyes, grooves worn by worry that had no place on an immortal’s face. Vlad had worried enough for all eternity in his tenure as mortal ruler of Wallachia.

Val took a breath. “I’m alright.” But he could tell that, back in his hotel room, his body was trembling in Mia’s arms.

Vlad shifted, like he almost reached for him again, but remembered at the last second. Val wanted, almost desperately, to be here in the flesh. To feel Vlad’s strong arms go around him, to press his face into his brother’s neck, breathe him in, and be reminded that there were safe places in the world, Vlad’s protection chief among them.

He offered a tremulous smile instead. “It’s fine. It’s only–”

“I know.” And he did, because Val had shown him. He turned to regard his mage. “Leave us.”

Liam didn’t argue. Stood, bowed his head, and wished them both a good evening in the politest voice.

Val snorted when he was gone. “He hates you.”

“Everyone does,” Vlad said, certain and easy; Val felt a pang of sadness to know his brother was so sure of the fact.

“I don’t.”

“You have terrible taste. Come sit.”

They ended up in the arm chairs on either side of the fireplace, Vlad actually sitting, Val giving the impression that he did so, legs crossed, chin resting in his cupped hand. Even if he wasn’t corporeal now, and it didn’t make sense, he felt a true relief to get off his feet; like he could almost feel the tufted leather of the chair at his back.

“You’ve contacted Baskin and his men?” Vlad asked. He phrased it like it was tactics; a rendezvous between military allies.

Val suppressed a smile. “I have. I just came from a day spent with them, actually.” The urge to grin subsided. “They’ve met Kolya.”

“A shock.”

“A big one.” He grimaced when he remembered Nikita’s blank look, so different from his usual look of affected disinterest. He’d looked like his heart stopped. “I did it as a kindness – reuniting them. For all three of them. But now I wonder…Nikita didn’t take it well. Sasha seems to have his head on, still, but…” He picked at a loose thread at the hem of his tank top. He’d materialized in tonight’s club outfit, he realized with a belated inner chuckle. An emperor of Constantinople with his collarbones and ribs showing.

“You left him with them? With his people, then?”

“Yes. He wasn’t mine to keep.”

Vlad nodded, seeming satisfied with the news. “Your mate?”

Full of questions, Val thought. Struggling to adapt. But he said, “Mia’s wonderful.” Because she was that, too, even if she doubted her own future.

“And your Familiars?”

“Fretting over me like parents. Especially the baron.” Val smiled, remembering Fulk’s face tonight, the way he’d leaned into touch. “We’re doing well, Vlad.”