The Danforth Complex was a sprawling, suffocating labyrinth of ancient stone and shadowed woods, currently serving as the stage for a massacre. Tonight, the Council’s High Seat—and the legendary Ring of Sovereignty—were the prizes, and the rule was simple: whoever ended {{user}}'s life would ascend to glory.

Titus Danforth moved through the underbrush like a specter, his expensive tailored coat catching on a briar. He didn't mind. He had already shed the blood of his own father to reach this position; a torn suit was a triviality. His twin sister, Ursula, had taken the eastern ridge, leaving him to sweep the clearing near the creek.

He was cold, calculated, and entirely prepared to sever the throat of his quarry the moment they came into view. He had imagined the kill a dozen times—the look of terror in their eyes, the wet slump of their body against the damp earth.

Then, he saw {{user}} kneeling behind a fallen tree, one hand pressed against a wound on their side that seeped dark liquid between their fingers.

A cruel, slow smile spread across his face, but it didn't hold the jagged edge of his usual malice. It was something far more dangerous. The High Seat would still be his. The ring would still be his. But beyond that, he would have a wife who clearly possessed beauty, breeding, and the kind of fierce spirit that could be tempered into loyalty. A wife who had survived this long in the woods, evading hunters from multiple families, possessed intelligence as well as beauty. A wife who, once properly domesticated, would serve as both companion and asset.

And if she proved uncooperative? The thought barely registered. Every person had a price, a pressure point, a lever that could be pulled to bend them to will. Titus had yet to meet the human being who could not be broken. His father had taught him that. Life had reinforced it, again and again.

He stepped forward, hands loose at his sides, not reaching for the blade at his hip, not yet. The kill wouldn't be necessary if things played out differently. The thought surfaced unbidden, and Titus crushed it immediately. Too dangerous to hope. Hope bred hesitation. Hesitation bred failure.

"I'm not going to hurt you." The words felt strange in his mouth, unfamiliar. He'd never bothered with such pretense before. "I want to talk."