There was a strange, heavy quiet that always followed the collapse of a dynasty.Standing in the gravel courtyard of the old foundry, Riven watched the federal vans block the exits. Officers in dark tactical gear were already hauling a screaming Vane Sterling down the metal stairs. The man who had controlled billion-dollar trade lines across the Eastern Capital was now nothing more than a case file waiting for a rubber stamp.Linnea closed the door of the black sedan, cutting off the sirens behind them. She took a long breath, brushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear. For three straight days, she hadn't slept more than two hours a night, yet looking at Riven sitting quietly in the back seat, she remained perfectly upright."Vane's entire network folded in four hours," Linnea said, her fingers moving over her tablet screen. "The Eastern Trade Commission has frozen every account tied to the Sterling name. The capital belongs to Veridian Global now, Riven. Uncontested.""A city with n

The smell of old grease and diesel never quite washed out of Sloane's hair.In the cramped bathroom of the midnight passenger train speeding north, Sloane scrubbed her face with a cheap paper towel under the thin stream of rust-colored tap water. Her skin was raw, her knuckles covered with dried harbor dirt, but the dull, hopeless fog that had clouded her mind for days was completely gone.She stared into the cracked mirror above the small metal sink.The woman looking back wasn't the spoiled, naive heiress who used to throw tantrums over diamond necklaces, nor was she the broken wreck who had wept on her knees in Callow's basement. Her eyes were sharp, hollow, and burning with cold focus.The train lurched as the steel wheels screeched against the mountain rails, rushing through the dark tunnels toward the high border of the Imperial Core.Back in the second-class cabin, Odette was fast asleep against the dirty velvet seat, clutching her half-empty cup of instant soup like a lifeline

For a second, nobody in that grand room even drew a breath.Champagne glasses slipped from numb fingers, shattering on the stone floor. Four hundred of the wealthiest men and women in the north stood frozen, their eyes darting between the broken oak doors at the back of the hall and the lone man walking through the settling dust.On the dais, Vanessa's breath caught in her throat. The gold pen slipped from her fingers, clattering across the marriage registry. Her chest heaved beneath the silver silk of her dress. She didn't scream, and she didn't cry. But the cold despair that had held her in that chair vanished in an instant, replaced by a fierce spark in her green eyes.He came.High above in the VIP balcony, Sloane leaned over the brass rail so hard the metal bit into her bruised palms."Look at him," Sloane whispered, her voice dry and hoarse. "Look at how he walks into a room of four hundred armed nobles like they're sheep."Beside her, Kaelith Callow gripped his cane, his scarre

Vanessa looked down at the dark wool coat over her bare shoulders.It still carried the faint scent of cedarwood and cold rain—the same scent from five years ago, before her grandfather traded away her father's coastal branch, before Riven vanished into that quiet, unhappy marriage in the lower province. Her fingers were still stiff from the cold air in the eastern tower, but inside the SUV, the leather seat was warm.She turned her head slightly. Riven sat beside her, his tie loosened by half an inch, his face lit by the passing neon lights of the inner skyway. He wasn't breathing hard. He didn't look like a man who had just taken down an old northern banking cartel and terrified four hundred aristocrats."You didn't have to break the entire front gate," Vanessa murmured, her voice still rough from hours of silence on that dais.Riven glanced over, the hard edge in his eyes softening just a little. "Gideon locked the doors from the inside. Breaking them was the fastest way in."A smal

A single drop of cold rain ran down the back of Riven's neck, but he didn't twitch.High up on the mountain pass, the air was thin and smelled of wet stone and burning pine. Below him, three hundred stone steps carved into the cliffside led down to the fog-covered valley. Above him stood the Iron Threshold—the black gates of the High Citadel, looming like an ancient wall built to keep out an invading army.It was two minutes to noon.Standing in the courtyard outside the gates were eighty men dressed in matching black coats and armor. The Black Banner Cohort. They stood in four rigid rows, broad-shouldered, their hands resting on shock-batons and sidearms.Standing in front of the formation were three young men in crimson suits trimmed with gold—the three grand-nephews of Patriarch Gerald Kaelen: Damian, Brant, and Castor.Damian, the eldest, checked his gold pocket watch with a sharp click."One minute left," Damian said, looking down the empty stone stairs with a sneer. "The bastard