The strange darkness blew across the marble like a dissipating fog, and even the strongest of Doria’s warriors clamored to put as much distance between themselves and the newcomer as possible.

With nothing between us but the wall of Varian’s outstretched arms, I saw him for the first time.

He stepped away from the shadows that trailed him and into the dim, wavering gleam of the still-lit braziers.

Tall, lean in his strength, he wore black from head to toe: leather boots, cuffed below the knee, dark trousers, and a fine jacket, open at the throat to show a long strip of sun-kissed skin. His hair, only a few shades lighter than the enveloping night, reflected the glow of the weakly lit coals—silvery gold against a deep sable.

Of a size with Varian—who stood alert and tense as a drawn bowstring between us—he was the opposite of the General Prince in every way.

Each of the stranger’s steps was measured, graceful. Lithe against the brawn of the golden-maned Dorians surrounding him.

The first shock of his intrusion passed and the males who had retreated advanced, retaking each step they had surrendered. Hands went to swords. Muscles tensed to charge. I sensed the rising Bloodlust—the battle fury that ran through all true-bred Dorians—ready to be unleashed.

A panther had foolishly wandered into the lion’s den.

But as the dozens of Dorians crept closer, others emerged from the shadows. Five figures, black-clad and almost as menacing as their leader, fell into formation around him.

Curiosity tugged me forward and Varian’s hand shot out, encircling my wrist. He pulled me back to his side.

Drawn by the movement, the dark male’s eyes slid to me, and my breath caught in my throat. His gaze—an extraordinary swirling silver—moved from my face to the place where Varian held me. “Have to keep a firm hold on her, old friend? Well, I suppose you should. Your father lost his own Korai, after all.”

“Aidoneus,” Varian growled, his hand tightening around my wrist. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

The male chuckled, the sound dark and low, and the echo of it crawled across my skin. “You Dorians . . . so hospitable.”

“Give me one reason not to place you and your men in irons, Myridian.”

“One,” Aidoneus answered, holding up a long, onyx-ringed finger. “We aren’t men. Each of my Seven is God-Blooded. In fact, we aren’t even all male . . . Two . . .” He shrugged. “Well, you always were slow on the draw.”

The Dorians pressed closer, but my attention snagged on the figures flanking Aidoneus. I counted them once, searched the shadows, and counted them again. If there were seven of the Myridians, one was missing.

Aidoneus, though, was unfazed by the hostility emanating from the crowd. He casually crossed to a table where a half-empty carafe of wine sat abandoned. He lifted it, gave the wine a discerning sniff, and grimaced. Then he turned his strange, molten-silver eyes back to Varian. “The First Trial is in the morning.”

Dread spread icy fingers down my spine.

Aidoneus’ smile was feral. “I’ve come to compete.”

The hall descended into chaos.

Varian was in the center of the fray, his dagger pointed at Aidoneus’ unprotected heart. Yet the leader of the Myridians had not drawn a weapon. He stood just as he had a moment earlier—casual, relaxed, wine still in one hand.

His followers were not so composed. All had fallen into fighting stances, moving as fast as Varian had. Most held daggers and curved, wicked-looking knives. One slighter figure drew close to Aidoneus’ side—a female. She held a long staff, near as tall as her own impressive height.

“Enough!” A voice rang over the din, reverberating strongly off the marble. The High Priestess was on the dais, a plump, golden-bangled arm raised as she called for peace.

The Dorians circled the Myridians, though doubt now filled their faces.

“General Prince,” she said, her round face flushed. “I’ll ask you to remember that you are a guest in my city. I will not have the Trials profaned with the blood of competitors spilled before it has even begun. Order your men to stand down.”

Varian stood as still as stone, his hold on his dagger firm as his eyes burned into Aidoneus.

But the mood in the hall had shifted. Males looked at each other, weapons lowering a fraction.

Aidoneus shrugged. He whispered a single word to his followers. In the same heartbeat, they lowered their weapons and relaxed their stances.

Varian’s dagger clattered to the floor. He said to Sibyl, “You are right, High Priestess. You are the authority here. Say the word and I will march these criminals out of your city’s gates in chains.”

The High Priestess considered Varian for a long moment before her attention shifted to Aidoneus. “You are the Lord of Myridia, are you not?”

Aidoneus gave a bow worthy of any court, straightening with a cavalier smile. “I am.”

Her jaw tightened. “And your intention is to compete in the Trials of the Korai Aurora?”

Silver eyes found me in the crowd.

I shivered.

“It is.”

My cheeks burned as light flickered at my fingertips. My hands curled into fists to hide the glow.

“This is a Dorian custom,” Varian told the High Priestess, voice rising. “I will not allow him to defile it.”

Aidoneus’ low laugh flowed through the room like wind-blown silk. “Defile it? As barbaric as your country’s customs are, old friend, I believe the law only states one must be God-Blooded to compete. And I am God-Blooded.” His grin was cold, cruel. “Or have you forgotten who sired me?”

Varian looked at me, and in his eyes . . . No, surely that wasn’t a flicker of fear.

My stomach turned to knots.

“So be it,” the High Priestess spoke, voice frigid. “You think yourself quite clever. And you are right, my lord. The law does not forbid outsiders from entry. But be warned: foreigners who dare to claim a Korai tend to pay for their foolishness with their life. So, feast tonight, Myridian, and enjoy all the pleasures my city offers, for tomorrow . . . your death will be of your own making.”