Chapter 79 | After the Storm | Kael
Three days after the Silver Dawn, I sat in the Council Speaker's chair.
Not the prince's seat. The Speaker—the reformists elected me as temporary appointee in an emergency session. Seven of the twelve conservatives had defected, and all eight moderates supported reform. Chaos announced his resignation as Chief Judge after the silver light, returning to the northern territories for "meditation."
Cornelius Frost was arrested. Charges: illegal dealings with Shadow Walkers, endangering vampire security.
It all happened too fast. Fast enough to make me a little dizzy. For three thousand years, I'd been used to operating on the edges of power, used to fighting conspiracy with conspiracy, violence with violence. But now—
Now I was pushed to the center of power. And not through violence. Through—
Through her power.
"Kael."
Leah's voice came from the doorway. She walked into the Council hall, silver-white wings folded behind her, the moonstone necklace glowing softly at her throat. Her silver-gray eyes were brighter than three days ago—after the Progenitor Awakening, her pupils had gained a ring of silver light, like two small moons.
"You should rest," I said. "The Awakening took a lot out of you."
"I've rested," she said, coming to my side, her fingers resting lightly on my shoulder. "Three days. That's enough."
"It's not enough." I turned to look at her. "Do you know what the Awakening means?"
"It means—" she paused. "It means I'm not who I was before."
"No," I said. "It means you're still who you were before, just more."
She smiled. It was a small smile, but it made my heart beat six times faster.
"Kael," she said, "you've lost weight."
"Haven't slept in three days."
"Why?"
"Because—" I rubbed my forehead. "Because I'm not used to this position."
"What position?"
"Speaker." My voice carried a kind of exhaustion I'd never heard in myself before. "For three thousand years, I've been fighting against power. I never thought I'd be the one holding it."
Leah was quiet for a moment. Then she came over and sat on the armrest of the Speaker's chair, looking down at me.
"So what are you going to do?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "The reformists want me to push through major reforms—abolish the bloodline hierarchy, open up education, create Council seats for mixed-bloods. The conservatives want me to keep things as they are. The moderates—"
"What do the moderates want?"
"They don't know," I said, my mouth twisting into a bitter smile. "They never know."
Leah's fingers gently massaged my shoulder. Through the Blood Bond, I could feel her emotions—not sympathy, not pity, but something closer to—
Understanding.
"Kael," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember our conversation in the wilderness?" she asked. "You asked me what my goal was."
"I remember."
"Well, now I'm asking you—" She turned to look at me. "What's your goal?"
I froze.
For three thousand years, my goals had always been clear. Keep order, protect our kind, carry on the de Noct family duty. But now—
Now those goals suddenly felt distant. Like a painting hanging on a wall—beautiful, but cold.
"I don't know," I said. "My old goals were all given to me by someone else. The bloodline, the family, the Council. Now—"
I paused.
"Now I want—" My voice dropped. "I want to make a different choice."
"What choice?"
"To choose—" I took a breath. "To choose imperfection."
Leah's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"For three thousand years," I said, "I've been chasing perfection. Perfect order, perfect hierarchy, perfect self. But perfection means—"
I stood up and walked to the window. Outside was the capital, streets busy with traffic, blood roses blooming in the sunlight.
"Perfection means inhuman," I said. "It means cold. It means—"
I turned to look at Leah.
"It means lonely," I said. "And I'm done being lonely."
Leah stood and walked over to me. Her silver-white wings trembled slightly behind her, the silver runes on her feathers catching the morning light.
"So what do you want to do?" she asked.
"I want—" I reached out and touched her cheek. "I want to be an imperfect Speaker. A reformer who makes mistakes. A—"
I paused.
"A kitchen disaster you can yell at," I said, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly.
Leah laughed.
It was a light sound, like ice melting in a spring stream.
"Then you still need practice," she said. "Your oatmeal's still burnt."
"That was the eighth try."
"The ninth will work," she said. "I'll teach you."
I looked into her eyes.
Honey-brown with a silver-gray shine. The moonstone necklace glowing softly at her throat. After the Progenitor Awakening, she—
She was still herself.
Still making me honey at five in the morning. Still laughing at my burnt oatmeal. Still—
Still loving me.
Not because I was a prince. Not because I was Speaker.
But because I was me.
"Okay," I said, my voice soft like I was telling a secret. "Teach me."
Outside the window, sunlight poured into the capital, filling the entire Council hall.
A new era was beginning.
Not a perfect era.
But—
Our era.