Page 217 of Maksym

“I object to this grotesque ambush.”

His British accent remained intact, but only barely. Pain and alarm had roughened its edges. His eyes went to the Magistrate, not to Grace, which told me everything I needed to know. Men who believed themselves innocent looked at their accuser with outrage. Men who feared evidence looked for procedural shelter.

The Magistrate turned his head toward him.

“You are not recognized.”

Lucian’s mouth closed. A small pleasure. Not enough.

Grace did not look at Lucian when she spoke again. That, too, was a choice. She addressed the Council as if he had become evidence already and no longer deserved the courtesy of being treated as an audience.

“I am a witness to my own abduction and imprisonment,” she said. “I was held for two years by Lucian Devereaux.”

The bond between us grew tight. Not because I had not known.

Because hearing her say it in that chamber, before sovereigns and enemies and the man himself, forced the knowledge to take on a public body. Two years. A phrase neat enough to fit into a sentence. Long enough to strip flesh from bone.

My hands tightened on the arms of my throne. Wood did not crack. Only because I chose not to let it.

Grace’s voice remained steady.

“During that time, I witnessed evidence of multiple other humans being held in various locations. Humans used as unwilling blood sources. Humans transported. Humans hidden behind commercial holdings and private wards. Humans who cannot petition this Council because they do not know this Council exists, and because many of them may no longer have the strength to speak for themselves.”

The chamber’s silence changed.

The Nikolay verdict had created tribal silence: wolves against vampires, law against bond, grief against acquittal.

This was different.

This was the silence of powerful beings recognizing a door opening beneath their own house.

Blood slavery offended vampires because it degraded law and threatened control. It offended angels because it was evil. It offended wolves because captivity stank of cages and laboratories and old wounds too many of them had survived. It offended witches because unauthorized harvesting of living bodies too often tangled with ritual markets. It offended demons because they preferred contracts and hated being implicated in someone else’s sloppy appetite.

Most of all, it frightened everyone because humans outnumbered us.

Humans were fragile individually and catastrophic collectively once pointed in the correct direction.

Grace let them arrive there without help.

Then she said, “The footage about to be shown was obtained by Lucia Kozlov and her investigative team.”

Every eye went to my sister. Lucia did not smile.

She stood with her hands clasped lightly before her, beautiful and merciless, black curls controlled, dark eyes fixed on the front of the chamber.

Doc stood beside her, face grim now. No humor left. His jaw had taken on that stubborn set I had come to associate with men preparing either to save lives or break bones in defense of them.

Bohdan’s gaze moved over the chamber as if cataloguing exits, reactions, future blackmail, and assassination risks all at once. Devon’s hands had curled at her sides. Light faintly shimmered around her skin, almost too subtle to notice unless one had spent centuries learning the difference between candle reflection and supernatural warning.

Kazimir finally moved. Only his eyes. They shifted from Grace to Lucia. Then to Lucian. He looked at Lucian as one might look at an account long overdue. Lucian saw it. Sweat touched his temple again.

The Magistrate’s staff lifted from the floor. “Proceed.”

At that single word, the chamber’s front wall altered.

For a moment, nothing happened but a thin mechanical click above the carved stone. Then a large ceremonial projection screen descended from a recessed panel.

The hum of its mechanism filled the silence. Soft. Inescapable.