The room went silent.

"My Lord Ragnar," he said, his voice a dry, reedy whisper. "I have… a request."

"You are in no position to make requests, old man," I said, my voice a low, dangerous purr.

"It is not for me," he said, his gaze flicking to his granddaughter, who stood at my side, her face a mask of cool, professional competence. "It is for her."

He looked back at me, his old, weary eyes filled with a new, strange, and deeply, profoundly inconvenient emotion.

Hope.

"You have taken her from me," he said. "You have made her a monster. A queen of monsters."

"I have made her a queen," I corrected him.

"Then let her be a queen," he pleaded. "Do not make her a tyrant. Do not make her… you."

The audacity of it was breathtaking.

He was telling me how to run my own godsforsaken kingdom.

And the worst part was, he was right.

I looked at Isabelle. At the impossible weight she now carried on her shoulders.

She was a bridge between two worlds. A human queen in a monster's court.

And I had just thrown her into the deep end of the pool, with a bag of very angry, very pointy sharks.

A new plan, a terrible, beautiful, and profoundly stupid plan, began to bloom in my mind.

"You are right, old man," I said, a slow, predatory smile touching my lips. "She needs help. She needs… a cabinet of her own."

I looked around the room, at my beautiful, chaotic, and deeply, profoundly dysfunctional family of monsters.

"Yori," I commanded. "You are now the Minister of Defense for the Suzu territory. You will report directly to Viceroy Isabelle."

"Akira," I continued. "You are the Minister of Infrastructure. I want walls. I want forges. I want a city that will make the gods themselves jealous."

"Grak," I roared. "You are the Minister of… Public Works. Go punch things that need to be punched. On Isabelle's command."

I went down the line, giving each of them a new title, a new purpose.

I was building her a government. A support structure.

A cage.

A beautiful, gilded cage, filled with the most powerful, loyal, and dangerous monsters in the world.

All of them, now, sworn to her.

And through her, to me.

It was a brilliant move. A masterpiece of political maneuvering.

It was also a profound, catastrophic, and deeply, profoundly inconvenient abdication of my own direct authority.

I had just made my secret lover the most powerful woman in the country.

And I had surrounded her with a court of monsters who were all secretly in love with me.

This was a new, fresh, and exquisitely painful kind of hell.

I loved it.

------------------------

The throne room was quiet.

It was the quiet of a well-oiled machine.

A beautiful, gleaming engine of conquest, humming with the low, efficient thrum of impending world domination.

And I, Ragnar Vhagar, its magnificent, all-powerful, and increasingly restless king, was starting to go existentially insane.

The conquest of Suzu had been a resounding, glorious success.

My new Viceroy, Isabelle Vhagar, was a natural. She ruled the human city with a firm, fair, and occasionally terrifying hand.

Her new cabinet of monstrous, legendary ministers were, against all odds, surprisingly competent.

Yori was a genius of defensive design, turning the city into a fortress of cunning, infuriating traps.

Akira was a whirlwind of creative fury, her forges burning day and night, churning out weapons and armor of a quality that was frankly obscene.

Grak had discovered a new passion: urban renewal. Which, for him, mostly involved punching old, dilapidated buildings into a fine, recyclable dust.

It was a beautiful, functional, and deeply, profoundly boring system.

"This is unacceptable," I announced to the quiet of my own throne room in the Crystal Spire.

Pixia, who was diligently cataloging the different shades of my own magnificent brooding, zipped over to my shoulder.

"My Lord, the successful integration of the Suzu territory has increased our gross domestic product by over 300%," she squeaked, her voice a beacon of obnoxious optimism. "Our kingdom is stable. Our people are productive. We are, for all intents and purposes, at peace."

"Peace is for farmers and dead people, Pixia," I retorted, slumping into my crystal throne. "I am a Vampire Lord. I am a creature of chaos and conquest. I require… stimulus."

I pulled up the holographic interface of {Laplace}, my eyes scanning the Upper-Class Lounge for any sign of trouble, any hint of a new conflict.

The other sharks were quiet.

The fall of Suzu, the unification of the entire northern prefecture under a single, terrifyingly efficient banner, had sent a shockwave through the demonic community.

No one wanted to poke the bear.

Or, in my case, the very large, very angry vampire.

"The world is afraid of me," I grumbled. "This is a disaster. How am I supposed to conquer a world that refuses to fight back?"

I was in the middle of this existential, first-world-demon-king crisis when a new, unexpected, and deeply, profoundly inconvenient message appeared in my private inbox.

It was from the administrator.

The ghost in the machine.

The all-knowing, all-seeing entity who knew my real, embarrassing, human name.

The message was simple. Terse. And utterly terrifying.

It was an invitation.

"My Lord?" Pixia asked, her tiny wings a blur of nervous energy. "What is it?"

"It's a party invitation," I whispered, my voice a dry, reedy sound. "The administrator of {Laplace} is hosting a… a summit. A meeting of the thirteen Zodiacs. In person."

The air in the throne room grew cold.

A meeting.

Of the thirteen most powerful, ruthless, and paranoid Demon Kings in the country.

In one room.

"It's a trap," Chloe's voice was a flat, cold whisper from the shadows. She had appeared without a sound, her amethyst eyes fixed on the screen, her hand already resting on the hilt of her dagger.

"Of course, it's a trap," I replied, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my face.

"It's a beautiful, glorious, and profoundly stupid trap. And I am absolutely, one hundred percent, going to walk right into it."

"My Lord, no!" Pixia wailed. "The risk is incalculable! It is a den of vipers! A snake pit of backstabbing, murderous sociopaths!"

"It's a networking event," I corrected her.

"And I am the new, hotshot CEO on the block. It would be rude not to make an appearance."

The plan was insane. It was suicide.

It was also the most exciting thing that had happened in months.

"We will need a team," I announced, my voice now filled with a new, mad brilliance. "A small, elite, and utterly terrifying entourage."

I began to list the names.

"Chloe, you're with me. I need a shadow."

"Isabelle," I continued, opening a comms channel to her in Suzu. "I need my First Sword. My public face."

The thought of having my two secret lovers in the same room, at a high-stakes, life-or-death social event, was a new, fresh, and exquisitely painful kind of hell.

I loved it.

"And we will need a wild card," I mused aloud. "A chaotic, unpredictable element to keep them on their toes."

My eyes fell on the holographic report from the training grounds.

Setanta, my legendary, gacha-pulled demigod, was currently trying to teach a group of goblins the finer points of hurling a spear through a moving target.

The target was Kevin.

He was screaming.

"Perfect," I purred.

The invitation was for a neutral location. A pocket dimension, a "sanctuary" created by the administrator.

No armies. No minions.

Just the kings. And a handful of their most trusted guards.

It was a powder keg, waiting for a spark.

And I was about to walk in, covered in gasoline, juggling lit torches.

This was going to be fun.

In a horrible, stressful, and probably very messy way.

The game was afoot.

And the board was about to get a whole lot bigger.

--------------

The journey was a quiet, tense affair.

We stood on a Transfer Array in the heart of my Crystal Spire, a small, elite, and deeply, profoundly dysfunctional entourage.

Me. Ragnar Vhagar. The Tyrant of Aethelburg. A being of exquisite taste and A-Rank physical prowess.

Isabelle Vhagar. My Blade Saint. My First Sword. My secret lover number two. She stood at my right, a pillar of divine, deadly competence.

Chloe Vhagar. My beautiful, fanatical shadow. My secret lover number one. She stood at my left, a silent, swirling vortex of pure, undiluted, and deeply, profoundly inconvenient jealousy.

And Setanta. My legendary, gacha-pulled demigod. He was leaning on his spear, Gáe Bolg, a bored, arrogant expression on his face. He looked like a punk rock angel who had just been forced to attend a very boring church service.

"So, this is the big meeting, huh?" he asked, his voice laced with a thick, lyrical accent. "A room full of old, grumpy demon-types, all sitting around, comparing the size of their… territories?"

"Something like that," I replied, a slow, predatory smile on my face. "It's a networking event. A chance to meet the competition. To size them up. And to remind them who the new, big dog in the yard is."

I looked at my two commanders. The air between them was so thick with unspoken rivalry you could have cut it with one of Chloe's daggers.

This was a terrible idea.

A beautiful, glorious, and profoundly stupid idea.

"The coordinates are locked, my Lord," Pixia's voice squeaked from a small comms device on my wrist. "The sanctuary is… unstable. The dimensional coordinates are constantly shifting. You will only have one chance to enter. And one chance to leave."

"No pressure, then," I said dryly.

I took a deep, theatrical breath.

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