Aston's POV

"To play good cards is to understand your hand."

— Aston von Rosenmahl

I walk through the hall dressed in beggar's clothing. Not in the literal sense, but from the perspective of a noble. Fisherman's clothes. But for me, those belong to beggars. To the lower middle class. It is not just the fact that they're poor—it's how their solemn beings are. Dull. Small. Accepting.

My feet itch as I walk through the mansion that could be filled with hundreds or even thousands of galleons. My toes curl inside boots that are too tight, but I keep walking. I must. My chin stays high, while servants and knights lower their heads. They think my name is Lieben. That I'm in my mid-fifties. Relatively young, compared to Father or the two eldest sons. From Lieben downward, we are born of another mother—not the one Father married in.

My boots are loose. My walk hollow. They think I am Lieben. But I am not. My name is Aston. Age twenty-three. A youngborn, freshly arrived in this hellish world. And while I walk proudly, my hands behind my back as Lieben used to, I maintain a cold expression. My cold eyes make the servants shudder when they meet mine. When they do, I twitch my brow—but inside, I smirk. In my mind, I am not here. Not in this house of wealth and rot. Lieben had a date tonight. Now it's mine. Lieben's connections—mine. His life—mine. And the thing that makes it hard not to drop the mask and laugh outright is his savings.

All his money. His wealth. All mine.

I don't care if I must endure Father's torture, as long as he doesn't kill me. I'll find a way to transform again. Make it seem like Lieben disappeared—ran out of fear. But I am him now. Even if I made him vanish forever, I would still possess everything he ever called his own.

I glide over the rose-patterned carpet, just like everything in this world of luxury. My brother is dead. I killed him, and I don't feel bad. I feel good. Perhaps I feel too good.

…

I'm in the bathroom next to his bedchamber. I wash the red filth off me. The dried blood from my fingers. Especially my toes. I still get goosebumps when I think about it—the sensation of the dried blood branding itself into my skin. My ears ring when I remember the sound. But now, nearly an hour later, it was all an act. There are still some dirty spots on the lower part of my body, but there's nothing I can do for now. Time will wash it off. Eventually.

I walk out wearing only a sky-blue bathrobe. I meet the eyes of a knight. He looks at me, but quickly lowers his gaze, chin below my line of sight. I smirk. A shallow one, with dimples and soft pleasure lines, as Lieben did. Then I ignore him. I have better things to do.

My eyes wander across the old paintings, ones painted long before I was born—maybe even before Lieben. There's Father. The mother before mine, the one who was assassinated. The eldest son of Rosenmahl. Then Theo, the second born. Older than any red should be. But my eyes drift beyond them, to the horizon outside the wide glass of the hall window. I walk into my chamber—opened for me by the knight whose eyes lingered earlier.

I have a date. With the Jägers, if I remember correctly. My smile grows. Lieben was a bad person—not just as a brother, not just as a human being, but also as a husband. As a father. His son, Doran, is barely eight years old. Too young to live without family. And it brings me to a dilemma. I must be there for him. I am his uncle. And Doran doesn't have to become like his father. He could become like me if I guide him. If I teach him right. Let the red children grow up beside him in his mansion as servants. Then he'll learn, as I did. But that comes later. Maybe not even tomorrow. Maybe not for weeks. The Jägers. The only question is—which one? Where? And when?

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…

It takes an hour—longer than washing myself—to uncover the place and all the other details my brother planned for the evening. And more time to get there in a private hoarse coach. I find it hilarious. Emma Jäger and I are going to a fine restaurant. Not just any, but the one in Denklin District. A yellow one. One of the only dozen that exist officially in the kingdom. With delicacies from the Imperial Continent—where false gods and violates battle for dying land. The price? The equivalent of what I'd save over a week. But that's not even the weirdest part.

Lieben invested in other things too. He bought, probably through the black market, a formula. Blue blood mixed with a drop of green. And other ingredients. It makes your body exceed human limitations—in bed. I know men who'd sell their entire mansion to get something like that. But I stop myself from mocking. I lift my chin, as every Rosenmahl does. I wear formal clothing. Tailor-made. Dark blue. My hair is styled like a lion's mane of the Löwenherz family—splendid, but combed back tight.

I look down over the streets while I wait in the coach. Waiting for the girl Lieben threw money at. Maybe the connection is worth it. But it still feels like a waste. The formula wasn't needed. I could've sold it again. I could've found better buyers. But Lieben probably injected it himself already. I sigh. My eyes drift down to my shiny, polished shoes.

It's night. Not dark purple. Pitch black. As if demons swallowed the sky and only the moon remains to remind us of something higher. The moon tonight is golden. Not red, as it will be next month. Not white, as it was last. Golden—as it is in the tenth month, when Apollo spins around and shows his face to this godforsaken world. But no one has ever seen him, nor any of the golden. Gods.

But my thoughts don't drift any further. My nose lifts. I see her. I see the restaurant. Emma Jäger.

She's fuller than most noblewomen. She wears a deep night-blue dress, cut heart-shaped, with a corset in the same shade. In her long-gloved hand, she carries a yellow fan—for the yellow-blooded owner of the place. As I step out of the coach, she lowers the fan. Her eyes pierce into mine. Her blonde hair is pinned up, strands trailing behind her while she walks in high heels.

"Lieben," she says. Her full lips carry more volume than she intends. She catches me off guard. Her arms wrap heavily around my shoulders, pressing her oversized breasts into my chest. For a second, I do nothing. I nearly roll my eyes. The whole night like this? I'd rather switch with Lieben. Wait. I already have. A moment of silence. I curse inwardly but manage to throw my arms around her, pulling her waist against my stomach.

"Long has it been," I say without thinking much.

"You're missing me that much?" she asks, playfully. Her breath is hot against my ear. "Tonight we're going to top last night," she adds in a whisper.

My hair stands on end. I loosen my grip. Step back, still holding her hand.

"Yes. Let's save it up for later." Smiling wrinkles flicker on her otherwise smooth skin as we hold each other like lovers. Just like the other guests around us.

I look up at the sky. The night is cold. Cold like my heart. My breath leaves my mouth like cigar smoke. I glance at the yellow sign glowing in a golden hue, then up to the golden moon. False gods, indeed. And now I must carry this façade through the entire evening. I sigh inwardly. My eyes settle on the crowd of nobles—kin to my family, each one wrapped in velvet and gold, rotten to the core.

I do not want to be here. I'd rather lie alone in my chamber. Watch the doves bathe in the morning sunlight through the stained glass window. But that won't be tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I'll probably wake next to Emma in some luxury hotel bed. Having killed more unborn children than some commit genocide in wars.

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