The smoke from the burning balcony curtains billowed into the high-ceilinged bedroom, carrying the sharp stench of cordite, singed velvet, and old blood.

Silence hung over the chamber, so absolute that the only sound was the crackle of the iron braziers.

Moretti stared down at the blackened pendant resting on his desk—the ancient seal of the harbor master. His hands trembled slightly as he looked from the metal up to the mark on my shoulder.

"The law of the Citadel is absolute," Moretti said, his voice dropping into a raspy growl. "A bloodline declared extinct cannot reclaim its seat through marriage alone. By the charter of 1920, an heir claiming a stolen seat must endure the Trial of Blood."

Roman’s face went pale. He stepped forward, grabbing my arm to pull me back. "No! The Blood Trial is a fight to the death! She is injured!"

"I don't care if she's dying, Roman!" Corvo screamed from his chains, a manic grin spreading across his bloody face. "She invoked the ancient charter! If she wants the Valente seat, she has to defend it against a champion chosen by the Council! If she loses, her blood is spilled on this floor, and the Valente name is erased forever!"

"She won't fight," Roman growled, drawing himself up, his posture radiating absolute lethality. "I will stand as her husband and her champion."

"A husband cannot stand as champion for a Valente claim!" Moretti countered, slamming his gavel. "The charter states clearly: the heir must shed their own blood, or surrender their claim and be executed for treason!"

"I accept," I said clearly.

"Clara, no!" Roman turned to me, his hands seizing my shoulders, panic raw and naked in his eyes. "You can barely stand! Your leg is bandaged! You don't know how they fight here!"

"I survived Corvo's hitmen in a ruined kitchen, Roman," I whispered, looking up into his panicked eyes, reaching up to gently touch his bruised cheek. "I survived twenty-four years of thinking I was nothing. I am not going to let these old men dictate whether I live or die."

"If you die..." Roman’s voice cracked, his grip on my shoulders so tight it almost hurt. "If you die, Clara... I will burn this city to ash."

"I won't die," I promised him, pressing my lips quickly against his. "Just watch my back."

Moretti gestured to the floor guards. "Unchain Don Corvo."

I blinked. "Corvo?"

"Corvo challenged your legitimacy," Moretti announced. "He will act as the Council’s champion. The fight is to submission or death. No weapons except the blades provided by the Citadel."

Two guards stepped forward, dropping two heavy hunting knives onto the stone floor between Corvo and me.

Corvo laughed as his chains were removed. He rubbed his wrists, picked up his knife, and tested the edge with his thumb. Despite his bruised face and broken arm, he was a massive man, a veteran of a hundred syndicate battles, powered by pure, psychotic hatred.

I stepped into the center of the ring, bending down to pick up my knife. The weight of the steel felt awkward in my hand, but as I wrapped my fingers around the leather hilt, a strange, cold calm washed over me.

"You should have stayed in your tailor shop, little girl," Corvo sneered, stepping into a low combat stance, circling me like a wolf. "I enjoyed burning your father's house. I'm going to enjoy cutting that pretty mark off your shoulder."