princeps (n.) Highest level of the vampire aristocracy, second only to members of the First Family or the Scribe Virgin’s Chosen. Must be born to the title; it may not be conferred.
pyrocant (n.) Refers to a critical weakness in an individual. The weakness can be internal, such as an addiction, or external, such as a lover.
rahlman (n.) Savior.
rythe (n.) Ritual manner of assuaging honor granted by one who has offended another. If accepted, the offended chooses a weapon and strikes the offender, who presents him-or herself without defenses.
the Scribe Virgin (pr. n.) Mystical force who is counselor to the king as well as the keeper of vampire archives and the dispenser of privileges. Exists in a nontemporal realm and has extensive powers. Capable of a single act of creation, which she expended to bring the vampires into existence.
sehclusion (n.) Status conferred by the king upon a female of the aristocracy as a result of a petition by the female’s family. Places the female under the sole direction of her ghardian, typically the eldest male in her household. Her ghardian then has the legal right to determine all manner of her life, restricting at will any and all interactions she has with the world.
shellan (n.) Female vampire who has been mated to a male. Females generally do not take more than one mate due to the highly territorial nature of bonded males.
symphath (n.) Subspecies within the vampire race characterized by the ability and desire to manipulate emotions in others (for the purposes of an energy exchange), among other traits. Historically, they have been discriminated against and, during certain eras, hunted by vampires. They are near to extinction.
the Tomb (pr. n.) Sacred vault of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. Used as a ceremonial site as well as a storage facility for the jars of lessers. Ceremonies performed there include inductions, funerals, and disciplinary actions against Brothers. No one may enter except for members of the Brotherhood, the Scribe Virgin, or candidates for induction.
trahyner (n.) Word used between males of mutual respect and affection. Translated loosely as “beloved friend.”
transition (n.) Critical moment in a vampire’s life when he or she transforms into an adult. Thereafter, they must drink the blood of the opposite sex to survive and are unable to withstand sunlight. Occurs generally in the mid-twenties. Some vampires do not live through their transitions, males in particular. Prior to their transitions, vampires are physically weak, sexually unaware and unresponsive, and unable to dematerialize.
vampire (n.) Member of a species separate from that of Homo sapiens. Vampires must drink the blood of the opposite sex to survive. Human blood will keep them alive, though the strength does not last long. Following their transitions, which occur in their mid-twenties, they are unable to go out into sunlight and must feed from the vein regularly. Vampires cannot “convert” humans through a bite or transfer of blood, though they are in rare cases able to breed with the other species. Vampires can dematerialize at will, though they must be able to calm themselves and concentrate to do so and may not carry anything heavy with them. They are able to strip the memories of humans, provided such memories are short term. Some vampires are able to read minds. Life expectancy is upward of a thousand years, or in some cases even longer.
wahlker (n.) An individual who has died and returned to the living from the Fade. They are accorded great respect and are revered for their travails.
whard (n.) Equivalent of a godfather or godmother to an individual.
All kings are blind.
The good ones see this and use more than their eyes to lead.
ONE
The king must die.”
Four single-syllable words. One by one they were nothing special. Put together? They called up all kinds of bad shit: Murder. Betrayal. Treason.
Death.
In the thick moments after they were spoken to him, Rehvenge kept quiet, letting the quartet hang in the stuffy air of the study, four points of a dark, evil compass he was intimately familiar with.
“Have you any response?” Montrag, son of Rehm, said.
“Nope.”
Montrag blinked and fiddled with the silk cravat at his neck. Like most members of the glymera, he had both velvet slippers firmly planted in the dry, rarified sand of his class. Which meant he was just plain precious, all the way around. In his smoking jacket and his natty pin-striped slacks and…shit, were those actually spats?…he was right out of the pages of Vanity Fair. Like, a hundred years ago. And in his myriad condescensions and his bright frickin’ ideas, he was Kissinger without a president when it came to politics: all analysis, no authority.
Which explained this meeting, didn’t it.
“Don’t stop now,” Rehv said. “You’ve already jumped off the building. The landing isn’t getting any softer.”
Montrag frowned. “I fail to view this with your kind of levity.”
“Who’s laughing.”
A knock on the study’s door brought Montrag’s head to the side, and he had a profile like an Irish setter: all nose. “Come in.”
The doggen who followed the command struggled under the weight of the silver service she carried. With an ebony tray the size of a porch in her hands, she humped the load across the room.
Until her head came up and she saw Rehv.
She froze like a snapshot.
“We take our tea here.” Montrag pointed to the low-slung table between the two silk sofas they were sitting on. “Here.”
The doggen didn’t move, just stared at Rehv’s face.
“What is the matter?” Montrag demanded as the teacups began to tremble, a chiming noise rising up from the tray. “Place our tea here, now.”
The doggen bowed her head, mumbled something, and came forward slowly, putting one foot in front of the other like she was approaching a coiled snake. She stayed as far away from Rehv as she could, and after she put the service down, her shaking hands were barely able to get the cups into the saucers.
When she went for the pot of tea, it was clear she was going to spill the shit all over the place.
“Let me do it,” Rehv said, reaching out.
As the doggen jerked away from him, her grip slipped off the pot handle and the tea went into free fall.
Rehv caught the blistering-hot silver in his palms.
“What have you done!” Montrag said, leaping off of his sofa.
The doggen cringed away, her hands going to her face. “I am sorry, master. Verily, I am-”
“Oh, shut up, and get us some ice-”
“It’s not her fault.” Rehv calmly switched his hold to the handle and poured. “And I’m perfectly fine.”
They both stared at him like they were waiting for him to hop up and shake his bumper to the tune of ow-ow- ow.
He put the silver pot down and looked into Montrag’s pale eyes. “One lump. Or two?”
“May I…may I get you something for that burn?”
He smiled, flashing his fangs at his host. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Montrag seemed offended that he couldn’t do anything, and turned his dissatisfaction on his servant. “You are a total disgrace. Leave us.”
Rehv glanced at the doggen. To him, her emotions were a three-dimensional grid of fear and shame and panic,
