"..." Quinlan let his arms hang loose at his sides. "Well. You lured one quick. Why do you need a primordial?"
Archduke Vasilen went still, shriveled hands settling on the armrests. And for the first time since his eyes had opened, the desiccated features shifted.
Weariness. The kind that lived in the soul, not just the body.
"Because primordials," the Archduke said at long last, "are my final hope."
"Why?"
The Archduke's red gaze drifted toward the ceiling, toward something far beyond the vaulted stone.
"My wife died."
Quinlan waited.
"She grew arrogant in her strength and attempted to conquer a nearby nation by herself. She failed."
'By herself?'
Quinlan's expression didn't change, but internally he was recalibrating everything he thought he knew about vampire society.
