The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(125)

There was the soft sound of a chair getting pushed back on the rug, and then the symphath King and leahdyre of the glymera’s Council started wrestling with something. There was a pop … followed by an unsheathing rush.

Then parchment, a large piece … being unrolled. With a lot of something brushing the table.

The ribbons of the families, Wrath thought.

“I’m not going to read this shit,” Rehv groused. “It’s not worth my time. Upshot, they all put their seals on this. In their minds, Wrath is no longer the King.”

A wellspring of anger jumped out of the throats of his household, many voices intermixing and lifting the roof, the sentiments all the same.

And actually, it was Butch’s shellan, Marissa, who was hands down the most refined female in the house, who summed it up best:

“Those goddamn sons of bitches.”

Wrath would have laughed under any other circumstances. Hell, he’d never heard her curse before. Didn’t know she could pass that shit through her perfect lips.

“What are the grounds?” someone asked.

Wrath cut through the chatter with two words: “My mate.”

Pin-drop silence ensued.

“The mating was entirely legal,” Tohr pointed out.

“But she’s not entirely vampire.” Wrath rubbed his temples and thought of what he and Beth had done for the last eighteen hours. “And that means if we have young, neither are they.”

Jesus Christ, this was a mess. A total f*cking mess. He might have had a shot if he hadn’t had any young—then the throne could have passed to his next closest relation. Butch, for example. Or any young that that brother and his mate would have.

Now, though … the stakes were different, weren’t they.

“No one’s a purebred—”

“—isn’t the Middle Ages—”

“—we need to take them all out—”

“This is f*cking ridiculous—”

“—why are they wasting time on—”

Wrath quieted the chaos by curling up a fist and slamming it down on the table. “What’s done is done.” God, this hurt. “The question is, what now. What is our response, and who the hell do they think is going to rule?”

Rehv spoke up. “I’ll let Saxton tackle the legal aspects of the first part—but I can answer the second. It’s a guy named Ichan, son of Enoch. It states in here”—rustling—“that he’s a cousin of yours?”

“Who the f*ck knows.” Wrath shifted in his chair. “I’ve never met him. The question is, where are the Band of Bastards. They have to be involved in this.”

“I don’t know,” Rehv said as he rerolled the proclamation. “Seems a little sophisticated for Xcor’s tastes. Bullet to the brain is more his style.”

“He’s behind this.” Wrath shook his head. “My guess is that he’ll let the dust settle, kill this Ichan motherf*cker, and get himself appointed.”

Tohr spoke up. “Can’t you just modify the Old Laws? As King, you can do anything you want, right?”

When Wrath nodded in Saxton’s direction, the attorney stood up, his chair creaking quietly. “What the vote of no confidence does, from a legal point of view, is remove from the King all powers to command and rule. Any attempt now to change verbiage would be null and void. You are still King, in the sense that you have the throne and ring, but in practice, you have no power.”

“So they can appoint someone else?” Wrath asked. “Just like that?”

“I’m afraid so. I found a hidden procedural note that in the absence of a King, the Council can appoint a ruler de facto with a super-majority, and that is what they have done. The passage was intended to be triggered in wartimes, in the event the entire First Family was wiped out along with any immediate heirs.”

Been there, done that, Wrath thought.

Saxton continued. “They have triggered that provision, and unfortunately, from a legal standpoint, it is valid—even though it’s being used in a way that was not contemplated by the original drafters of the laws.”

“How did we not see this coming?” someone said.

“It is my fault,” Saxton said roughly. “And accordingly, in front of you all, I tender my resignation and removal from the bar of solicitors. It is unforgivable that I missed this—”

“Fuck that,” Wrath said with exhaustion. “I do not accept your—”

“My own father is the one who did this. Just as bad, I should have researched this. I should have—”

“Enough,” Wrath snapped. “If you follow that argument, I should have known all along, because my sires are the ones who drafted that shit. Your resignation is not accepted, so shut the f*ck up about all the quitting and sit the f*ck down. I’m going to need you.”

Man, he had such great interpersonal skills.

Wrath cursed some more, and then muttered, “So if I hear this right, there is nothing I can do.”

“From a legal standpoint,” Saxton hedged, “that would be correct.”

In the long pause that followed, he surprised himself. After having been so miserable for not just the centuries before he’d decided to live up to his father’s legacy, but the actual nights on the job, you’d think he’d be relieved. All that paperwork weighing him down, the demands from the aristocracy, the antiquated everything—oh, and then there was the stuck-in-the-house, only-sparring-with-Payne, dagger-hand atrophy that went along with everything.